The Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 6): The Rack
Ξ September 10th, 2007 | → | ∇ Stories |
The first thing we did was call my parents. They were shocked, of course, and urged us to come home. My dad said he could be on a plane that night and we could drive a U-Haul back up to Oregon the next day. Jeff called Pastor Mark, who was furious. He, like us, felt lied to. He echoed my parents’ sentiments and urged us, “Come home. You can have your job back—we want you here. We want you here.” But we both had the same thought hovering in our minds, Aaron and Candi. They’d given up everything to come down here, without jobs or home, to support and love us. How could we leave them? There was only one answer. We couldn’t.After going back to our apartment, we called them. They came over immediately. We shared with them what had happened, and how we felt. They didn’t say anything, but I could tell it shook them as well. All of our dreams for ministering to college students and starting a new work, gone. But, there was nothing to do, nothing to say to remedy the situation. We had no choice.
“Well, you want to come work at the Rack with me?” Candi smiled at me and shrugged her shoulders. “It’d be fun to work together!” I had to smile. Of course I could work. So, I agreed that I’d stop in on Sunday afternoon, while Candi was working, to apply.
Church on Sunday was a blur. We introduced ourselves to people, trying to branch out and make friends, awkwardly explaining that we just moved here and that we lived at the church, strangely enough, and had no jobs. People must have thought we were crazy. Sunday afternoon, Jeff drove me to the Nordstrom Rack, then went across the street to hang out with Aaron. I found Candi and she had me wait while she found the Women’s Department Manager. Soon a large, extremely tall and intimidating looking woman came out, dressed in astonishingly high heels. I caught myself marveling that her impressive girth could be supported by the skinny, pointy heels. She had short, spiky, two-tone hair, the top a golden bronze and the underneath portion a chestnut brown. Her eyes were heavily lined, and her cheeks and lips were full. She walked with a slight swagger, and she made Candi look strangely dwarfed as they walked out of the swinging double doors.
“Kari?”
“Yes,” I smiled and shook her outstretched hand.
“Lynn, Manager of the Women’s Department. Nice to meet you. I hear you’re interested in a job.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Follow me.” And so I did. She led me through the double doors into a back hallway lined with offices. She found an empty one, followed me inside, and walked behind the desk. After she sat, I sat, having spent hours the night before reading interview tips online. I was dressed as I should, professional and understated, and was silently rehearsing what I’d read, things like never to say “Honestly, . . .” because that communicated that you usually weren’t honest. So much to remember. Well, it really was ridiculous to have been prepared for this interview, because she looked over my resume—my honor’s degree, my Magna Cum Laude honors, my years of overseeing ministries—in about 15 seconds and said, “The pay is $9.75/hour. We have a 7am-3pm shift five days a week. Do you want the job?”
“Um. Sure.”
And so I had a job. A little thrown by this extremely anticlimactic end to the job search, I walked back across the street, announced that Monday would be my first day of work, and sat down with a magazine while I waited for Jeff and Aaron to finish their video game.
Monday morning began what would be the darkest season of Jeff’s soul up to that point. I was up at 5:15am, actually excited for a new adventure, feeling my way through pitch black apartment, and getting myself ready for my first day of work. I was a little limited in the clothing department, because working with college students meant being able to wear a t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops every single day. Now I needed dress pants, heels with closed-toes, and a cute shirt. As Candi put it, working at Nordstrom meant that every day had to be a cute day – no hooded sweatshirt and jeans days. By 6:15am I’d showered, dressed, eaten breakfast and read my Bible, then Jeff joined me to pray together before I emerge at 6:30am from the stale apartment air into the cool of the morning. It instantly woke me up. I arrived at the Rack while it was still dark, and walked up to the front of the store, which is locked, of course, since they didn’t open until 10am. After waiting several minutes I noticed a second, obscure door, where several people, presumably employees, had arrived, punched a code into the pad on the wall, and entered. I went to that door and knock. No answer. I knocked again. No answer. Figuring another employee would arrive soon, I waited. And waited and waited and waited. It was now 7:10am and I was panicking because I was late for my first day of work but no one was there to let me in the door. Finally, through the narrow window I saw a woman walking down the hall toward me and I banged again on the door until she finally took notice and pushed it open.
“Can I help you?” She doesn’t sound as if she really wants to.
“I’m Kari Patterson. This is my first day of work.”
“Oh. Ok. Come on in.” She let me in and I entered the hallways where I had been the previous day for my interview.
“Is Lynn here?”
“I dunno. You can look in her office.” She pointed me toward an office door that is dark and, I found out as soon as I tried the door, locked. By this point the woman had left and I was alone. Literally alone, I could see no other people in any office and the entire hallway was silent. What should I do? I was supposed to be working but there was no one there to tell me what to do. I finally pushed through the double doors that led to the back of the store, lined with racks holding clothes. Several workers in dark blue t-shirts were sorting through clothes, but when I tried to explain what I needed they looked confused and shrugged their shoulders. Finally, at almost 7:30am, a woman came through the double doors from the main part of the store, pulling an empty clothes rack behind her, shuffling her feet and staring at the floor as she walked as if she were asleep.
“Hi, I’m looking for Lynn.” She looked at me as if she didn’t understand. “Lynn. I’m looking for Lynn. Today is my first day of work.”
“Ah. Ok. You come me.” Her English was very broken, but she held up a hand to show I’d said enough and summoned me to follow her. I raised my eyebrows in surprise and she pointed to another empty cart. I went and grabbed it and followed her to a giant rack that ran from one end of the warehouse-like room to the other. She grabbed an enormous armload of clothes, lifting them off the rack in such a way that none of the hangers fell down, and placed the entire chunk on her own rack, without dropping one. She pointed to another chunk of clothes and I tried to do the same, but ended up dropping half of them from the middle onto the floor. She helped me pick them up, hang them on my cart, and I followed her out into the main part of the store.
“So, what is your name?” I figured I’d get to know my trainer.
“Kobra.” Cobra? Your name is Cobra? Like the venomous snake?!
“Oh. Well it’s nice to meet you, Cobra. Thank you for training me.” She nodded in acknowledgment and we walked in silence to the middle of the store. She motioned with her hand to a large, general vicinity.
“You pad-tree.” I stared at her in incomprehension. I’m pad-tree. “All dis,” she motioned to the monstrous piles of crumpled clothes piled on top of each round clothing rack, “you clean.” She gesticulated wildly to show that it should all be gone. Then she went to a rack and fingered the hung clothes. “Sort.” I nodded. “Size.” I nodded again. She walked to a X-shaped rack that hung clothes so they were displayed. “Color.” She put a purple sweater next to another purple sweater and I nodded again. She nodded deeply and turned, shuffling away as she’d done before, pulling her cart behind her, staring at the floor. I took a deep breath and turned toward the enormous task ahead. The racks were a disaster and by now it was almost 8 and I had two hours before the store opened. I began, piece by crumpled piece, to pull each article of clothing off the top and re-hang them, one by one.
At 9:15 my feet hurt so bad I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through the day. I headed through the double doors to use the restroom, and came face to face with Lynn.
“Hi!” I greeted her, ready to be the enthusiastic employee.
“Hi. Did Kobra show you what to do? You’re going to be on pad three.” Pad three. That’s what Kobra had said.
Eventually I figured out what Pad Three meant, and even began calling the main part of the store the “floor” and the back part where the employees were that “back.” I didn’t know what to do when I heard, “Kari Patterson, 1782, please,” so I just kept working, until finally Lynn came out and found me and showed me how to dial the correct extension on the various phones stationed around the floor. At one point a woman asked me if we had any plus-sized Tommy Bahama, and I stared at her, completely clueless, then fled to find Kobra to ask her who Tommy Bahama was. I soon realized that at least manning pad three would keep me from being tempted to shop while I worked—my pad contained all the plus-sized and petite fashions. I am far from both. Being the queen of pad three also meant rubbing shoulders (well, their shoulders, my elbows) with tiny Asian women who talked so fast and were always shopping off my rack, as if I’d secretly put all the good clothes there, and meant that I had the daunting task of trying to make size 3x camisole tops with built in shelf-bras actually look appealing on a manikin.
By the end of the day I was exhausted, but reasonably happy. I’d met another girl, Hasna, who also did not speak much English and had dyed red hair and darkly outlined lips, who apparently decided that she liked me and stopped by my pad to chat and see how I was doing whenever she made a trip to the back. As I clocked out, my blisters were crippling and I focused on each painful step, anticipating the glorious moment when I could collapse onto the couch at home and put my feet in the air. I had no idea how I could do this again tomorrow. Back at the church, I carried my shoes and walked up the concrete stairs barefoot. The hallway was still piled with trash and boxes, and as I opened the door to our apartment, I mustered up the energy to sing, “Honey, I’m home!”
Hearing no response, I walked slowly down the hall, peering in each of the rooms. Jeff sat at the dining room table in front of his laptop, and his head resting, face down, in his folded arms. The laptop had gone to the screensaver. He lifted his head and looked at me. He’d been crying. His face was dark with stubble and his hair was still pushed up on one side, the way it was this morning when he woke up. He still wore his green Puma sweats and grey t-shirt that he’d had on when I left, and his cereal bowl, with a small puddle of milk in the bottom, still sat on the counter next to him.
“What’s wrong?” I walked to him and pulled his arms up and around me, sitting on his lap and pulling his head to rest on my chest. He was silent for several moments.
“How was your day?” He responded with effort.
“Fine. My feet are killing me. But, what’s wrong?”
He took a deep breath and looked up at me. “Am I a failure?” I drew back to look him in the eye.
“A failure?! Why on earth do you ask that?”
“I’ve been sitting here all day, in this pit of an apartment, looking for a job online, with no car to go out and try to track down something, while my wife is out providing for me. I’ve applied to forty different Civil Engineering firms. What do I do now? It was my stupid idea to come down here. I made you leave your family, your home, and everything you love, and it’s been a total disaster. I’ve failed you, Sauce. I’ve failed everyone. I’m worthless and I can’t even get a stupid job.”
I leaned forward, resting my forehead on his.
“I love you. You are my hero. You didn’t make me come here; I came here because I chose to. I would follow you to the ends of the earth because I love you. You’ll get a job. We just have to be patient. I love you, Jeff.”
“I love you, Sauce.” I got up and took both of his hands in mine, pulling him out of the chair. I led him into the living room, where I laid down on the sofa, resting my head on the pillow.
“Now,” I smiled up at him and winked, “rub my feet.” He cracked a smile, knelt beside the couch, and set to work.
The following Sunday, Jeff still had no calls on a job. We’d even spent my day off driving around to different firms, dropping off resumes in person. He’d been thrilled to find out that Granite Construction had an office there. Jeff had worked for Granite in Nevada for six months during his Civil Engineering internship during college. He knew he could get a great recommendation from his old boss, so we figured an in-person visit to their office would be a good move. After an hour of tracking down non-existant addresses, we discovered that the information we’d received online was faulty, and that the Granite project had been concluded and the offices moved to Southern Cal.
After an entire week alone, stranded in the apartment, feeling useless and worthless, Jeff’s patience was wearing thin. As we arrived at church that Sunday, we were approached by a large, pale man, with unusually light blue eyes that darted back and forth as if he were expecting to be mugged or arrested at any moment. He loomed over us, his size intimidating, his enormous hands dwarfing ours as we shook.
“Jeff and Kari Patterson?” We looked at each other, unsure of whether to admit our identity. We nodded slowly. “I’m Jack Brush. Kathy, the church administrator, is my wife. I think you’ve met her.”
“Oh, of course. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Hey, Kathy mentioned that you guys were looking for jobs. I have a lot of great contacts and Kathy could help you guys work on your resumes, you know, look over them and help you polish them up. It’s a shark tank out there, you know.” We looked at each other, a little surprised by his offer, but grateful for any lead.
“Sure! That’d be great. Actually, we already have our resumes all done. We worked on them last week. Kari actually has a job at Nordstrom Rack, but she’d be up for doing something a little more up her alley, so it’d be great to have both of our resumes up to snuff. How about if I run up to our apartment real quick and grab them and you can take them home and have a look?” Jack said that’d be great, and Jeff headed out, against the current of people flooding in the front doors. I thanked Jack again and excused myself to go find Aaron and Candi. He apparently didn’t hear me, and seemed to have forgotten that I was standing there, so I acted like I saw someone I knew and headed off toward the sanctuary.
After church Jack once again found Jeff, saying he had an idea if Jeff was really desperate for work. He explained that he was of the managing supervisors at BioTech, a corporation which, according to Jack, “develops, manufactures, sells, and services chromatography and extraction systems used to separate, isolate, and identify the components of chemical mixtures.” This sounded like a real life horror to me, but he explained that they had temp jobs available, and if Jeff was interested, he’d be welcome to have one, at least to get us by before he found a job in his field. Jeff was thrilled because no matter what the work was, at least it would keep him from having to sit in the apartment all day.
“Great. Be there tomorrow morning at 6am. And say, why don’t you and Kari come over for dinner tomorrow night and we can talk about your resumes in person? Kathy gets off work at 5, so just meet her at her office here and follow her over to our place. Sound like a deal?”
“Sounds great!”
That night, Jeff and I sat down to a dinner of leftovers and tried to figure out how the following day would work. We only had one car, and BioTech was across town to the West, in San Jose, and Nordstrom Rack was across town to the South in Campbell. We finally decided on our schedule. We’d get up at 4:30am, get ready, eat breakfast and be out the door by 5:30am in order to make it across town to Jeff’s job by 6am, then I would drive to the Rack and have 20 minutes to sit and read in the car before starting work at 7am. Then, when I got off at 3, I’d get to BioTech by 4 considering traffic, and then we’d head home together and probably make it home by 5. It would work. We laid out our work clothes, set two alarms just to be safe, and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
…
Read The Road to Santa Clara (Ch. 7): The Barium Vials »
