Chapter 7: The Inevitable Arrival of the FNG

Leaving PacSun wasn't hard at all. Still to this day, I consider the earlier months of Pacific Sunwear to be one of my best job experiences. I liked it there. Until Satan himself took on the form of an overweight forty-something with no life ambition beyond retail management. Then it wasn't quite the same. About 2 weeks after I left Pat ended up leaving too. Isn't that ironic? He got a job at Marshall Fields or something that was apparently his "dream job" that he just couldn't pass up. I always wondered what position there was at Marshall Fields that any normal human being would call a "dream job." I'd assume the Ticket Master booth. Or maybe mattress sales.

So after leaving PacSun, I was now employed only at Leslie's Pool Supply. Sure, it was tough adapting to only receiving one paycheck now, because I surely did look forward to my bi-weekly payments of $23.47 from PacSun, but hey, when life hands you lemons...

For the first time since Twist & Shout (the first time) I had this strange feeling of freedom. Leslie's was not nearly as corporate as Red Robin, Best Buy, Old Navy, or PacSun. Yes, PacSun is extremely corporate. Sure, they fool you by employing youngsters who wear t-shirts and studded belts with devil-may-care attitudes, but I assure you, there's quite a bit of politics going on behind the scenes. At Leslie's, there wasn't a week of training. There was no orientation. There were no poorly written and horribly acted videos explaining what to do in the event of a shoplifter. By all means, we weren't jumping off the walls and freebasing in the parking lot. We still had Leslie's t-shirts to wear, and don't even think of coming in without a name tag, but demeaning acts such as suggestive selling and "the customer is always right" did not live so prominently here. Mostly because our job was to sell pool supplies to pool owners. This is quite different then finding Amber the perfect top to go with those pleated shorts. Pool owners come in knowing exactly what they need. And we get it for them and sell it. You can't really fuck with that. You can't suggest other chemicals when all they need is chlorine.

A lot of people came in with water samples for us to test. This was far and away my favorite thing to do. Putting in all the different colored drops to make the water change color. Then you take the results back to Diendre, the manager. He goes through his little book, tells you what chemicals they need, and you go and get them. Easy as pie. Easier than pie, actually. More like no-bake brownies.

The problems only arose when people tried to act smarter than us. As if they knew exactly what was wrong with their pool. They knew what chemicals were needed and didn't agree with our diagnosis. That's because the people who came to Leslie's were all extremely rich and Jewish. No offense to my Jewish brothers. I'm not saying all Jewish people are jerks. I'm not saying all Jewish people with money are jerks. I'm saying...all Jewish people with money who own pools are FUCKING ASSHOLES.

A gentleman may come in with a water sample, complaining that his pool is green. We do the test, and it is decided that he needs to shock his pool, then add a gallon of Bright N' Clear, then use some No-Phos for maintenance.

"No-Phos! I've never used No-Phos! I'm not going to buy that because I don't need it!"

Then he comes in 2 weeks later complaining that his pool is still green, and it's our fault. That sort of thing. Or one time this guy bought a huge heavy bucket of chlorine. After paying for it, he walked out of the store, leaving the bucket on the floor in front of the counter. About 30 seconds later he walked back in, looked at me like I was an idiot, and said, "Well? Aren't you going to carry it to my car?" That sort of thing.

Aside from Amanda and Diendre I don't really remember the names of the people at Leslie's. I was only there for like two months. If I were to put on a parade of all the jobs I've had, Leslie's probably wouldn't even have a float. Just a couple of people throwing Jolly Ranchers out of the back of a Sebring convertible.

But I do remember Marguerite. You don't easily forget a person like Marguerite. Mostly because she was maybe insane. She reminded me of Pat from Saturday Night Live. Imagine if you finally discovered Pat was a woman. Now add about 15-20 years. That's Marguerite. She never really did anything funny. I don't have any stories or anecdotes to share on the silliness that was Marguerite. She was just there. And crazy.

Also there was the assistant manager. Matt. Or Mike. Or Gerald. Hell if I know. The only thing I remember about him was that he'd sit on top of big crates of highly flammable chemicals, smoking cigarettes. He was alright. I never blew up, so I can't complain. Also there was a girl who I think was named Courtney but could have been Whitney who was going to MSU to get a degree in meat packaging or something. I found that to be extremely interesting. Did you know that Taco Bell beef is grade D because the grades are only based on the size of the animal? Well, now you do. Tell your friends. Think outside the bun.

As I said, I had a lot more freedom at Leslie's. I didn't feel like I was being suffocated by corporate bullshit. Because of that, I started to come out of the shell that I had built up around myself because of places like Red Robin and Old Navy. I started to be myself. I started to be funny. What did this mean? Heavy doses of sarcasm. Off-hand comments such as "Tell the bitch to drain her pool so she stops coming in here" became commonplace. And every time I said something like that, Diendre would say "Fuckin' new guy..." Which is how I got the nickname FNG. After being there for over a month, I was still the FNG. If anyone had been hired after me, I'd still be the FNG.

As August rolled around, business slowed. People were getting ready to close their pools, and we didn't need as many people on the clock. Naturally, the policy was "last hired, first fired," so I was the first to go. Mind you, I wasn't exactly fired. I was "let go." But that doesn't rhyme with "hired."