Albert

Albert

I guess I’m the first person here today. I half expected that, I like to get to work early anyways. It gives time to be alone before the 8 hour barrage of non-stop questions where I’m expected to have the perfect answers. I awkwardly bend over to unlock the metal security gate, then I swing open the glass door. I glance carelessly towards the cars parked in front of our store, I can see the outlines of people scrolling their phones while their cars idle. Apparently some customers have trouble reading the massive sign that displays our store hours.

I walk in and deeply inhale the retail smell. It’s a mix of plastic, dust, and probably mold because the store is filthy. I lock the door behind me so no ignorant customers can accidentally walk in and expect to be helped when I’m the only person in the store. I set my water at the front desk and walk down the two-stair trip hazard and into the second section of the store. I navigate through the maze of disorganized racks of clothing to flick on the lights, they always take a few seconds to turn on. Half of the light bulbs in the store don’t work, but that’s really not my problem. Besides, nobody would notice if I fixed them, so why bother?

The very back of the store, the employees only section separated by brown curtains with mysterious stains, is a complete minefield. Shoes are stacked eight high and twenty across on nine rows of shelves. Excess inventory has turned our break room into a disheveled storage closet where we sit on a tiny foldout lawn chair and eat our lunch off of a stack of shoe boxes. The bathroom was converted similarly. The counter space has five stacks of Nike shoes and we have to lean over three stacks of Adidas shoes to wash our hands at the sink.

I worry about our new hire, a guy named Albert. He’s as sweet as they come, but he doesn’t serve much of a purpose at our store. He’s too old to learn how to use the computers or understand the different products. He mostly acts as one of those Walmart greeters, yelling “Hello Young Lady!” at any woman that walks through our doors. The tripping hazards in our store are what scare me the most. Some older customers have tripped over the clothing racks before, thankfully none of them have been hurt. I’ve stumbled over a couple of the boxes in the jungle that is the back of our store, but if Albert had to squeeze through some of the racks, he could easily fall.

I curse my situation as I walk towards the back room, preparing myself to dodge the clutter laid around. I flick my wrist to part the curtains and I’m greeted by the towering piles of shoeboxes and the smell of rotting garbage emanating from the breakroom. The area seems messier than when I closed last night, if that’s even possible. I grab my yellow card and slide it into the ancient time clock machine. I place my time card back onto the pile and shimmy out between the boxes of shoes, knocking a few over as I do so. I go to bend over and pick them up when I hear the metal security gate clang in its socket. Great, some annoying customer is trying to waste my time. I’ve learned to never let customers into the store when I’m alone. The ones that can’t read the sign out front are always the most difficult to deal with. They act as if the world revolves around them, like my sole purpose in their life is to answer their dumb questions and babysit their dogs or kids or whatever the hell they let run around the store. I step over the fallen boxes and put on my most sympathetic face as I walk to the front door, preparing to inform them that our store isn’t open yet, but I’m surprised to see Albert standing outside.

“Morning, Albert,” I call out through the glass door door. I pull the glass door towards me and twist the rusty lock of the gate.

“Good Morning, Youngster!” Albert yells in my face. Albert’s hearing must be fading with this age because he speaks much louder than he needs to. “ ’sit alright if I clock in?” He asks?

“Be my guest,” I reply.

As Albert passes me and I start to shut the gate being him, a customer gets out of their car and starts walking towards me.

“Sorry Sir! We don’t open for another twenty minutes, you’ll have to wait a little bit longer.”

“I just need to buy a few things, I’ll be quick.”

My patience is growing thinner and thinner, it’s too early for this.

I speak deadpan and stare him straight in the eyes, “I can’t make an exception for you, my coworkers aren’t here, and our computers aren’t turned on yet, I couldn’t even check you out.”

It’s technically true, although it only takes a few seconds to get the terminals turned on. I’m just not ready to deal with someone yet. Plus, letting one person in opens the floodgates for everyone else, and I’m definitely not ready for that. The customer scoffs at me and goes back to their car. Thank god.

I close the gate and everything is silent besides the gentle hum of the fluorescent lights above me when the quiet is shattered by a dull thud, like a heavy book was dropped on the floor. Then comes a thunderous roar as if lightning had struck right in front of me. It continues like I was standing underneath Niagara falls. Through the curtains I see shoe boxes crashing to the floor one after another. Rows are being emptied one after another cascading onto the floor. I froze in place, listening and watching as the chaos unfolded. The shelves rocked and rattled as they come crashing down. The sound of cardboard being crushed and shoes rolling around the ground are mixed with Albert’s exasperated grunting and moaning. The roar turned into a trickle, and then finally stopped.

When I brush past the curtains and into the back, the room is in chaos. Boxes and shoes are strewn all over the place. Some of the metal shelves not bolted to the ground lean against others, teetering dangerously and threatening to collapse.

I begin to assess the damage, trying to figure out what could have caused such a mess. I move further into the room and I see Albert, lying on the ground surrounded by boxes and clutching his chest in pain.

“Holy shit Albert, are you okay?” I beg.

I immediately rush over to Albert, I grab his wrist and try to check his pulse, but my own heart’s beating so fast I’m not sure if I can feel anything. His breathing is shallow and the color’s sucked out of his face. Something’s terribly wrong.

I dig my phone out of my pocket and call 911. I try to explain the situation as best as I can, but I’m not exactly sure what I’m saying. My eyesight is blurry and I’m in a daze. The operator tells me not to do anything, and just to keep Albert comfortable and say if anything changes.

The ambulance finally arrives, I’m not sure how long I’ve been waiting, but I rush to the front and let the paramedics in. I watch anxiously as they load Albert onto a rolling stretcher and rush him out of the store.

I’m left staring out the front window, completely numb from what happened. I consider the shoe boxes that I left on the ground when I let Albert into the store. I’m sick to my stomach when I wonder if this accident was my fault. I was careless, burned out from a terrible job in a trashy store, but I didn’t pick up after myself. The mess I left on the ground is no different from other areas of the store, and I’m not the one who ordered more inventory than our store can hold. My mind is racing, imagining what’s happening to Albert. I barely said a word to the paramedics, I never even asked them if he’s going to be okay.

A few of my coworkers start to come inside after witnessing the commotion, I’m about to talk to them when the phone rings. I answer it and start my day.