“Tales of a Scorched Coffee Pot” — Chapter 45

The eighth column on the new items spreadsheet is a simple flag field, which everyone else is instructed to ignore, because it is meaningless to them. Here he enters a 1 if something is to be weighed at the register, which trips this function in the Orchestra system. Otherwise, it is left blank.

The ninth column is dedicated to a vendor’s item/catalog number, otherwise known as the SKU, which has no meaning beyond that particular vendor. In fact, most local and small-time vendors have no SKU number on their invoices, or price lists, or anywhere else, meaning he will often just assign the flavor or a sequential number to this field. The tenth column is where the vendor name is entered, which also displays such on the shelf tags, along with the SKU numbers, and there are plenty of companies who prefer that they cite the SKU when ordering. To Edgar, this kind of feels like overkill, a holdover from the pre-UPC era (even though these are fifty years old, true) and having two numbers for the same item, when one would suffice. But maybe it serves some valid purpose for these companies, who knows.

Regarding this company, he does receive the occasional email like the one Zaire just sent him, complaining about the vendor name he has listed on the tags: could you please not list Apex as the preferred supplier on any of our tags?! This is very confusing to my employees. We do NOT order from that company at this store!!!

Which is quite touching and all, but a totally irrelevant message. Apex is considered one of their five major vendors, yet even if it weren’t, if it were any of the approved vendors whatsoever, then this would indicate Edgar’s doing exactly as he should. Unless some weird distribution angle applies — which is only the case with a tiny handful of local companies who might not wish to ship, say, clear up to Walnut, or charge an exorbitant amount when doing so — then the stores are supposed be ordering from whoever is the cheapest on an item, end of story.

Folks working with random weight product (meats, produce, bulk) have a favorite go-to excuse in that they can always play a “quality” card, as the reason why they ordered product X from company Y, instead of the preferred vendor. But if these are for the most part sheer nonsense — if the merchandiser approved the supplier, then it’s a legitimate supplier — then it is also something that can never be definitively disproven, either.

However, when it comes to packaged items, these are provably identical products. If the packaging weren’t enough to verify such, this is the whole point behind the UPC. And actually, this applies to even certain produce items, bulk items as well — like he keeps shooting Sam these emails because ordering the 5lb spices directly from Mountain Spice Co. is, odd as it may seem, more expensive than sourcing an identical 5lb bag of Mountain Spice product from Universal Foods instead. Universal Foods carries such clout and orders at such volume that they get a major discount, some of which is passed on down the chain. And this is provable because the UPC is the same on the bags, in the respective price lists. Even so, it’s the other side of a similar, nonsensical or besides-the-point response: that they “don’t use” a certain company, or “always use” another. It’s like, that’s great and all, but I don’t really care. I’m passing along the information, do with it what you will. My job is to list the preferred supplier. As the current request arrives from Zaire, however, he realizes he’s going to have to respond with the proverbial kid gloves, carefully crafting his response.

Zaire: I understand your request, but Apex is an approved vendor and happens to be the cheapest on this product line. And actually even if we wanted to, the Orchestra system does not permit us to select different primary vendors for each different store. Wherever you order from is ultimately up to you, of course. But the reason we list a preferred vendor on every shelf tag is so that you, your employees, Dale, the store managers, and even Duane Hatley can see at a glance who the best supplier is for each product, which is the same at every store.

Even though this feels like a reasonable, measured response, he knows it is dripping with sarcasm, but what else can be said? At this point he doesn’t exactly feel like cracking jokes with Zaire Patterson, and furthermore, she already knows everything he’s saying here. But prefers to complain about it anyway, and is surely sharing in communal bitch sessions with her staff about it, too, for whatever reason they have concocted to justify why they do NOT order from Apex.

If she has some gripe about Apex as a company, then the person to take that up with would be Dale, if Zaire wishes to have them removed entirely. Either way, Edgar is just doing his job. And it soon emerges he has support on that front the next time he arrives in Palmyra, and encounters Corey in the office.

“That was a very well written email,” he says, nodding and chuckling.

“What, the one to Zaire?”

“Yeah. I like it. That was right on point.”

Yet, if there’s anything you learn in this business, it’s that you never want to high five over any victories. Whether buying into the whole notion of karma or not, something always seems to arrive immediately on the heels of such cheering to immediately make you reconsider. Remind you to keep your nose down and continue grinding away, voice as little commentary as possible. Because shortly after this minor flap, though possibly just a coincidence, the vitamins manager position becomes available at Southside. And Zaire, believing her talents are not quite fully appreciated at Palmyra, requests a transfer to take this post at Southside, and is awarded it.

So he will likely be seeing her 3–4 days a week now. But one is not going to get along with all of one’s coworkers, regardless. Sometimes there is almost a universal consensus — as with the spaced out BBQ hippie, who blessedly quit not too long ago, or the dickhead Russian wine guy — but just as often, or even far more commonly, these personality clashes are unique to the pair of opponents squaring off against one another.

Like for example Valerie’s telling Edgar that the dairy guy, Mike Sewell, will not stop hitting on her. But he’s such an awkward little dork, in her telling, that she doesn’t consider him offensive or harassing, rather just a nuisance. Understandably, the rest of the guys working here, and apparently the majority of the ladies as well, are not encountering this particular problem. In fact, while clearly someone you kind of want to breeze past and avoid interacting with for extended periods of time — mostly because he will attempt wrapping the listener up in a long-winded monologue about the finer points of some nerdy rock band — Edgar thinks that Sewell here can occasionally contribute a fairly amusing wisecrack.

You never really know if this material is original, of course. Half the time he suspects that the funny lines heard during the typical workday are stolen from sitcoms, or comedy specials, or maybe a movie he hasn’t seen. Which means that it’s always better to hear jokes that are specific to the situation. Like the time Edgar’s down in the frozen section with this clipboard, trying to find some items on an invoice, and Say Say Say by Paul McCartney is playing on the Muzak.

“I blame this song for 9/11,” Sewell says, from a couple doors over.

This startles Edgar into a crooked laugh, as he questions, “wha-ha-hat?”

“Oh yeah. Because it’s hard to imagine what else could possibly make someone want to fly a plane into the side of a building.”

Even there, though, it’s true that this could have been lifted from another comedian’s material, adapted to the current tune. Although one reason he believes this might be an original wisecrack is that Sewell is known to openly attribute his sources, like the week he goes around constantly quoting and repeating some punchline he read in Dilbert, about the “seventh circle of heck,” this being an eternity of listening to your coworkers’ jokes. Which has Edgar thinking, after he overhears and is also told this kneeslapper in person countless times, that this might be the least self-aware comedy routine he’s ever heard. He feels like telling Sewell, okay, dude, slow down a second. What do you think this is?

Whatever the case,better still are industry specific jokes. Now that the latest inventory has arrived, they’re headlong into the expected panicked scramble, which in Edgar’s case means he’s roped into helping Southside locate and print off as many missing tags as possible. If the maroon shirted LVIS squad doesn’t have a price, they’ll either make something up or skip it entirely — and it’s already hotly debated how accurate this count could possibly be, anyway, with dozens of fresh faces every month, flying through the aisles with their strange looking number crunching machines.

“Those things sound like leaf eating gypsy moths,” Sewell tells him, nodding at the nearest LVIS cluster, as Edgar’s travels have taken him near the dairy section.

To which Edgar surprises even himself with a ready witticism. “They’re eating our profits,” he replies, “that’s the sound of our profits disappearing.”

Still, it’s possible that nothing is funnier than a workplace comment made with complete seriousness, which either hits the nail on the head, or misses the mark entirely — these two extremes, but nothing in between. As it is now inventory time, they’ve gotten yet another mammoth honey delivery, pallet after pallet clogging up Southside’s back aisle. The other three stores, to varying degrees, have received the same, and as Edgar returns upstairs, a number of key figures are whispering about what this all means. Everyone recognizes that Duane is the architect behind this shipment, regardless of the theory embraced.

“He’s got a real thing for honey!” Arnie says, purely earnest. And when everyone in the room busts out laughing, adds, “I’ve noticed this before! I’m serious!”