My childhood friend Timmy and I met when we were 4 years old. He moved away when we were 11. In those 7 years, we played countless games of tag with the neighborhood kids. The tree on the corner of his folk’s property was “goo”. Yes, that is correct, not glue, but goo. It was someplace you could feel safe and rest. We had a conversation about this not too long ago and confirmed that yes, we called it goo, but had no idea why. Probably because it sounded disgusting so you wouldn’t want to stay there for long and get back in the game. A few days ago, while emerging from the alley, I noticed the big pink X on our tree. I knew what that meant, and it wasn’t good. Another part of my childhood memories was meeting its demise. I texted Timmy about the tree. He believes it to be 100 years old and without it, that corner will have a completely different feel to it. Truly, the end of an era.
This week, I must babysit my old store…again. I’m hoping this will be the last time because when I was there a couple of weeks ago, when it was time to leave, it was a very traumatic moment for me. I literally felt paralyzed, I stood there sobbing, leaning against the wall for support. I think I may have been hyperventilating, my head was spinning at the prospect of never returning to that building. Yes, it is a building, I get it, not a human being, but I put my heart and soul into that store and it still died. No amount of begging, pleading, bargaining will bring it back. The store is gone, along with my team and my hopes of making it a success.
I had a dream. I dreamt that I was in the old store as it was being remodeled for the next business to move it. Its walls were being covered with wood paneling; they were even putting in an elevator! Why, the store was only one level, what possible use would come of an elevator? Someone from my new team was there and telling me that some product had been delivered and that there were customers waiting to buy it. I was like, how can that be, were closed. I really don’t remember much more, but when I spoke about it to my therapist, I had a moment of clarity. I think, the wood paneling may have been me being a wooden casket. The elevator was my way out. However, folks didn’t want me to leave and, I had a choice to make. Should I stay and be buried alive in a store that had died or use the elevator and save myself?
When I told this story to my boss, I realized that he must think me crazy, but I wanted him to understand just how difficult it is for me to keep being asked to go there. I want it all to be done with already, enough is enough. I did everything, absolutely everything I could think of to make that business a success, but it died and it is time to close the casket and throw dirt on it, it’s time to walk away, it’s time to set me free. Hopefully, I have made my point loud and clear and this will be the last time I go there. I was thinking, maybe I should do a ceremony before I turn on the alarm and walk out the door one last time. I can’t burn anything, but I could say a pray, maybe leave a clump of my hair in some remote corner, never to be found and swept away. A tiny piece of me would exist there for all eternity, or until the building gets torn down, once and for all. You know, when mother nature takes over and it’s covered with vines, being engulfed by the earth, a true end of an era.
I wonder, was there a “goo” at the store? Some special place I felt safe and untaggable? Maybe my office? The walls were strewn with toys and signs, mostly given to me by my team. One said, “If you knew my family, you’d understand”. I surrounded that one with photos of my children and of team members, past and present. Because to me, my team was my family. Of course, there were pink flamingos of various shapes and sizes, but most of all, there were post-its. Lots and lots of post-its to help me remember a plethora of information crucial for the smooth running of our business. A baby Budha statue sat on my desktop and, one small windchime hung under the security camera monitor, one that has been with me since my Whole Foods days. When the stress was overwhelming, I would bring it to life with a strum of my fingertips to help me remember, this too shall pass. All of it was packed up and brought home with me. I had no intention of ever opening the box, too painful, but I had to find my Food Sanitation Manager certificate, so I opened Pandora’s box, and there it was along with all the other mementos that made me feel safe.
The office at my new store needed a woman’s touch. I’m nothing, if not organized and I needed to have the office make sense to me. Turning for something I absolutely expected to be there and not finding it, led me to a near breakdown. I am that much of a creature of habit, just sayin’, it was bad. The desk that had been in the office was literally falling apart. I was able to procure a newer one and brought along my newer printer to boot. I took out a second desk that wasn’t being used and brought in my bookshelves. My new assistant and I were able to organize an abundance of office supplies, ones from my old store, along with ones from my current store and create a functional space.
Settling in to the new office helped. Creating a work space that flowed, helped. However, it was not my “goo”. I had already brought in my black framed post-it from my dear team member that has a slight addiction to post-its. I had told her that she had my permission to yell at me if I wasn’t drinking water throughout the day. She made me a post-it that says, “drink water” with a heart on it. Of course, I had to frame it and bring that along with me. I found the baby Budha, that is black, in one of the boxes that had been shipped to the new store. It found its place on a little white shelf next to the framed post-it that lovingly reminds me to hydrate. As I sat in my new office, pondering how to make myself feel more settled, I decided to look through Pandora’s box when I got home.
In the box, I found my small windchime. It’s been with me throughout my career in retail management, it should remain with me in plain sight. Along with that, I found a few signs that I felt were worthy of seeing the light of day once more, so I put them in a bag and took them to work with me. I arrived early enough, that I was the only one there and had time to tinker with the office. I moved some binders and storage containers, but then I dug into the meat of the project. I played with the wooden signs I had brought along, measuring in hopes of centering them, but once they were hung, it was too much. The pink flamingos no longer belong. Besides, no one at my new store knows about my collection and maybe its best that they don’t. For several reasons, I decided to keep my love of pink flamingos to myself. Instead, I decided that less is more and under the shelf I hung one black and white sign and my small windchime off the side of the shelf. It is all in black and white, plain as day, for everyone to see.
The closing of my store, like the loss of Timmy and mine’s tree, is an end of an era. Both are great losses, but completely out of my control, something I need to learn to live with. I won’t be buried alive and I leave the old store one last time this coming week. However, I still may leave some hair of mine, never to be found by mere mortals. You may be wondering, what was the one sign I dug out of Pandora’s box, the one I felt worthy of hanging on the wall of my new store’s office? It was given to me by my dear, dear “assistant”, someone who would never take the official title, but was truly my right arm and sometimes my left, as well. Someone who appreciate the written word, much more than I ever could. The sign, that I lovingly hung, proudly states “Live a Great Story”…and so I shall. My new “goo” is found.
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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