The other day, I came to work and found my boss trying desperately to wrap up a busy day. She said to me that there needed to be more of her. That made me wonder what I would do with more of me to work at the Mini Mart.
Dave #2 would definitely be the lunch meat specialist. Dave #3 would stock pop the whole night. That would leave me with the register. This team would be ideal.
A person enters the Mini Mart where they choose to buy ten bottles of Mr. Pibb because they are buy one, get one free. Normally, I would be frustrated. Not any more. “Dave #3,” I’d yell, “help this gentlemen carry his pop and restock when you’re done. I want that cooler completely full all night.”
“Right away, Master Dave.”
The man wouldn’t be satisfied, though. He would realize that he needs three pounds of summer sausage and four pounds of colby jack sliced. Instead of my usual sub-breath curses, I would simply say, “Dave #2- three LB’s SS and four o’ the cojack.”
Dave #2 would wink and throw a thumb’s up in the air with his bandaged, four-fingered hand. I would know that the order was as good as done.
I would take the money, put it in the till and the three of us would meet in the center for a leaping, group high-five.
It would go on like this until the end of the evening. There would be no need to stay late, because everything could easily be finished early by the three of us.
But then, Dave #3 would say something like, “Hey, we did a great job tonight.”
“Yeah,” Dave #2 would chime in, “why don’t we lock up and go grab a couple of beers.”
“Well,” I would say, frowning, “the thing is this: the three of us only make a combined $7.50 an hour because we’re technically the same person.” Then I would ask Dave #2 and Dave #3 to go and check to see if I left the light on in the milk cooler. When they were out of sight, I would lock the door and then go to the bar for a beer.
It would be sweet.
Dave #2 would definitely be the lunch meat specialist. Dave #3 would stock pop the whole night. That would leave me with the register. This team would be ideal.
A person enters the Mini Mart where they choose to buy ten bottles of Mr. Pibb because they are buy one, get one free. Normally, I would be frustrated. Not any more. “Dave #3,” I’d yell, “help this gentlemen carry his pop and restock when you’re done. I want that cooler completely full all night.”
“Right away, Master Dave.”
The man wouldn’t be satisfied, though. He would realize that he needs three pounds of summer sausage and four pounds of colby jack sliced. Instead of my usual sub-breath curses, I would simply say, “Dave #2- three LB’s SS and four o’ the cojack.”
Dave #2 would wink and throw a thumb’s up in the air with his bandaged, four-fingered hand. I would know that the order was as good as done.
I would take the money, put it in the till and the three of us would meet in the center for a leaping, group high-five.
It would go on like this until the end of the evening. There would be no need to stay late, because everything could easily be finished early by the three of us.
But then, Dave #3 would say something like, “Hey, we did a great job tonight.”
“Yeah,” Dave #2 would chime in, “why don’t we lock up and go grab a couple of beers.”
“Well,” I would say, frowning, “the thing is this: the three of us only make a combined $7.50 an hour because we’re technically the same person.” Then I would ask Dave #2 and Dave #3 to go and check to see if I left the light on in the milk cooler. When they were out of sight, I would lock the door and then go to the bar for a beer.
It would be sweet.
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