Special Edition: Jonathan’s Song

I returned to work the 21st of June at the Franklin Wal-Mart.  Tensions were high, but after an exhaustive battle with our HR department and some tireless defense, I have been fully reinstated.  It’s been quite a month!

Before we get back to the stories of the week, let’s get on with it and address the elephant in the room.  As many of you may have heard (see Wal-Mart Greeter Suspended Indefinitely), I’ve been on a little “vacation” these past couple of weeks.  You may have heard rumors that I’d disappeared, that I’d been fired, that I’d lost my mind in Boykins and was walking around my yard buck nekkid, and most blasphemous of all, that Wal-Mart was now carrying 2-inch worms.  Well, I stand before you today, and tell you that none of that is true.  Well, except for the Boykins thing, that happened.  I’m quite certain that between the drive-bys and drug deals, me enjoying the summer breeze at my leisure isn’t really hurting anyone.

I spent the first couple of days of my “vacation” trying to figure out how this happened.  I went from anger, to being upset, to just enjoying a couple days off.  After about 30 hours worth of watching Forensic Files trying to find a sound defense, I set out to clear my name. 

I knew the charges against me were bogus, but I knew walking into the store just yelling I’m innocent and telling the new girl where to shove it probably wasn’t my best option.  I had to be smart.

The first step was figuring out everything that happened during, let’s call it “Wormgate,” since anything controversial that ever happens always ends in “–gate” for some reason.  As with any story, there is always two sides, and this is mine.

Our sporting goods department has seen heavy traffic in the artificial lures section since March.  This means all the Culprit 7.5” worms sell out daily, and are in constant need of restock.  On the day in question, I was in fact on the fishing aisle, putting up a shipment of Red Shad lures. 

About that time, the New Girl comes onto the aisle, swaying a little bit, and singing along to Conway Twitty’s “Slow Hand” that was playing over the PA system.  Her breath reeked of what I thought to be Boone’s Farm Melon Ball, but I didn’t say anything.  Nothing wrong with a cocktail or two on your break I wouldn’t think.  So I continue to put up worms, when she slurringly asked me, “What kinda action you get with that worm of yours?”  I responded, “Oh, I get pretty steady bites with it,” and continued stocking.  I thought she meant did I get many bites using those worms, because I fish on my off days.

Not satisfied with my answer, she pressed onward, asking, “How ‘bout that rod of yours, bet that’s a beauty?”  I started to get a little suspicious, but just stated, “Yeah, it’s a little thicker than most that size, but it really helps me with the bigger ones.”  Intrigued, she went in for the kill and demanded I show her my “tackle box.”  I backed away, confused, and muttered, “Uh, it’s at my house, I can bring it tomorrow if you want.”  Unbeknownst to me, my shorts had become hung on one of the racks.  With her pressing me, I panicked and abruptly turned around.  In doing so, the rack ripped my shorts down to my ankles.  Often the probing question to men is always “boxers or briefs”… well, let’s just say there should be a third option, because as my shorts were ripped down, all that stood between her gaze and my package was air molecules.

Admittedly, it was not an impressive performance.  The AC was going full blast that day, and it had to be like 50 degrees in there.   She recoiled in horror, and immediately went to the manager’s office and reported me for sexual harassment.  I tried to defend myself, but it looked pretty damning on the surveillance footage.  There was no sound, and it appeared as if two employees were having a normal conversation when suddenly, I just begin turning in a circle, almost like I was presenting myself to her as if to say, “Voila! Look at this, big girl!”  The outcome wasn’t looking good for me.

My manager told me he wasn’t prepared to terminate me, based off of years of good service, but he had no choice but to suspend me.  He would do all he could with an investigation, and maybe he could swing a deal to save my job if I agreed to sit through sexual harassment training.  I had to act fast, or I’d be joining the unemployment line.

Part II

Since I had been forbidden to go on the work premises because of my pending “sex-offender” status,  I had to go incognito.  I came up with a fake name of Jeff, grew a mustache, got one gnarly blond wig, got some nice “wife beaters,” and constructed a fat suit.  I practiced changing my voice, and settled on a Southern version of Fat Albert.  By the time my getup was complete, I looked nothing like Jonathan: Wal-Mart greeter/accused pervert.  I would use my disguise to incriminate the new girl, get her to admit I’d done nothing wrong, and get her fired.    

I was ready. 

I walked in Wal-Mart the next day and applied for a stocking position with my new alias.  I was hired on the spot, as I passed Wal-Mart’s stringent requirements of being able to breathe and being openly dismissive of customers.  Phase I had gone off without a hitch, I was in!

Because I was a “new” employee, I had to endure all the training videos again.  Ironically enough, this included sexual harassment training.  In the video from 1988, a man in penny loafers and a Members Only jacket approached a perm-haired brunette with circus-like, I’m talking novelty big boobs.  Members Only proceeds to tell Perm-head that if she wants a promotion, she’ll need to start wearing more provocative clothing.  Then out of nowhere, Arsenio Hall comes out and tells you to respect your co-workers and that there is no room for harassment, followed by his “woo woo” noise and patented fist-shake.  So I signed my paper saying that I had witnessed that train-wreck and attested that I, Jeff, would never harass any perm-having, lavender pant-suit-wearing honeys in this workplace.

I was assigned to the women’s department.  This was quite a change for me.  Since I wasn’t too concerned about “Jeff’s” reputation, I kinda spent my time in the lingerie section fondling the bras, and using thongs to sling shot things at people whenever the New Girl wasn’t in the store.  You can imagine some of the appalled looks customers gave me. 

When I wasn’t getting to second base with the mannequins, I was hard at work on gathering evidence to prove my innocence.  During the first week, I was able to take a few breaks with the New Girl.  Since I already knew her, I could pretend we liked the same things, and pretend we had something in common.  She learned that “Jeff” was also an avid fan of the Boone’s Farm, so we would sneak swigs every chance we got.  I told her I’d never tell management about her on-the-clock drinking, and her secret was safe with me, sealing our bond.  After all, an inebriated New Girl would surely aid me in getting the audio recording that would put an end to my suspension…

Part III

Since I couldn’t just make up an ID for “Jeff,” I had no way to cash my work checks.  I had burned all my savings, and was forced to do the unthinkable. I began living in one of the prop tents in the sporting goods section.

Living in the Wal-Mart wasn’t all that bad.  I was able to use the restrooms to wash off, if I was hungry I lived in a supermarket, and I even had the fine company of a size 4 mannequin who wore leopard print panties.  I was living the Sam Walton dream!

I needed get the sting operation over-with quickly.  I had become closer with the New Girl, so I let her know of my living situation, and she seemed cool with it. So I asked her on a date.

She came over the next night and I spared no expense.  I made sure to put my mannequin back in the women’s department so she wouldn’t be threatened.  I blocked off the sporting goods section with yellow tape and wet floor signs so we wouldn’t be disturbed.  I grabbed a Coleman lantern off the shelf, giving the tent a romantic glow.  I made sure my tape recorder had a fresh tape, and I raided the grocery section for Vienna Sausage, Spam, and Ramen Noodles, along with enough Boone’s Farm to sedate a whale.

We quietly chatted as I kept her Burger King cup full of the best Boone’s Farm had to offer.  I could tell by her appetite for 7 of the 8 cans of Vienna Sausage that she was totally into it.  I then asked her flirtingly what she wanted to do next, and suggested a game of truth or dare.  She quickly said yes, and demanded to go first.  I went the safe route and chose Truth.  She asked me was I into her, to which I lamely lied and said sure, all the while the stench of her Vienna Sausage breath in my face making me nauseous.  Next she chose the dare.  I decided it’d be in my best interest to keep her drinking, so I dared her to drain an entire bottle of the Sangria flavor. 

I again chose Truth in the next round, which elicited a disappointed frown from her.  She then begrudgingly asked who was the hottest girl at Wal-Mart?  Holding back chunks of Ramen, I managed to blurt out, “You!” before I choked my vomit back down.

As luck would have it, she finally chose truth after 15 frustrating rounds of me revealing false  “truths.” I carefully said, “I heard a co-worker say some crazy employee flashed his junk in your face, and you had him fired or something, is that true?” She took the bait, laughing, “Oh yeah, I hear HR is gonna have to fire him soon! Pretty funny if you ask me!  I’m out there smashed at work, coming on to him, and he gets in trouble!  I couldn’t stand the fact he didn’t want some of this…. I mean look at me!  So when his pants got ripped off accidentally, I ran away and told my supervisor he whipped his junk out in my face.” 

I had what I needed, but I decided to keep getting her lit, and keep it going.  After she finally passed out, I went for the win.  I left all the Vienna Sausage cans and Boones bottles scattered inside the tent.  I quickly left the tent, and made sure to zip it up behind me.

I then told my shift supervisor that I thought a customer was squatting in a tent in the sporting goods section.  After that, I went to the break room and quickly wrote a resignation letter, quitting as “Jeff.”  I put it on the manager’s desk where he would see it first thing, along with the tape exonerating me of harassment, and with that made my getaway. 

I knew my name would be cleared in the morning, and the process was so draining, I went and slept in my car in the Arby’s parking lot, since I was still homeless.  After I slept for a couple of hours, I heard ambulance sirens heading towards the Wal-Mart entrance.  

This is nothing unusual, but I wasn’t sure what was going on.  I found out the next day in The Foulwater News.  In the article, Trooper Johnson, who was at the scene, said it all:

Now I know what you’re thinking.  I’m just as guilty as she is by challenging her to Boone’s Farm after Boone’s Farm. Well, she drank like a water buffalo every night after work, and some days during work.  It’s unfortunate, and I’ve learned a lesson; but I’m sure there will be a New New Girl any day now, so it’s not a total loss.

My apologies for the the 3,000 words you had to read to get to this point.  It wasn’t my intention for it to come to this.  But, I’ll be back to my job and regular Wal-Mart Greeter report in no time, and it will soon be a thing of the past.