“Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.”
– Soren Kierkegaard
It was a weekday afternoon in the big box hardware store, and I was searching for a weed trimmer replacement part.
I was finally advised to find Harlan on Aisle 19 or 20 because he knew where everything was in lawn equipment.
That’s where I found him, too, with another guy, and both were crouching low and peering into the dark corners of a bottom shelf containing leaf blowers.
Harlan (it said so on his shirt) saw me and said, “Be with you in a minute.”
“No rush,” I answered, and quietly stood to one side.
It turned out the customer wasn’t interested in leaf blowers – he wanted a battery-operated leaf vacuum. Harlan kept recommending different mulch models, and the customer just shook his head.
“Tried that,” he said with some frustration, “messes them up too bad.”
“The leaves?” asked Harlan.
“No,” he said, then sighed.
“The money.”
It was quiet for a moment. He paused, looked around, then told us his problem.
He was the manager of an adult entertainment club featuring women who remove articles of clothing for money. Some of this money – tips, I guess – is thrown at their feet and the performers had begun arguing angrily over what bill belonged to whom, disrupting the continuity of their dramatic presentations.
He had finally told them he would settle things by collecting all the money left on the floor and making sure it got to the right person.
This, however, was proving very difficult.
“I gotta watch the bar,” he said, frustration mounting in his voice. “I gotta watch the customers! I gotta watch the girls!! And I gotta watch the money!!!”
I wanted to be helpful, but nothing like this had ever come up in my years of H.R. scenario role-playing.
“What about a rake?” Harlan suggested.
“Doesn’t work,” he said quickly. “Not with money.”
“What about a long-handled paint roller with flypaper or duct tape reversed on it …?” I said from an outside-the-box perspective.
“That might work,” Harlan added.
When the customer didn’t respond, I said, “I’ve got one at home. I could bring it over to your club tonight.”
He just shook his head.
Harlan quietly suggested a rival big box store might have a leaf vac without mulching apparatus.
“Went there first,” said the customer. “They told me to come here.”
He turned to leave.
“I’ll think of something,” he said, then walked away.
Harlan looked at me, smiled slightly, shook his head and asked, “Did you need something?”
“No,” I said, bending down to pick up a weed trimmer spool. “I spotted this while we were talking. I just wanted to hear that story.”
I wanted to tell that story, too.
I shared it with my wife when I got home, expressing “you’ll-never-guess-what-happened-to-me” enthusiasm.
I was quickly told, however, that me and the paint roller would not be going anywhere.
