We are walking through a meadow, trails crisscrossing the prairie grass in the distance. 

“Let’s head to that overlook.” We walk toward the cliff until we find ourselves standing above flowing water, holding hands, basking in our love. I take a deep breath, enjoying the sunshine and blue sky. The warmth of the sun kisses our exposed skin. I feel secure and connected, like I’ve always wanted to be. 

“I love you, Joel,” I hear, and I turn my attention from the water.

I smile brightly and sigh. “You know I’ve waited so long to hear those words. I love you too, babe,” I say.

We stop walking, then hug and share a passionate kiss. A gentle breeze rolls over the grass. The contrasting temperature from the cool breeze and warm sun feels soothing.

“Joel, you know that we can’t keep doing this,” she continues. “We can’t keep seeing each other this way. You have to find someone you can spend time with,” she says, suddenly expressing concern.

“But I love you, and it feels like I’ve been looking for you forever. Can’t we spend the day here?” I ask.

Out of nowhere, there’s a loud crash, and I hear screaming. “What’s that ringing?” I yell over the noise, covering my ears. All of a sudden, the cliff begins to crack and break away.

“Babe!” I scream. Then I wake up.

Just another dream.

I let out a deep sigh. I’m waking up alone; my wife, Angela, has already left for work. My phone has fallen off the nightstand and is under the bed, ringing. As I reach for it, I catch a glimpse of the time.

“I gotta get the hell out of here!” I yell, jumping out of bed. I begin rushing to get ready for work. Angie and our relationship can wait right now. It’s six fifteen, and I should be at work already. My phone continues ringing, and I ignore the call, silencing the ringtone jamboree that is way too jarring so early in the day.

Anxious and tense, I frantically brush my teeth in the mirror. I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep, and it shows. 

“Why didn’t my alarm go off an hour ago?” I say in frustration, attempting to remember the previous evening. All I recall are flashbacks of tense conversation and tears; I must have forgotten to set my alarm. Running downstairs to throw a bagel into the toaster, I quickly run back upstairs to throw on my work uniform. 

“Damn it.” I realize I also didn’t do the laundry either, so I begin digging through the dirty laundry to find the shirt I meant to wash last night. 

“Come on, Joel Edmonds. You’ve been the manager of a Hank and Harry’s Hardware retail store for two months now. You should know better than to wake up late,” I mutter to myself as I dig. My phone begins to ring again.

Who keeps calling me? “I swear, these spammers are relentless,” I say as I dismiss the unfamiliar area code and phone number and turn the ringer to silent mode to help me concentrate. The phone continues to vibrate as I grab my bagel, rush out the door, and jump in my car. Getting to work is all I’m focused on. Rushing down Mills Civic Pkwy, I get onto I-35 South, toward Hwy 5. As I approach the city’s south side, my phone rings again, and I finally pick up.

“Hello?” I answer with annoyance.

“Joel Edmonds, this is Thomas with Heartland Security Services. We’re calling you because you’re listed as the primary contact at Hank and Harry’s Hardware on Veterans Memorial Parkway. We have been notified that your alarm has been going off for the last thirty-five minutes. There is a cruiser headed over there now,” the dispatcher continues.

“Crap, really?” I say, now realizing my mistake. It’s the security company I’ve been ignoring. It all began to make sense. They had been calling me and were the ones who jolted me awake. I must not have remembered to save their number in my phone.

Pulling into the strip mall parking lot, I see glass everywhere. Five of the seven stores in our corner of the parking lot have been vandalized. Driving around the glass on the ground, I park near the alley that leads to our employee parking behind the building. I immediately see the damage to the pet grooming shop across the alleyway. 

“Wow, they got hit too,” I say, looking at the barbershop and the dollar store. At least it’s not just my store in this strip mall. 

“Stores have been broken into before, but this appears to be some other inconsiderate asshole,” yells the angry owner of South Side Pet Groomers, pacing back and forth in the parking lot as he speaks with a police officer. 

I take a deep breath and get out of my car and begin to walk toward the front doors. The front doors are completely busted out, and there’s glass everywhere. I put my head in my hands and start massaging my temples. I turn and walk toward the police officer. 

“Pardon me, Lieutenant Freeman,” I say, reading his name tag, “I’m the manager of Hank and Harry’s Hardware. Do you know what happened?”

“Yeah.” The officer responds without looking up from the notebook he’s writing in. “Some juveniles, it looks like,” he says, finally finishing his notation. “Kids throwing rocks at windows for a laugh or something.”

“Wow.” 

“We’ll be over in just a minute to get your statement,” he continues. “We’ve done a perimeter check, and nothing seems out of place in the rear, but we haven’t been inside yet. It doesn’t look like they’re still here or that they even entered any of the buildings. We can do a sweep for you to make sure no one’s inside.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’d appreciate that,” I say. “I’m glad to know I’m not going to be the first to enter the store.” 

There’s always something going on over here, whether it’s a beverage truck backing into the building or people getting arrested by the police for stealing from the dollar store next door. Just when you think it can’t get any more ridiculous, it does.

After a few minutes, Lieutenant Freeman walks up with multiple officers, ready to enter the building. I go to unlock the door, quickly realizing that you can reach the lock with the glass now missing. Three officers head inside cautiously, ready to draw on anything that jumps out. Not the type of tension I’d expected to see before seven o’clock in the morning. At the same time, if the store is going to open late, it’s better for this reason than because I overslept. 

I walk over to the pet store, curious to see what I could of their damage. I’m immediately grateful that my storefront windows aren’t busted like theirs, and it’s just my front door that was damaged. Even with the police inside, I can’t say I’m excited to go in. I looked at the clock on my phone and see that it’s almost 7:00 a.m. exactly; already customers are starting to pull into the parking lot.

“What happened here?” I hear from behind me.

Turning around, I see my usual first customer of the day, Gil Roche, getting out of his busted-up contractors’ van. 

“I don’t know yet,” I call out. “I’m still trying to get inside and figure out what’s going on. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll put some coffee on. I can’t even start sweeping up the glass until the cops finish their sweep of the store.” I point at the broken glass. 

“All right. Hurry up!” Roche says in a raspy voice. “I got a big order I want to put in, so make it quick,” he says, chuckling, as if the chaos around him was no big deal. Even if the world was on fire and the sky was falling, he would still try to beat the heat and squeeze in another job. 

As I’m talking to Roche, Lieutenant Freeman exits the store, giving me a thumbs-up that I’m OK to go in and open the store for the day. I hurry to the office and past multiple orders sitting in our delivery bay so I can look at the schedule to see who is coming in. My heart sinks when I realize that my right-hand man, Lucas, is off for the day, and my assistant will be starting in an hour. 

“Oh, great,” I say, and with perfect timing, both phone lines start ringing. “I can only do what I can do, right?” I dive right in and answer the first call. 

Heading back up front, turning the lights on as I go, I notice glass on the ground by the coffeepot near the door. Even though the police have done their sweep, I realize I still need to check and make sure nothing has gone missing. Thankfully, at least I know no one’s going to jump out from behind one of the shelving units to scare the crap out of me.

In between answering the phones and helping customers, I constantly have to announce, “Heads up, there’s broken glass,” as customers realize there’s no glass in the front door. As I sweep up the glass, I notice four cars of potential customers and shake my head. I’m in the thick of it right now. It’s getting busy, and I’m by myself. 

Just then, another customer, Bart Honer, hands me a roll of duct tape. 

“I saw the broken windows,” he says. “You know I won’t take no for an answer—I insist on helping you at least get some cardboard up to keep the cold air out. Maybe we can get this door covered up too, because this October air is kinda chilly and there’s a breeze coming in,” he says in his Midwestern accent.

Roche walks in, barking, “Is the coffee on yet?”

“Yeah, the coffee has been on,” I say, pointing toward the coffeepot for customers.

“It looks like the coffee is out,” Roche says with annoyance, and being an ass, he’s testing my limits. 

Just then my assistant manager, Kim, walks in. “Kim, put another pot of coffee on,” Roche demands, holding up the empty coffeepot.

“No ‘good morning’ or ‘how are you’?” Kim says, taking the pot from Roche.

I finish processing an order, and as I wheel it out from Will Call, I pass Kim. I can hear a lip-smacking sound that’s generally used to show displeasure with someone.

It’s true—there is tension between us. Yesterday, Kim “overslept” and was two hours late for her shift, and I was late to couples counseling because of it. Angie and I ended up arguing about my dirty uniform. 

My part-timer, Patricia, had been here by herself and gotten bombarded with an afternoon surge of orders coming in. Every time I catch a glimpse of Kim, it appears she wants to say something to me. Ugh. Why does she have to make everything so complicated? I roll my eyes.

That makes two conversations I need to have today.

“You were thirty minutes late twice last week,” I begin, walking over to the water fountain where Kim is taking her time filling the coffeepot.

“My phone didn’t go off,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “Listen, I’m tired.” 

“Kim, I understand it can be difficult getting started in your first store as an assistant manager. It gets better, I can assure you. We all experience some degree of fatigue working in this industry. I still need you to get here on time.” 

“All right,” she says, indicating zero interest in what I’m saying. 

I put my hands up and step back. “What is that? Why the attitude?” 

“Hey, y’all! What’s going on?” George Martin, a loyal customer with Smart Renovations, walks in, interrupting our conversation. 

As George walks up, I finish with Kim. “I won’t say anything to HR about this, but please learn from this,” I whisper.

 I get a full lip-smack/eye-roll combo. “OK,” Kim responds, walking out of the break room.

“Good morning, George,” I say, walking over to greet my up-and-coming remodeling customer.

“Hey, Joel, I want to chat with you. I’ve got some things coming up, and there’s something I want to talk to you about.” 

“Sure, we can chat in the office. Give me a second.” 

I rip a strip of duct tape with my teeth and head back to finish taping cardboard to the door with Bart. 

***

It’s been a few hours now, and I’ve got three people helping me inside. When I walk back inside, George is toiling around in the H&H Hardware Helper section, looking at one of the new products on display. 

“You know, I just heard about these,” he says, holding a paint touch-up kit. “I saw the guys on TV pitching their idea from a duct-taped handle to a can or something, and now, look at this. I could have done this,” he says in playful frustration, shaking his head. “I’ve been in this industry for ten years now. I bet you these guys are millionaires, and here I am.” 

Then he catches himself. “Hey, by the way, I wanted to chat with you about something. Do you have a second?” he asks.

“Sure,” I respond, and we make our way over to the office. 

 “Can we close the door?” he asks.

 “Sure—have a seat,” I respond, confused.

“Listen, man. I like you, and I want to let you know that your assistant is using disrespectful language toward the customers and not completing orders when you’re not here. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but Roche called her a dumbass under his breath a couple of days ago. I was standing by the cabinet fixtures, and I’m sure she heard pretty clearly what he said,” he begins.

“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve noticed a few orders left unfinished.” I rub my head. “I can assure you that it’s not going to impact how we take care of you and your business.” I shift my position in my chair. “Everyone experiences hiccups when they’re new. I’m sure when you were new, you had to learn a few things too, right? Didn’t your old man want to chase you off at a jobsite or two?” I asked jokingly.

I’ve known George Martin for about five years at this point, and joking with him was common. 

“Let me tell you a story about the first time my old man sent me out of state alone with a crew,” he starts off. “I was twenty-five, old enough to know better, and I got into it with some store manager in Missouri. I was in a pinch,” he says looking up and leaning back in his chair, “trying to finish using this waterproofing stuff for a roofing job at a new hotel. To prove a point about how big a deal I was, I said I would knock every gallon of paint in that store off the shelves if they didn’t get me what I needed and in a reasonable time frame. I did knock off a couple of gallons, too, and they chased me out of the store!” 

“Really?” I ask, shocked to hear this new story. 

George often would say stuff like this, but I’m never sure if I can believe his stories. But if he’s giving me a heads-up that someone is slipping up in the store, I can trust his word and at least investigate.

“What a bitch of a day for all of this to happen! I’m running on a bagel and a half cup of coffee,” I say.

The store phone in my pocket begins ringing. “Hold on, George,” I say, pausing to answer. 

“Hank and Harry’s, this is Joel. How can I help you?” 

An upset voice begins yelling, “Kimberly Miller is not fit for her position!”

Immediately taken aback, I respond, “Who is this?” 

“Junior Martin! Can’t you tell my voice by now?” 

“Why are you yelling, Junior?” I ask calmly. It sounds like he’s driving with the windows down. 

“I don’t want to shop anywhere else, and I will get even more pissed if I have to continue to let you know when another order is missing or forgotten!” he continues.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Kim said she was going to leave a note in the office with my order written on it. You were missing some products, she said, and she was going to leave a note for you,” Junior explains. “When will you have the order ready?” he says in a frustrated tone. He’s not in a joking mood like his father.

“Listen, we still don’t have the material,” I say. “I’m standing here with your dad right now. We’ll take care of this, I promise.” 

“Let me know soon as you can, Joel. And don’t let my dad forget to place the order for the Git N Go we’re starting,” he says, hanging up.

“Hey, George, I’ve got to talk to Kim about something Junior said about an order. Can we revisit this conversation later?” I ask.

“Sure, Joel. One last thing,” he says, and my heart drops. “We got the bid for remodeling the Git N Go grocery store, and I’ll need to get my first order placed here soon.”

“Sure thing, George,” I say. “That was Junior, and he’s pissed.” I begin rubbing my head again and then stand up. “We’ll get that order placed, George.” As we leave the office and walk past the break room, I notice Kim and enter, saying, “I need to speak with you.” Before I get another sentence out of my mouth, Kim is ready to argue. 

“I won’t be disrespected,” she begins. “I left you a sticky note saying that we didn’t have material for Smart Renovations, and I was going to come in and figure out how to get it. You didn’t even give me a chance to do that before blaming me for the order not being done, and you didn’t even acknowledge the fact that I put a sticky note on your desk,” she begins, quickly raising her voice in frustration and agitation. “You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing! And you are not doing your job as a store manager, Joel!” she says with an attitude.

I could feel the hair standing up on my arms. “I haven’t even said anything about an order,” I begin. “What is going on?”

“You act like you can do all of this by yourself, and I’m tired. I’m gonna make you figure out how you’re gonna do this all by yourself and keep coming in late because you’re doing a shitty job with the schedule, and you’re not being consistent,” she continues.

“What?” I ask, trying to follow her conversation. Sticky Note? Inconsistent? “Kim, the front door is missing glass, we’ve got a store full of people, and I’m getting yelled at by Junior Martin over an order he gave you. Are you kidding me?” I didn’t notice that I was beginning to shout. I feel the anger and tension from all the stress bubbling to the surface, and I’m barely able to keep it in. 

“Listen, can we talk about your note later?” I ask. “There’s a lot going on and a line is starting to back up in front. I need your help. Your sticky note is not a big deal.”

“Whatever,” Kim says, and turns to walk toward the front registers to help out with the logjam of customers.

I look at my watch; it’s eleven thirty. How the heck did it get to this point in the day already? I take a deep breath. I barely have enough staff in the store to handle all the customers, and I notice I might have to jump on a register. As I begin walking toward the registers, once again the phone in my pocket begins to ring, and I answer.

“Hey, Joel, it’s John.” John is my district manager.

“Oh, hey, John,” I say, and head toward the office. 

“Hey, how’s it going? I thought I would’ve heard from you by now,” he begins. “Is everything OK over there?”

“Hey, yeah, uh, it’s been a busy morning over here. There’s been a break-in at the store. I spoke with the police and filed an incident report, and they did a sweep of the premises. They’re guessing juvenile vandals,” I respond. “Outside of that, nothing is missing or damaged other than the front doors.” I ramble on. “Kim was late again, and we got into it again. And I got a couple of complaints about her from customers today.” I notice from the office doorway that there’s an even worse buildup of customers in Kim’s line. “Ugh, can I call you back?” I ask. “There’s a logjam of people up front.”

“Well, I want to make sure nothing is damaged,” John says, trying to continue the conversation. “Do you need me to call HR? What did Kim say?” 

“I assure you, John, the store is in good hands. I just see lines backing up, and Kim is fumbling around with her computer. I’ll give you a call in about an hour, OK?” I say, clearly in a hurry.

“OK. Call me back,” John responds, and we hang up.

At least I mentioned the assistant manager argument. Damn it. The lines are backing up. I’m going to have to help out with the logjam at the registers. I see that Kim is confused and trying to figure out a problem with her computer while grumbling customers in her line are becoming frustrated by a series of worsening issues.

Before I can leave the office, Kevin Ashland, our store’s supporting sales rep, walks in.

“Hey, Joel, whataya know, kid?” he says, greeting me. For whatever reason, he’s always called me “kid” ever since I became his assistant manager a couple years ago, back when he managed this store. When he became a sales rep, the nickname stuck with me, even though I’m now the manager and in my thirties. 

“Man, I can’t even begin to tell you right now,” I say. “The lines are backing up, though, and I want to jump in and help out the crew.”

“Ah, they can handle it,” he says waving his hand nonchalantly.” Besides, this is how they gain experience and develop character.” Noticing the stress on my face, Kevin changes his tone. “Are you OK? I noticed the cardboard on the door, and the parking lot looks like this place is a crime scene.” 

Just then, Kim walks in, begins shuffling things around on her desk, grabs something, then walks out of the office.

“How are things going in the store?” Kevin asks, noticing the tension.

“Pretty brutal. George Martin gave me a heads-up that some things were starting to slip, and Junior called this morning and gave me an earful too,” I say. “Why do you ask?”

“George is considering shopping at Hank and Harry’s on the West Side because of some issues with Kim over the last month. Lucas also told him he didn’t like her attitude and wasn’t going to deal with her much longer.” 

I let out a loud sigh and roll my eyes. “What am I going do?” I say in frustration. “I’m only one-third of the way through my day, and it doesn’t feel like today is going to get any easier.” 

“Hey, listen,” Kevin says, “I’ll hang out here for a couple of hours today and help out. I can already see you’re stressed and frazzled, and I know your marriage has been weighing on you. Take a load off, man. I’m here.” He puts his arm around me.

“Thanks, man.” I take a deep breath. “I appreciate your help.” I feel my eyes start to tear up.