I adjusted my name tag, straightened my vest, and tucked away what was left of my self-respect as I tapped the big, red "Clock-In" button on my cellphone screen.
"Excellent, mister..." A bored-looking man paused, not looking up as he waited for the information to pass from my phone to the nearest cell tower, into space, through a satellite, down to a server facility, back to the store, and through the Wi-Fi which seemed to be running off two tin cans and spite.
"Patterson." The bored man said as the mundane miracle of telecommunications finished its work, "You're now successfully clocked in, now please surrender any cellphones, weapons, or illicit substances, all prohibited materials will be returned to you at the end of your shift.
"You're taking my phone?" I asked.
"It's simply a precaution." The bored man said, for the first time speaking as if he wasn't reading from a script, "Associates on their phones are more likely to cause mistakes, reduce productivity, and talk about unionizing."
I shrugged and handed over my phone.
"Any weapons or drugs?" The bored man asked again.
"No," I replied. To my surprise, the man gave me a skeptical look and arched an eyebrow.
"Do most employees bring drugs and weapons on their first day on the job?" I asked, trying to add some levity to the proceedings.
The man turned his head towards the locker, a tall, wide bank of cubbies with clear plastic doors for the sake of transparency. I'd noticed it upon walking into the room but hadn't looked closely enough to register the vast collection of knives, alcohol bottles, and plastic baggies, not one of which carried the sandwich that the marketing blurb had advertised as their principal use.
"Is it always like this?" I asked.
"Sobriety is for the day shift." He Thered man said, clicking a button and shutting down the tablet's screen "You'll understand by morning." The board man said, offering his hand "I'm Paul, I'm the nightshift manager, welcome aboard."
I reached out and shook the man's limp, sweaty hand, and we walked out of the minuscule break room and into the main cavity of the showroom floor.
"Well, I'm supposed to show you around, but, it's Walton's World, what's here to learn, everyone's shopped at one."
"I haven't," I said before I could stop myself. The manager stopped and looked back at me, annoyed.
"How?"
"They didn't have one in my hometown, at least not until after I'd left home, and I couldn't afford anything near my college, so I just never went."
"Not even to just look around?" Paul asked.
Again, I shrugged.
Paul rolled his eyes and punched his nose, then looked up and started scanning the area around us, desperate for some opportunity to pass me off.
"Allison," Paul said, relieved for a chance to be rid of me as he spotted a woman with her back turned to us. She turned around, pivoting on her cane as she tried with a visible limp in her leg. She tapped her cane as she turned to face us. I was struck by how young she looked, not in her teens, but not in her sixties like the cane had implied.
"Allison, this is Mr. Peterson."
"Patterson," I corrected as I reached out a nervous hand. Her hair was closely chopped above the shoulders, and a trace of a tattoo peaked out from under her shirt collar as she leaned on her cane.
"This is the new night associate?" She said, her tone slow and measured, a stark contrast to the shock of pink that lingered at the tips of her hair.
"Indeed," Paul said, "Show him around so he doesn't get lost, then go ahead and shut the front doors a minute or two early, I want to start work on the refrigerators sooner rather than later."
Allison scoffed in both acknowledgment and dismissal. Paul turned and walked off, tablet once again in his hands as he tapped away at some task.
"So, Allison, was it?" I asked.
"What retail experience do you have?" She asked, doing an excellent job, like Paul, of speaking like she was reading from a script.
"I worked the family farm stand as a kid."
"Uh-huh." Allison said, "Well, let's give you the rundown." She said as she started to walk down the narrow half hall away from the break room and towards the cash registers.
"These are the registers, we take cash, Visa, and Mastercard. If someone tries to pay with American Express, send them to the ATM. If anyone is trying to pay with a check, they're either trying to steal groceries or they are a time traveler who is trying to steal groceries."
She turned and leaned against the end of one of the check stands and aimed the end of her cane toward the front of the store.
"There's a food court, which doesn't do us much good on night shift, but if you get to work early they'll usually be willing to slip you a taquito they dropped on the floor."
She turned her attention closer to the door
"that's automotive, they're out of here by five so I doubt you'll see them, do you own a car?"
"Yes," I said
"Never bring it in for them to work on, you may get a discount, but they know you can't afford to take it anywhere else and they'll do bad work on purpose."
I nodded, deciding not to mention that I did my work on my car, but was nevertheless grateful for the warning.
She pointed towards the front door.
"That's the exit, it's for customers only, don't come in through the front doors in uniform, it's a fire-able offense."
"Really?" I asked.
Allison looked at me.
"Management doesn't want us mingling with the general population, customers say it's hard to shop when the employees have been humanized."
Allison let out a deep breath, then leaned forward and caught herself with the cane, she winced but tried to hide it.
"Come on," she beckoned, "now let's get into the shit."
"The idea behind Walton's was to create a place where you could buy anything. We have our electrics department right at the front of the store where bored dads and teenagers can split off from the rest of their family while under the watchful eyes of loss prevention, we have home goods, furniture, books, and hardware, that's all on the east side of the store, dry goods and such. The west side is your more typical grocery store, hence why it's opposite the entrance. The floor level has a large selection of items, with only a few on the floor, our job mostly is to go up into the shelves and retrieve back stock of everything that isn't at floor level."
"That sort of sounds like something the day shift should take care of, right?"
Allison spun on her cane and did her best to burn the stupid out of my brain with a look.
"Day shift is supposed to do a lot of things." She said, pushing each word through tightly gritted teeth.
I quickly looked around for something to ask a question about as Allison began to fume quietly to herself.
"What are the towers for?" I finally settled on, looking at the raised platforms which dotted the store's landscape.
Allison stood up straight, resting both hands on her cane.
"In theory, breakrooms. There are a few vending machines tucked out of public view in the center. Most of them have been picked through rather thoroughly and they don't have a wide enough profit margin, so they get stocked with as much frequency of solar eclipses. Still, there are a few snacks on the shelf." She glanced over and looked me up and down quickly.
"Some might be younger than you if you're lucky."
"You said they were breakrooms in theory," I said, hesitant.
"In practice, they're large floor spaces inaccessible to customers, managers vie for control of each tower. General managers run them like their own little fiefdoms, dolling out floor space to assistant managers and favored associates."
I nodded along.
"So which one do you work in?" I asked.
When I was a boy, I would go ice fishing with my father. One day, I wasn't looking where I was walking, and I stepped into someone's abandoned fishing hole. I caught myself and avoided getting trapped under the ice, but the sensation of suddenly being immersed in freezing water made my chest feel like it'd been crushed under a stone. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move, and my father had to drag me from the hole and back to the house before I could start breathing again.
The look Allison shot at me when I asked her that question sent me back to that hole, and I wondered if maybe I'd have been better off falling under the ice.
"I am not a ladder climber," Allison said in the monotonous, measured tone she'd maintained throughout the conversation.
"Right, sorry." I said meekly, "I uh, you just seem to know the place so well, I guess you've worked here awhile?"
Allison tapped her cane against her leg, then tapped the end again against the floor.
"I've worked here for three years."
The words seemed bitter on her tongue. She took a deep breath as we stared out across the warehouse floor.
"We've covered dry goods, grocery, there are of course the amenities that Walton's world is known for, the pharmacy sits on the west side, just north of grocery, and sporting goods is an offshoot of dry goods on the east end."
"Question," I said, fearing the wrath that would befall my interruption.
"Go ahead," she said, bored as opposed to wrathful.
"Why do you keep listing things about their cardinal direction?"
She arched her brow.
"You know your cardinal directions, yes?"
I nodded.
"The store is large enough that it can't be subdivided into departments, more like themes, outdoors, living room, grocery, the layout was signed by the same firms that construct Las Vegas Casinos. They're meant to make things hard to find while distracting you from what you came here for. The towers provide a point of reference, North Tower, South Tower, East Tower, and West Tower, North is closest to the check stands, West is closest to food, East is closest to home goods, South is closest to amenities, but getting from one to the other is a maze of aisles and intricate displays."
She looked at me gravely.
"Just avoid the center of the store."
"Why? what's in the center?"
"Seasonal." She said "Monthly changes in the display and layout make it hard to navigate, and the large banners block your view of the skyline and you can't catch your bearings. We've lost people in Seasonal before, don't venture in alone, and if you do, it's best to bring a compass and some provisions."
"Why build a store like this?"
"The idea was to provide the customer with an utterly unique experience, and one that couldn't be mimicked by online retailers. Dirt cheap prices, incredible variety, and a store that people would come to for the sake of the adventure, a Walmart mixed with an Ikea, mixed with a bass pro shop. This was Walton's vision for a store that would kill Amazon."
What amazed me was how she could say all of this matter of factly, and not with the rehearsed voice that permeated everything General Manager Paul had said.
"Did it?"
"Of course not." Allison breathed, "But it was enough of a novelty in its early days to begin buying out competitors and expanding into other markets. Retail only makes up a fraction of the company's revenue. Real estate is of course another large part of their portfolio, financial products, retirement, student loans, aerospace and defense..." She rattled on before stopping herself "Walton's World is a public relations mechanism first, and a grocery store second."
A gruff but nasally voice sneered from behind us.
"Oh Christ, Allison, don't make the new guy so depressed he kills himself." A lanky, blond-haired teen walked up between us.
"Arthur," Allison breathed, before looking at me. "Patterson, this is Arthur, day shift supervisor."
"Pleasure's all your's," Arthur said, extending his hand and grabbing mine before I could think to withhold it. He did everything in his power to crush my hand, though with his small stature and meek hands, the best he did was give me slight discomfort in my fingers.
"Arthur, the shift is over, management doesn't look kindly on employees who linger after their shift, and I doubt your mother will be happy with you being out past your bedtime."
I had to do a double take, I wasn't used to hearing her make actual jokes in her bored monotone.
"Shows what you know." Arthur said, "I'm on the night shift today, Mom's company is doing the work in the refrigerated goods section, so I was put on nights to supervise. She said it'd be good to see how people in her company work, and in the meantime, I can try whipping the night crew into shape, show you slackers and stoners how to run a store properly."
"I'm positively torpid with anticipation," Allison said.
"Well you have a funny way of showing it," Arthur said before looking back to me.
"I'm Patters..." I started.
"Meh," Arthur said, waving a hand in my face "Make it to the dayshift and I'll care, make it past a month and I'll learn your name." He turned and walked off towards the refrigerated goods with a strut that seemed to have been the product of reading several, conflicting, self-help books.
I looked over to Allison.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"I thought he made that clear," Allison said, giving me a sideways glance.
"Oh, it's just, I dunno, seems like maybe you could clarify."
"He's not typically on our shift, I don't see how knowing more about him will help you with your duties."
My shoulders fell. Allison looked me over and rolled her eyes in pity.
"That's Chester Arthur," She said.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously." She replied "Heir to the Arthur Refrigerated services company, his mother cut him off from his allowance until he got a job. He decided to get a job at the store, primarily I believe, to demonstrate that anyone can work their way up to management in a short time if they have the right attitude. He's been vlogging about it since he got hired."
"And can you?" I asked.
"Sure, if you mother a local millionaire, and you have an audience of thousands who want to believe the best about the company you work for, management will gladly promote you above more experience associated to further that narrative."
"More experienced associates, like you?" I asked.
"Again, Patterson," She looked over to me, "I'm not a ladder climber."
I nodded and we continued walking through the mazelike layout of the store, passing seamlessly from a faux market stall selling prepackaged smoked sausages, each with its own stamped inventory control tag, to a long line of firearms separated from the general public by a small glass countertop and a taciturn looking man in a vest and shade hat, inappropriate both for the time of day (early night), weather (rainy and overcast) and setting (inside a warehouse).
Once I felt I had a lay of the place and a map that Allison had handed me at the end of the tour, Paul materialized from an aisle.
"Allison." He nodded before turning to me "I see your orientation is complete, I have a quick job for you, we don't close until 11 but we need to start work on the refrigerators sooner rather than later so we can open in the morning."
I nodded but didn't quite grasp the meaning. Allison had come to recognize my deer-in-the-headlights expression and elaborated.
"He needs you to stand at the door and look unwelcoming to potential shoppers."
"Oh," I said, "Can't we just turn off the open sign and close the door early."
Paul looked physically uncomfortable and looked to Allison to say what it seemed he couldn't.
"Walton's World hours are set by the corporate office. The doors open at five am, they close at 11 pm, no sooner, no later."
"Yes," Paul said, "Word to wise, be sure you're not too close to the threshold when closing time comes, usually there's a chime and a sensor to keep them from closing on you, but, accidents happen."
"At a rate of three per month nationally and two per year at this location," Allison added.
"Indeed." Paul said, "Anyway, just stand inside and shoo people away until the doors close, then head to the northeastern tower, Allison you showed him the towers, yes?"
Allison nodded nearly imperceptibly.
"You'll find me there, and we'll find you another job." He adjusted his tie, clicked his heels together, and returned to his rehearsed monotone.
"Welcome to the Walton's World family."
With that, he turned and hurried off.
"Why do companies always insist on calling their employees family members?" I asked, trying to get Allison to warm up.
"To soften the blow of spending every holiday here, and because the company writes you off as a dependent on their taxes."
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