G.B.B.

“Where are your underwear?” she asked.

This is a true story (best I remember) of my short career in retail. It was near Christmas break of my sophomore year in college at the University of Tulsa. I noticed on a bulletin board in the student union that Sears was hiring seasonal help. I applied and got a job. After an orientation about the history of Sears and some basic training, I was given a name tag and assigned to the vinyl record/8-track tape department. That suited me just fine.

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Christmas shopping was just beginning to get traction so there were times during my shift that things were pretty slow, giving me time to sort the records in their racks and do some browsing among the stereos adjacent to my department. It was here that I learned of a marketing strategy that Sears and other retailers, but especially Sears, used effectively. It was called the G-B-B plan: Good, Better, Best. On a shelf there would be three hi-fi systems or three lawnmowers or three cameras, A Good choice, a Better choice and the BEST. Each step up would add features, quality and a higher price tag. We’ll come back to this.

One night a couple came up to me and asked me to recommend a hi-fi system for their teen-aged son, a Christmas gift. In my browsing of the systems I had picked a favorite so I took them over to the shelf and pointed it out to them. They had some questions and I explained what I liked about it. As we were visiting, a real SalesMan came over. Their nametags had their name in red. They were on commission and sold the big stuff like TVs and stereos. “I’ll take over here,” he announced. The dad said, “This young man is helping us.” “He’s not qualified!” instructed the pro. The mother said, “Either he makes this sale or we’re going somewhere else.” “Fine!” said the pro, “As soon as you decide, I’ll ring it up for you. He (pointing to me) doesn’t work in this department, so his employee key number can’t be entered into the register for this sale.” He wanted that commission.

At some point a manager got involved and somehow the sale of the stereo and a bunch of records to go with it was credited to me. The next day I was transferred to the toy department.

That year the popular boys toy was a remote-controlled vehicle called “Dune Buggy Wheelies”. They flew off the shelves like Cabbage Patch kids in the 80s. I think they sold for like $5.99. I felt like I spent most of my shift each night telling people that we were sold and offering an alternative. “How about a Red Ryder BB Gun?”

“He’ll shoot his eye out!”

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One day the phone in the toy department rang. I answered it. It was a Sears catalog store in another part of town. They had received an order for four Dune Buggy Wheelies for a customer, but the customer had found them elsewhere and didn’t want them. They would need to be taken to our store for sale. A light bulb went on in my head and I told them I would tell the manager. I didn’t. After work, I drove to that store. When I got there, I asked if they by chance had any Dune Buggy Wheelies. “Why, yes we have four.”

“I’ll take them!”

Early in my next shift, someone asked desperately about Dune Buggy Wheelies. “We’re out, but if you’re willing to pay a little more, I know where you can get one or four.” I priced mine for $10. I made a few bucks, was severely reprimanded by the manager of the toy department when he found out, and was transferred to the menswear department.

The next shift, a lady came up to me as I was sorting ties or something. “May I help?”

“Yes,” she said, “Where are your underwear?”

“I’m wearing them,” I said. How could I not?

And that was the end of my career in retail.

But, let’s talk about G-B-B; not as sales strategy but as a way to take measure of a life well-lived. I heard someone say the other day, “Are you living your best life?” They were not asking me individually, but I did ponder it for a moment, and said to myself, “Probably not. But it’s not my fault! If it weren’t for this pandemic… If I hadn’t lost so much of my retirement savings in the 2008 crash… If we could push the flush handle on Washington D.C…” You know the song.

Of course that’s all baloney. If I’m not smart enough, wise enough, old enough, and spiritual enough to see that the goodness, betterness, or bestness of my life does not hinge on stuff outside of me; shame on me.

How about collectively as a human race? Relatively speaking, right now, are we being our good selves, our better selves or our best selves. Or, have we slipped to a different tiered metric, something like: Bad, Worse, Worst. And, which direction are we going?

There was this guy named Nicodemus, for all appearances, a thoughtful guy. He came to Jesus one night with a question or maybe a few questions. To the big one, Jesus gave the answer we’ve all heard hundreds of times: “Ye must be born again.” (I’m pretty sure Jesus didn’t say, “Ye”, but that’s the way King James wanted it.)

Not to put words in Jesus’ mouth, but what if, maybe he meant, in addition to that big one—the spiritual rebirth—we should be born again EVERY day. Maybe that’s what the dawn is for.

Let’s assume that sometimes we get weary, we lose focus and inspiration. I don’t know about you but sometimes I trade dreams for despair these days. I feel like I could use a rebirth. Maybe sometimes, not just in a chronological sense, in our hearts, our souls, our thoughts we become old and cranky; maybe a little narrow-minded. What if we could start new, seeing with eyes of wonder: like a child.

Some days I live life Good enough. Some days I strive for Better. Every now and then, for a moment maybe, I live my Best self. Not often enough though.

Back in that Christmas season of 1970, during my short stint as a salesman at Sears I got hit with a hard slap of reality. Maybe it helped to explain some of what I believe the manager of the menswear department called a “smart-ass, college-boy, wisenheimer” type attitude.

One evening, I returned home after work to find a letter from the Selective Service informing me that my lottery number for the draft was coming up, and giving me the date that I would report for my physical for the Army. I assumed that I would be heading to Vietnam soon to fight in a war I despised and had protested against. Fortunately the war ended before my number was called. Unfortunately, many of my friends and family were not as lucky, or whatever you want to call it.

Many are comparing the current state of our nation and world to the tumultuous times of the late 60s and early 70s. I don’t know that the comparison helps anything. We don’t seem to learn much from our past.

I do know this: we are better than the collective life we are living right now. You can see glimpses of it in many places. You can also see the American Dream twisted by greed and arrogance. I just sat through a two day conference on leadership. It is one of the premier leadership conferences in the world. It is even called The Leadership Summit. The resounding theme of the meeting this year (held virtually for the first time ever) was that effective, impactful leadership is characterized by empathy and humility. I would go so far as to say that without those two, what you are left with isn’t leadership at all, but rather something akin to “bad company corrupting good character.” —1 Corinthians 15:33.

Don’t worry. I’m not getting ready to offer an alter call. I am going to continue to self-evaluate, hoping to see beyond my blindspots and cynicism, praying for a new birth everyday, seeking a BETTER version of myself, shooting for an occasionaly BEST-Of, and counting on that being GOOD enough; for now.

In The Third Place

I just finished reading a story titled, Logging and Pimping and “Your Pal, Jim” by Norman Maclean, the man that wrote, A River Runs Through It. The story tells of a contentious relationship between two guys who work together as lumberjacks. The older one is pretty much a career lumberjack, the other, the narrator of the story, is a student who works in the logging camp during the summer. The older seems intent on breaking the younger one by wearing him down, but the younger is determined to stick it out until his set quitting date. Day after day they each worked the end of a saw without speaking. At the end of a particularly long hard day:

After Jim disappeared for camp. I sat down on a log and waited for the sweat to dry. It still took me a while before I felt steady enough to reach for my Woolrich shirt and pick up my lunch pail and head for camp, but now I knew I could last until I had said I would quit, which sometimes can be a wonderful thing.

One day toward the end of August he spoke out of the silence and said, “When are you going to quit?” It sounded as if someone had broken the silence before it was broken by Genesis.

I answered and fortunately I had an already-made answer; I said, “As I told you, the Labor Day weekend.”

This blog, About POPS is written by a guy, “Pops”, who is now 65. It’s theme is about living the life of a “man of a certain age,” or what I like to call my Second-Coming of Age. Now that I’ve reached that chronological point when, in American culture we think retirement, I’m asked that question from time to time: “When are you going to quit?”

I assume that those who ask are talking about vocation, cutting down trees so to speak. The answer is, I don’t know; yet. I have the privilege of working in a role, for an organization, and with people that I enjoy a great deal. And while there are likely some in that company who will feel some jubilation when I do retire, for the most part, at least to my face, people seem to enjoy having me around or at least tolerate me; something I struggle with myself from time to time.

The truth is though, as the end of the workaday world draws near, I find myself more easily frustrated and sometimes discouraged. Sometime my thoughts run like this:

I could fix that if I still had time.
What does it matter now?
Let the youngsters worry about that.
I won’t have to put up with that crap much longer.
Is there still time to leave this in good hands.

I love this line from Maclean’s short story: “It still took me a while before I felt steady enough to reach for my Woolrich shirt and pick up my lunch pail and head for camp, but now I knew I could last until I had said I would quit, which sometimes can be a wonderful thing.

Mostly now I try to imagine what my place in life will look like after the job is done.

Several years ago, a friend introduced me to the concept of “The Third Place”. She explained that while we have home and work, we need a third place. I first thought of the neighborhood bar on the long-running TV show Cheers, a place where “everybody knows your name”. For some people their third place might be church or Lion’s Club. I’ve been observing the behaviors of old geezers some. Apparently, McDonalds or any place that has cheap coffee can be a third place. Somewhere to hang out, piss and moan about politics, tell stories, and remember the past better than it was.

Pops' Amazing-Missus at our Third Place

Pops' Amazing-Missus at our Third Place

Starbucks, unofficially proclaimed themselves the third place several years ago. And really it is for a lot of people. In a recent article in Wired magazine about Starbucks opening a place in Italy, the home of the latte, the reference came up. The writer, in trying to explain why Starbucks might actually succeed in the birthplace of espresso struck a resonant chord with me.

It’s because Starbucks performs such a service for its customers, because it essentially provides a vessel into which they can pour themselves and then buy themselves back, that Starbucks has been so successful. While its coffee may actually be better than most Italians are prepared to give it credit for, it’s nonetheless likely that this coffee is incidental to the paying for the privilege of going somewhere in public where we’re able to relax and be who we think we are. Thanks to its reputation for furnishing its patrons with “atmosphere,” Starbucks has become a global “third place” away from work and home. — From Wired Magazine.

When will I “quit” the 9 to 5? Maybe not until I find a place “to relax and be who I think I am.” In other words, how can I quit my second place (work), until I have a legitimate third place?

For while my Amazing-Missus is truly amazing, if I don’t find a third place after leaving my second place, she might become so weary having me around the first place that she’ll find me a fourth place.

And they lived happily ever after.