by Claire Adams
“It might not be a bad idea to do some role-playing,” I tell her. “Before I took over the company, I used to work in retail, and acting out some likely scenarios was a really great help when I became a manager.”
“Great,” Jessica says, clapping her hands together, and I want to tell her to relax a bit, but I’m not going to do that in front of her employee.
“Where do we start?” Cheryl asks.
I suggest a scenario where Jessica is the cashier and I’m a customer with a dispute.
We do a quick run where Cheryl tries to solve the situation without any guidance, and then, after giving her some direction on how she might more effectively resolve the situation, we run through it again.
Cheryl picks everything up remarkably fast, and I’m feeling rather proud about suggesting such an adept woman for the promotion.
Jessica decides that we need another run-through, though, and this time, she takes on the role of the customer.
“Yeah,” Jessica says, miming a pair of shoes, “I got these back home and one of the straps split when I was pulling it out of the box. I need a refund.”
“All right, I’ll be happy to help you with that,” I answer.
Okay, so I’m no Shakespearean actor. What of it?
The scenario goes on, but Jessica doesn’t bring up anything that is conceivably outside a cashier’s ability to handle, so not only does it go on, it goes on and on and on.
Cheryl’s standing there, waiting for any sign that it’s time for her to jump in, but Jessica, despite going through a whole imaginary shopping bag of faulty merchandise, doesn’t provide anything to dispute.
“That was great,” Jessica says out of nowhere.
“I’m sorry,” Cheryl says. “I don’t know what I was supposed to do there.”
“That’s all right,” Jessica says. “Sometimes it’s best to know when not to jump in, and I think you handled that perfectly.”
I turn my head so Jessica doesn’t see my face contorting in numerous unspeakable ways in order to prevent the laugh that’s doing everything it can to come out of me. It’s not the perfect cover, though, because Cheryl sees what’s going on and she’s less successful hiding her own smile.
“Did I miss something?” Jessica asks.
I bite the inside of my cheek to give myself enough self-control to turn back with a straight face and answer, “Not at all. I, for one, am just excited to see Cheryl taking to the training so well.”
Whether it’s my deadpan delivery or the ridiculousness of my explanation doesn’t really matter, because Cheryl is now covering her mouth, her body convulsing with stifled laughter.
“Jessica,” I say, trying to draw attention away from Cheryl, “I was wondering if it might be a good idea to go over the nightly money drop with Cheryl.”
“That’s a good idea,” Jessica says in a stilted, professional voice.
The distraction is, thankfully, enough for Cheryl to compose herself, but Jessica is so adorably new to this that it’s difficult for either Cheryl or me to keep a serious expression.
It’s not Jessica’s fault. It’s really not.
Yeah, she probably should have done this a few years ago, but this is new to her as well, and the last thing I want to do is make her feel self-conscious about it.
That said, when Jessica tells Cheryl to separate out all the cash and coinage by denomination and then goes on to give the long list of possible bills and coins—including a brief interlude regarding what to do with foreign currency—I have to turn away again to hide my smile.
Sadly, although Jessica can’t see me, Cheryl can, and the renewal of my unintentional mirth at Jessica’s micromanaging currency to the point of giving different kinds of bills nicknames by region, Cheryl lets loose with a single burst.
She quickly covers her mouth and manages to stifle anything else, and that would probably be that if Jessica hadn’t just turned toward me to see what was so funny and find me biting on my finger to keep my own reaction in check.
“What is going on?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I tell her. “I was just standing here and I kind of lost my balance. I’m sorry. Maybe we should move on to disputes between employees.”
I know I’m busted because there’s a little vein in Jessica’s forehead that becomes not so little when she’s upset. It’s a vein I’ve seen before many times.
Luckily for me, though, Jessica turns back toward Cheryl, and we move on.
As we’re talking through what kind of dispute we’re going to have, Jessica asks me, “Okay, I don’t know what’s going on, but could you do me a favor and just be a professional for a little longer?”
“Absolutely,” I tell her.
“Okay,” Jessica says and takes a breath. “Should we cover sexual harassment?”
“I think we better,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says, “I’ll harass you.”
Without any input from my conscious mind, my eyes go wide, my mouth curls up, and I snort.
“What?” she asks.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “It’s just the way you said that.”
I would go on to tell her that I’m wondering if anyone’s ever actually said that combination of words before, but she’s giving me the evil eye now, so I keep that information to myself.
“All right,” Jessica says. “We’re going to act out one of the more serious things you may face as an assistant store manager: sexual harassment. Let’s do one run where you step in in whatever way you think appropriate, and we’ll go over any areas that might need some sort of attention.”
“Sounds good,” Cheryl answers.
“All right,” Jessica says quietly to me. “I’m going to stand here and act like I’m going through inventory. You walk by and I’ll say something to you.”
“You got it, boss,” I answer, and I take a few steps back.
“And go,” Jessica says.
I start walking.
As I get close, Jessica looks up at me and then down at my crotch and says, “Hey, man. Nice dick.”
I don’t want to laugh at her. I really don’t.
Jessica’s trying so hard and it is so endearing. She’s new to this, and I know how important this is to her.
That said, I just walked by her and looking at my crotch, she actually said, “Hey man. Nice dick.”
There’s nothing I can do about it. It’s out of my hands.
After all, I’m only human.
I bend forward, gasping for air as I can feel my eyes filling with tears and my face going red.
Cheryl’s hooting somewhere behind me, and I’m trying as hard as I can to get the words, “I’m sorry” out of my mouth, but it’s just not working properly.
When I finally manage to stand upright, Jessica’s smiling, but I can tell it’s at least partially forced.
“I am so sorry,” I tell her. “I was just not prepared for that.”
“That’s okay,” Jessica says, still smiling, though her teeth are tightly gritted. “Let’s just see if we can stay in character and get through this.”
“All right,” I say, clearing my throat and trying to take slow, even breaths. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” I ask.
That was the stupidest response I could have uttered, because that only leaves her with one option of what to say next.
“I said you’ve got a nice dick,” she says.
My lips thin, but I manage to remain quiet.
“I wish you wouldn’t say that—”
Yeah, that’s about as much as I can get through before I’m doubled up again.
The worst part, I know, is that Cheryl’s over there cracking up, too.
No, sexual harassment is not funny and this is a very, very important thing for a new manager to know how to deal with, but holy shit.
I right myself as quickly as possible, but the motion gives me a head rush and I have to assume a crouching position to make sure I don’t simply faint.
Cheryl
takes this as me being unable to contain myself, and so she starts laughing even harder, even though I’m trying to wave her off as I stand back up again.
I clear my throat again and I have to look past the hardly-bridled anger on Jessica’s face so I can calmly respond, “I wish you wouldn’t say that to me. It makes me feel uncomfortable and I’d like you to stop.”
“Oh, quit being such a baby,” Jessica says. “You know you can’t walk around in pants like that and not expect people to notice what you’ve got hanging between your legs.”
I’ve managed to put a lid on my own reactions by this point, but Cheryl’s still having trouble.
To try to diffuse the situation, or at least give Jessica something else to focus on for a moment, I lean forward and ask, “Should we have this be a situation that she observes, or should I approach her with it as a complaint?”
“Approach her with it as a complaint,” Jessica says, at this point just wanting the role-play to be over.
I feel absolutely terrible, but it’s hard not to smile as I turn to see Cheryl standing there with tears streaming down her red face as her shoulders jerk forward and back.
“Mrs…” I start, but turn back toward Jessica, as I don’t know Cheryl’s last name.
“Masters,” Jessica whispers to me.
“Mrs. Masters,” I start again, turning back toward Cheryl. “Something’s been going on and it’s making me very uncomfortable.”
Cheryl takes a deep breath, but can’t quite manage to ditch the smile as she asks, “What’s going on, Mr. Dawson?”
“It’s Jessica,” I tell her, doing everything within my power to portray an air of someone who’s really bothered by the situation, as again, this is a very serious thing. “She’s been making inappropriate comments toward me. I’ve asked her to stop, but she won’t listen to me.”
Cheryl leans toward me and asks, “When I call Jessica over to talk, am I supposed to keep you in the room as a witness, or do I talk to her alone?”
“Personally, I’d suggest talking to her alone so the victim’s not on the spot,” I answer. “This sort of thing always requires some sort of action, whether it’s an investigation or firing the offender, so it’s good to talk to both parties alone, especially at first. Depending on how far the investigation goes, you may or may not need to have them in the same room at the same time.”
“What do you mean ‘how far the investigation goes?’” Cheryl asks.
“Sometimes,” I tell her, “it’s immediately apparent that the complaint has merit, and in that case, it may be appropriate to simply fire the offender on the spot. In other cases, it might not be so clear-cut, but you always, always investigate, and if you have any trouble getting to the bottom of the situation, don’t be afraid to talk to Jessica—I mean as your store manager, not as her role in this scenario—if you’re not sure how to approach it. With some kinds of harassment, you’ll even need to call the police.”
We go on for a few more minutes until all of Cheryl’s questions are answered, and then we get back into character.
The rest of the scenario plays out, and Cheryl does an outstanding job. When Jessica enters Cheryl’s “office,” she’s unrepentant, and the case being cut-and-dried, Cheryl fires the employee.
Despite a rocky start, the next couple of situations go off without a hitch, and we finally come to a logical stopping place for the day.
Jessica invites Cheryl to join us for lunch and we all go out and have a pleasant enough time.
That all changes, though, as soon as the store’s locked up, Cheryl’s on her own way, and I’m back in the car with Jessica.
“What the fuck was that?” she asks.
“I’m sorry about laughing,” I tell her. “You just really caught me off guard with the whole ‘Hey man, nice dick’ thing.”
“Do you have any idea how serious sexual harassment is?” she asks. “Of course you don’t, you’re a construction guy with a team of construction workers. Sexual harassment is what your people do.”
“You know, I’m pretty sure that was sexual harassment,” I tell her.
“And I thought we were going to have her run through the thing without any help that first time. You completely undercut my authority all morning,” she accuses.
“Whoa,” I start. “I’m not saying I did a perfect job all around, but I was not trying to undercut your authority at all. She asked me a question—a good question, I might add—and I gave her some direction. As sexual harassment is such a serious thing, I think it’s best to know as much about what to do as possible. I would actually suggest springing for a course for your employees, or at least Cheryl as a manager, on sexual harassment and what to do when or if it happens.”
“This is why I hate doing this,” she says. “I’m no good at it and I just come off like an idiot. Meanwhile, the meathead steals the show and comes off like he should be running things instead of me.”
“Meathead?” I ask. “Seriously? I get that you’re upset, but I don’t see how insulting my intelligence is going to make anything better.”
“Never mind,” she says. “I’ll just take you home.”
This—whatever this is between Jessica and me—is going to be more difficult to navigate than I thought.
“I thought we were all going to go to lunch,” I tell her.
“Well, Cheryl’s already gone and I’m pissed at you. I don’t really see the point right now,” she answers.
I know better than to put the words “calm” and “down” anywhere near each other right now, but given this particular situation, I’m finding it extremely difficult.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds, and I certainly wasn’t trying to undercut you in any way. I really do apologize for the way I acted at the beginning of that role-play and during the whole currency thing,” I tell her. “If it’ll help at all—”
“The currency thing?” she asks. “What are you talking about?”
“The currency thing,” I tell her. “You know, when you went on for five minutes about how to tell a Canadian dollar from an Australian dollar.”
“What about it?” she asks.
Danger! Danger!
“Never mind,” I tell her. “It was nothing.”
“Tell me,” she says.
“Well, do you accept foreign currency?” I ask.
“Not as a general rule, no,” she answers.
“Couldn’t you have just told her that?” I ask.
She sighs. “I know. As soon as I started going into that, I realized it was a mistake, but I felt like I had to keep going with it until I reached a believable stopping place. I just get so nervous with this sort of thing. I really have no experience training managers.”
“I know,” I tell her, “and I really am proud of you for what you’re doing. It’s not easy to start doing things differently than you’re used to. I’d just say try to relax a bit and it’ll come.”
She starts the car and glances over at me.
“You do have a nice dick, by the way,” she says, smiling.
I chuckle, saying, “Why thank you, it’s always nice to be appreciated.”
“Do you still want to go to lunch?” she asks.
“Yeah, I could eat,” I tell her. “What are you in the mood for?”
“I don’t know,” she says, and starts to pull out of the parking spot.
Her phone rings.
“Would you mind answering that for me?” she asks. “I really don’t like to talk and drive if it’s at all avoidable.”
“Sure thing,” I tell her, and pull the phone from her purse. I answer the phone with a “hello?”
“Who’s this?” a woman asks.
“This is Eric,” I answer. “Jessica asked me to answer the phone.”
“Oh,” the woman says, “this is Kristin, Jessica’s sister. Can you just tell her that Mom’s in the hospital and she needs to get up there?”
I cover the phone and tell Jessica to park the car.
&nb
sp; “What’s going on?” she asks.
I hand her the phone and answer, “I think I should drive.”
When we get to the hospital we walk through the doors and Jessica finds a nurse, asking her where to find room 235. She points us in the right direction, and we just go.
Kristin didn’t have a lot of details for Jessica, but she said that their mom had fallen, and that the doctors were concerned that her cancer had spread farther than they had thought.
I hold her hand as we get on the elevator, but when the doors open, she runs out ahead of me.
Kristin’s coming down the hall, a look of terror on her eyes. As I approach, she says, “They took her in for surgery. They’re going to try to remove all of the cancer, but Jessica, it’s spread.”
“What are they saying? Is she going to be all right?” I hear Jessica ask.
“I don’t know,” Kristin says, tears forming and falling from her eyes. “It’s really bad, Jessica. She’s had it for a long time, and they don’t know if they’re going to be able to get it all or if they’re going to be able to treat it. The doctor says he’s still…”
Jessica hugs Kristin close, allowing both of them the security to break down. I want to help, but I don’t want to be in their way, either.
I don’t know what to do here.
“Where’s Dad?” Jessica asks.
“He’s in Mom’s room watching a World War II documentary,” Kristin laughs, breaking some of the tension. “I think they’re up to the Battle of the Bulge.”
There’s no sign from Jessica that she wants me to follow them, so, not wanting to invade a very solemn family moment, I let Jessica know that I’ll be right out here in the waiting room if she needs anything.
She turns her head and says, “Thank you,” before walking off with her sister.
After about an hour, I walk up to the room and ask if I can get anything for anyone.
The father, startled by my presence, stands up and walks over to me, saying, “I’m Harold, Jessica and Kristin’s father. You must be Eric.”
“I am,” I answer and shake his hand. “I’m sorry to meet you under such difficult circumstances.”
“Well, we don’t pick the situations, the situations pick us,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”
