Three Christmas seasons ago, I found it necessary to search for a part-time job. The writing assignments that had provided income prior to that time had been completed and no new projects were on the horizon. I briefly considered taking an at-home vacation, but my spouse stated, “No, you won’t. Get a job!” I responded, “But, I’m tired and don’t want to take a job.” Her rather powerfully delivered follow-up statement was, “So, where do you intend on working?”

The next week, I ended up visiting a number of department stores in my area where I attempted to submit applications for sales positions. The first three store managers I encountered rejected me. I did, however, manage to purchase a few items in each of the stores. At the very least, I was doing quite well with my Christmas shopping.

On a bright, sunshine-kissed morning, I took another stab at gaining retail sales employment. Before the noon hour arrived, I had been rejected twice more. Along the way, I bought a few more Christmas presents.

Shortly after consuming a rather miserable slice of pizza, I walked into one of the area’s largest department stores named Chase’s. Even though my spirits were downtrodden, I held my head high while briskly walking towards the employment department. Within a few minutes, I had been handed an application form and told to fill it out, making sure not to leave any spaces blank.

After a wait of about 15 minutes, I was summoned into an office and introduced to the employment manager. She looked me up and down and quickly determined that I was dressed in an appropriate manner. I smiled as broadly as possible while this investigation was going on.

During the next short while, I was asked numerous questions regarding my education and employment background. I apparently responded in an acceptable manner as she failed to ask that I remove myself from her office. The interview was going very well and I began to think that my period of unemployment was coming to an end.

It was then that she posed the most important question. “Mr. Dobson,” she began, “if you were working for us as a sales associate, would you believe that the customer is always right?”

I assumed a rather studious look and then answered in my most confident tone, “No.”

“Mr. Dobson,” she stated with an air of disgust, “at Chase’s, thecustomer is always right.”

Visions of Christmas employment began to disappear in a cloud of reindeer doo-doo that seemed to settle on the desk between us.

The tone of my voice instantly took on one of panic as I stammered, “Well, um…er, if I knew that a customer was stealing something, but she or he claimed otherwise, the customer certainly wouldn’t be right in that case.” I thought that was a very logical and worthy response. The doo-doo, however, continued to remain in its place.

After what seemed like an interminable wait, the interviewer took a deep breath and responded, “That is why we have store security agents, Mr. Dobson. Our associates, however, must realize that the customer is always right. Do you understand?”

I didn’t, but had no intention of arguing with the lady. With a rather submissive downcast look, I nodded my head. Eventually I was awarded the job of sales associate with Chase’s, all for the substantial salary of $6.00 p/hr.

The next day, I commenced a very intensive weeklong training program. During that time, I learned how to operate a cash register, balance the daily cash and credit card receipts, process returned merchandise, perfect my ability to smile as warmly as possible, and say “Yes Ma’am! You are the customer and are very right indeed.”

By the end of the week, I was amazed at how much I’d learned and equally surprised at how honored I felt to be employed by Chase’s. Throughout the week, the trainer had made certain that her students fully appreciated that “our store” was the finest on the planet and that life on the outside just wasn’t a very enjoyable prospect. Long live Chase’s!

After our study manuals had been collected, the trainer introduced the store manager to his new legion of devotees. Now, I’ve attended and presented a great many motivational lectures in my time, but none could hold a candle to what this gentleman delivered. The session was one that would have convinced an 0 and 3000 football team that it was a force to be reckoned with on the gridiron.

It was almost a religious experience and I half expected to hear a chorus of “Amens” every time the manager proclaimed, “You are now some of the many, proud and dignified Chase’s associates!” I yelled out, “You bet, and the customer is always right!”

It was then that we were all asked if we possessed Chase’s credit cards. “Yes, we do. Who doesn’t!” we exclaimed in complete unison.

“Excellent,” we were told, “as each of you will receive a 20% discount on whatever you buy in the store!”

I thought, “Wow! And a salary to boot! My ship has come in.”

On the following Monday morning at 7:am, I arrived at my new place of employment and was promptly assigned to the men’s clothing department. I was all set to put into practice what I had studied during the training program. My employee badge was proudly emblazoned on my suit jacket and I was ready to show the department manager just how exceptional a staff member I would be!

Three hours later, I was trying to determine whether I’d resign at noon or wait until the end of the day. During my first morning on the job, I had totally forgotten how to: use the cash register, fold sweaters, smile, believe in the dream that the customer is right, continue living the creed that all managers know what they are talking about, and how to walk when your feet are screaming out in sheer agony.

This was horrible and I was only being paid a measly $6.00 p/hr. By 11:am, I felt like telling Chase’s to take their employee discount and…well, you complete the sentence. From my very first minute on the sales floor, the tyrannical manager had kept me busier than I’d ever been in my life. This was now the worst job I’d ever been saddled with.

If I wasn’t trying to figure out how to cajole the cash register into cooperating with me, I was re-stacking the piles of sweaters that careless shoppers had left on the floor or wherever. And furthermore, I didn’t even like most of the merchandise! (Trust me, after you’ve stacked and folded millions of items, the last thing you want to do is purchase any of them.)

If I so much as leaned against anything for more than a millisecond, the manager’s voice would blast into my ears. “Gary, don’t laze around. Come on, there is work to be done.”

I felt like a pinball with size 12 feet, and they had turned against me. My feet were yelling, “Hey! What did we ever do to you! You’ve walked on us for years, Dobson. Have we ever let you down? No, well now you’re going to pay for taking this lousy job. Pain, pain, pain, will be your reward!”

I think the only thing that got me through that first day was the belief that telling my spouse about my decision to quit my new job would somehow be punished with more disdain than I might be able to handle. As I drove home that night, while trying to figure out how to manipulate my car’s brake and accelerator pedals with my hands, I decided to give Chase’s one more try. Surely tomorrow would be a better day.

Tomorrow wasn’t a better day, but in time I would come to enjoy working in the store, especially since it was the Christmas season. My feet continued asking to be traded to someone else, but the smiles of even a few shoppers who were extremely pleased with their treasures made the pain more bearable. Furthermore, it was very difficult to remain in a bad mood with the sounds of Yuletide music caressing the store in a cloak of joy.

I also began to chuckle at some of the questions posed to me by shoppers. From time to time, a lady or a gentleman would walk up to me, then hold out a sweater and ask if I thought it would fit their son. It was very difficult to determine this when I hadn’t a clue as to the exact physical proportions of the intended recipient. I really had to work at maintaining a straight face during those times.

Often a shopper would know the required size, but ask, “Do you think my son-in-law would like this color?”

I would then stifle a round of laughter and respond, “Well, what sort of person is he? Is he an outgoing individual or does he seem more conservative? What type of work does he do?” My “guests” always appreciated the personal interest I showed them.

Of course, my counter was, especially as Christmas drew nearer, always a center of tremendous activity as rows of shoppers waited for me to serve them and accept payment for their purchases. Even while I was helping the person at the front of the line, others would be scowling and impatiently waiting their turn.

Some of the scenes could have become quite uncomfortable and “Scrooge-like,” but eventually I chose to lighten the atmosphere by having people sing their favorite Christmas songs while waiting for me to serve them. As the other sales associates and my manager looked on, five or six people in front of my counter would be singing, “Deck the Halls” and “White Christmas.” In particular, I remember a trio of young ladies who performed a wonderful version of “Sleigh Ride.”

As time went by, I truly came to enjoy my work and, although my feet continued to scream for relief, decided that it was a great part-time occupation. I don’t know if I simply became more attuned to the rigors of the position, or if the smiles of some of my customers kept my spirits high, but working for Chase’s became a joy. I also believe that being in the company of my fellow employees contributed to my overall appreciation for the job.

Each of the associates had their own reason for working at the store and they were an interesting and very diverse crew. I became a close friend with Bill who was also a new employee. He had endured a series of financial difficulties and was moonlighting in order to pay for basic necessities.

I liked Bill due to the fact that no matter how painful his life had become, he always smiled more broadly than anyone I’d ever met. Bill taught me a great deal that season about purpose, responsibility, and how to squeeze some goodness out of a difficult life.

John was a person who claimed to be a stockbroker and was only workingat Chase’s while trying to re-build his client base during his off-hours. He would take every possible opportunity, while laying out pairs of jeans, to tell me which stocks I should invest my meager wages in. I failed to take him up on his advice and am probably better off for it. John still works at Chase’s and continues to await development of his phantom client portfolio.

And then there was Shawn and Stephanie. They were obviously a couple bordering on, if not fully immersed in, the waves of romance, but did their very best to inform everyone that they were barely friends. That was hard to believe, especially when a few of us noted that the pair would often hold hands behind the cash register (whenever customers weren’t present, of course).

On occasion, I would venture over to their department and observe the “G-rated” dance of passion. I felt like a voyeur, but seeing how close they were always put a smile on my face.

Those were enjoyable situations for me to glimpse or be a part of, but on December 28th of that year, one of the most heart-rending experiences I’ve ever witnessed took place. It involved a dear person named George.

George was one of my fellow associates. He was 64 when I met him and had been working for Chase’s for at least 20 years. Even though he was regarded as a senior employee, George never pulled rank on me. In fact, regardless of how many times he showed me how to balance my register at the end of a long shift, he remained calm and wonderfully helpful. George was, in every sense of the term, a kind gentleman. They are few and far between.

My friend never talked about his life, but was always interested in hearing about mine. Whenever I seemed particularly quiet, George would instinctively know that something was troubling me. During those times, he’d leave whatever he was doing and help me to fold sweaters or hang pants. It was then that he’d ask, “Gary, what is bothering you? Can I help?”

He always offered extremely tender and compassionate advice. Within minutes, I’d smile and know that my problem wasn’t so great after all.

On the afternoon of December 24th, I bid Merry Christmas to my fellow associates. I then walked over to where George was busily helping a last minute shopper choose an item for her son. I waited for my friend to complete his mission and send the lady on her way.

“George,” I said, “you have been very kind to me and I want you to know how much I’ve appreciated your warmth and help.”

He replied, “Gary, you are a good person and I like you very much. Have a wonderful Christmas.”

I didn’t work on December 26th or the 27th, but did return to the store on the 28th. One of the first things I did was to ask whether George was coming in. I was told that he wouldn’t return until the next morning.

The next day, I reported for the afternoon shift and was thrilled to see George standing at his register and smiling at a customer. He was being as charming as ever. I waved to him and then set about arranging a selection of sweaters on a table.

At the end of George’s shift, I walked over to him and began chatting about how wonderful my Christmas break had been. When I’d exhausted my story, I asked him to tell me about his vacation.

He looked down at the floor and then said in a painfully soft voice, “My wife died on Christmas Day, Gary. She was buried yesterday.” Tears fell from his eyes as he looked into mine and said, “She was a good person.” He then turned and walked off.

That afternoon, I was told that the part-time associates would be laid off by the end of the week. George and I didn’t see each other again throughout the remainder of my employment as our schedules failed to coincide. For quite sometime after my job had ended, I tried to get in contact with George, but didn’t have his phone number.

One day, a few months later, I visited the store and met my friend. I asked him how he was doing. All he said was, “Just fine, Gary, but how about you? I hope you’re doing well.” I felt like helping him to fold sweaters, but realized that I was now a customer and George wanted to serve me.

I learned a great deal about the reality of life that particular Christmas season. I came to understand that there are those who work for $6.00 p/hr. (perhaps less, perhaps a little more) and live within their means. In addition, I realized that there are people who work in the retail trade who don’t want to be there and continue to cherish dreams of being very successful at something else.

I also learned that I have the power to make people smile and momentarily forget about the high-paced times of their lives. Yes, I had to ask my harried customers to sing, but in the end, all I really did was help them to think about happier and less stressful situations. That taught me how to get along with people in a way that might never have occurred to me.

The most important lesson I learned during that season of reality was that there are those who cry silently in their solitude, but then get on with their responsibilities and lives. We may never see their tears, but only the smiles they present us with, even while their hearts are breaking. They are sterling examples of dignity, strength, and valor. George taught me that lesson and I love him for it.

This holiday season, while you are standing deep in line waiting to pay for your treasures, think about the person who will soon be serving you. Perhaps the young lady assisting you is enduring terribly difficult times. Perhaps you are about to meet another George. Perhaps all is well with them. Regardless of how their lives are unfolding, she or he will smile at you and that is a great gift. Enjoy that smile. It is a precious commodity.

I would love to hear from you. My readers are very important to me and I answer each and every email. My contact is Gary.

You can find more articles in the archive under Reflections on a Dream