Doin' Time at Costco

I recently worked a demo booth at my local Costco for two weeks. For reasons. 

It wasn't on the first draft of my list of Things to Do This Summer; but neither was swim with an alligator, lip sync Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy or have an ongoing inner dialogue about the pros and cons of breaking up with Facebook – yet I managed to fit all of these things into this season! I guess I was just feeling productive. 

I've worked trade shows numerous times … but this was different. This was Costco. Here are some highlights of two-weeks worth of observations. 

If you stand in Costco long enough, the entire world walks by. 

98% of that world already owns a Bosch Mixer. 

80% of those who own a Bosch Mixer will yell at you, “I love my Bosch!” Most likely in an attempt to stop you from trying to sell them one. 

We live among people who will eat Costco pizza at 10:30 AM. 

There are a lot of people at Costco not dressing their truth. (Extra points if you get this reference.)

It takes three days of eating samples of pot stickers before you get sick of them. 

You can eat endless samples of Brazilian cheese bread, grass-fed beef, and Belgium waffles with Nutella and never get sick of them. 

The quickest way to reduce people to animalistic, post-apocalyptic behavior is to offer free samples. 

People offering samples don't care how many you eat, from a supply point of view. But they will judge you for the sheer amount you consume. They quietly judge you with their eyes. And sometimes not as quietly, with their words. 

If you're working a booth, and you don't offer samples, you're a leper and you should be ashamed of yourself. 

A genuine smile and “hello” from somebody passing by will absolutely make your day. You will have to exercise the greatest level of restraint to not leave your booth and hug that person and ask them if they'd like to chat for a few minutes over some grass-fed beef. 

Standing for 11 hours in one spot is not natural. Your body will hurt. In weird places. 

If you walk by a booth and the person working it doesn't at least engage you in eye contact, it is because they have just farted and don't want you to come anywhere near them. (They have to stand there for 11 hours! Cut them some slack! Let's see how YOU do after devouring 11 pot stickers!) 

Get your heads out of your phones, guys. Our country's greatest form of entertainment is other people's children. Adorable babies abound in Utah County, yes. But my favorite was the four-year old who had clearly skipped nap time (since the Tuesday before) and, through tears of rage and screams of inhumanity, was using both hands to pick up every item in the cart and hurl it at the floor as fast as he could, while the parents made a bee-line for the front doors, suddenly losing interest in actually making any purchases. I don't know the back-story of what was happening here, but something tells me it's a tale as old as time. 

Speaking of back-stories. I made one up for somebody. My first day on the job, a gentleman rolled his cart over and started asking me some genuine questions about the product I was selling. We talked for several minutes, and I observed the number of items already in his cart. He eventually wandered off. “Nice guy,” I thought to myself. About 10 min later he swung by again and let me know he'd talked to his girlfriend, and she wasn't interested in the product I had. Fine. About two hours later ... he came by again … I was intrigued. What in the world was this guy doing, loitering in a Costco for hours upon hours in the middle of a work week? And then it dawned on me. 

He's casing the joint. 

I wondered if I should tell management about this shifty dude, late 40s, Lindsey Buckingham look-a-like, that's clearly looking to move some real merchandise from this place. 

Then, several hours later … he came by again. This time, with completely different things in his cart. Like, he had put stuff back (or stolen it) and now had a fresh load of goods in his cart. That's when it dawned on me. 

He's a widow. 

He lost his wife and has become quite reclusive. He suffers from anxieties and the only thing he really does that makes him feel normal is venturing out to large, busy retail locations. He can strike up conversations with people and act like he is just your average citizen with a “to do” list. Then it occurs to me. My gosh. This man is me. If I were his age and I lost Katie, this is what I would become!!! My heart broke for this guy. I wanted to invite him over for dinner. 

Then the next morning … I saw him again. And he had a Costco name badge on. And I realized he was shopper security. And then I was embarrassed. So I decided as long as I was embarrassed, I might as well go binge on Belgium waffles with Nutella until somebody shoos me away. 

Aside from people I didn't know, I also bumped into a crazy amount of people I did know. Well over 100. 

I saw a girl I dated my freshman year in college, 1989. We laughed, played “do you remember the time,” and realized we both had 16-year olds that should go out sometime. (Because, you guys, 16-year olds love nothing more than for their parents to get involved in their love life.) 

I saw the parents of a girl I dated in 1993. The mom hugged me. She was always so kind. 

I saw … 

A guy I became friends with in the LDS Missionary Training Center who I hadn't seen since 1990. 

Young adults I knew in Las Vegas who now live here and are getting married. 

Missionaries I knew in Las Vegas who now live here but aren't getting married. 

Good friends who would visit with me for long stretches of time and act super interested in my mixers. 

People I used to work with. 

People I used to perform improv with in college. 

My good friend Matt? His mom. 

An old LDS mission companion. 

A guy I used to play racquetball with in Las Vegas. 

Neighbors, old friends, new friends.... you get the picture. 

That was really my favorite part of the Costco experience. Seeing people from my past and present, and visiting with them. I know some really wonderful people. 

Of course, visiting with them also made it so that I had to explain why I was working a booth at Costco. The real reason was boring and required a longer explanation than I cared to dive into. So I got pretty creative. 

“Research.” 

“I'm just filling in for a friend who's on his lunch break.”

“I recently bought the company and I'm interested in discovering public opinion on my own.” 

“It's always been on my Bucket List to do this, and I know a guy.” 

“I'm just doing some consulting and this is a weird part of the gig.” 

“I'm actually a secret shopper.” 

“This is just my day job.” 

“Why did you come over here? Didn't you notice I wouldn't make eye contact with you? No, I don't know what smells vaguely like pot stickers.” 

The Slump

Five months ago I moved my family from Las Vegas, Nevada to Orem, Utah. (There we are, in Utah.) There were several reasons we did this. Some of those reasons were super clear to me, and some were not. Some were public, and some were personal. Some I’m still not sure of yet. But the path was illuminated and we felt an internal nudge to walk that path. So we did.  

This move included the process of finding a new job. And...everybody relax...I finally found The One. In fact, I start today, and I am really, really excited!

If you've never been out of work for longer than two weeks, please allow me to share a just a few personal observations:

1.  It is the easiest thing in the world to “feel busy.” You will sometimes wonder how you ever found time to have a full-time career and do everything else. Your wife will ask you to go to the grocery store, and your response will be, “WHAT? That’s, like, my entire afternoon!” And then when she asks you what you’re so busy with…the only thing you’ll be able to think of is that all five seasons of Alias are now on Netflix, and those episodes aren't going to watch themselves!

2. Up to now, you have been unable to fully fathom both the glory and hazard that is Netflix Streaming.

3. There will come a day when you are standing in front of the bathroom mirror, and you have the razor in your hand, and the thought will come to you, “Who am I shaving for? Seriously, WHO cares if I’m clean shaven?” And with a smirk on your face, you’ll put the razor away. Then you’ll be surprised to notice that you’re wearing jeans…the same pair of jeans you've been wearing for four days. And they do nothing for your figure. And you’ll be disgusted with yourself. So you’ll throw those jeans in a dirty clothes pile, and you’ll go the entire morning pants-less. There will be whispered concerns between family members, but nobody will actually confront you; because clearly, you have only one marble left rolling around in that noggin of yours.

4. There will be moments where you absolutely do not feel like talking to anyone. Because even when they are genuinely concerned about your well being, you have to give them a lame update. And you start to feel that, in addition to being a disappointment to yourself, now you’re letting them down as well.  

5. You will appreciate the vulnerability of others like never before. 

6. You'll develop a deepened repugnance for Know-It-Alls. 

7. You will have conversations with your spouse that goes a little something like this:

Or something like this:

You: I’m sorry.

Spouse: For what?

You: For failing.

Spouse: Failing at what?

You: You name it.

Or maybe even something like this:

You: “The problem is I’m not qualified to do anything.”

Spouse: “You are qualified to do everything!”

You: “I've never done anything great.”

Spouse: “Everything you do is great!”

You: “Just saying the opposite of what I’m saying doesn't build confidence in me.”

Spouse: “So you want me to stop?”

You: “…Not really.”

8. You will watch clips like this, and you’ll wish that in all this "down time" you could have dinner with Elder Holland.

9.  People will ask you if you are enjoying some “down time” to do whatever it is you have always wanted to do. Write, sculpt, paint, lose weight, master the art of kung fu, create an app, become a stunt driver, start your midwifery practice…whatever. (They mean well, so don’t punch them in the throat.)  You have to remember that when you’re in the World of the Employed, having “free time” seems like the ultimate gift. But when you are in the World of the Unemployed, that “free time” and "energy to be creative" and "desire to develop new passions" and "need to wear pants" is completely choked out by the daily anxiety that despite no money coming through your door, it continues to fly out your windows.

10.  If you are blessed to be married to Katie then you will take profound comfort in her unparalleled level of confidence that all things will work together for your good, that you will be blessed to come off the conqueror and that somehow you have the abilities to provide for your family. And that she will be crazy about you, come what may.

11. You will read scriptures and your Patriarchal Blessing and remember other priesthood blessings and counsel you've received and you will be reassured and have fresh hope and courage fill your soul. Then it will be after lunch that same day, and your surroundings aren't any different than they've been for days. And you will conclude, “I know that if I am worthy of these blessings then the Lord will make good on all His promises. So…since the Lord cannot lie, and these blessings are eluding me…I must not be worthy of them. What am I doing wrong?” And so you’ll take it to the Lord over and over, and ask Him what you’re doing wrong. And the only clear answer will be, “We’re not working on your timetable. Have faith. Carry on.” And you’re kind of comforted by that, even though things are not working out when you think they should.

12. There are generous people everywhere; and sometimes even the smallest gestures of love or kindness will make you weep. It can truly be overwhelming. Whether you receive of somebody’s money or time or words of confidence, you feel known. And you wish you could adequately express your love and gratitude to these individuals, who have fast become your favorite people ever.

13. When you least expect it, you will receive clarity. For example, maybe you’re in the temple. And maybe there’s a man in front of you who has cerebral palsy and it takes his every painstaking effort to move ever so slowly, with the help of a walker. And you notice the grimace in his face, and the slowness of his breath. And it surprises you to see he’s younger than you. And a temple worker looks to you, wondering if you have come with this man to the temple today in order to assist him. And you haven’t, but you find yourself placing your hand on this stranger’s back and asking if he needs any help. And his grimace turns into a wide and warm smile, and he chuckles and responds, “Oh…I need every kind of help.” And as you are drawn into his disarming laughter, you marvel at his disposition and his faith and optimism. And you are embarrassed at how whiny you've been about your own temporary struggles. And you feel a voice patiently whispering to you, gently reminding you, “Your trial is a moment. Endure it well.”

My Recent Job Interview

Beginning October 4^th I will be the proud employee of SealSource International. SealSource provides products for sealing and protecting commercial and retail flooring. Their products are the most technologically advanced available – the latest in Lithium Technology – and all products are “green.” You could even drink it if you wanted! (Note: I’d check what the calories are first. Also, I don’t think it’s cherry flavored, so it might not be delicious. You know what, just forget I said anything about drinking it.)

I’m on their sales team. (So I should check on that “you can drink it” angle. Might not be the main selling point.) I’m really excited about the opportunity.

My interview with SealSource was last month. It was actually a highly enjoyable job interview. How often can you say that? I never feel more exposed, transparent, or sweaty then during a job interview. I would rather watch a thousand Hannah Montana episodes (or “Party in the U.S.A.” twice) then go to a job interview. Such a peculiar animal. (Job interviews, not Miley Cyrus. And I think it’s important I make the distinction, because there’s room there for confusion.)

I’ve had my fair share of jobs, too. And that equals a diaper-load of interviews. My first three job interviews, post-college, looked a great deal like this:

My most fascinating job interview was with a digital imaging company. This was many years ago and my friend, Brent, turned me onto this opportunity, as he had been with the company on the technical support side of things for a number of years. He lined up the interview for me, then he called me a few minutes beforehand.

“Uhm…you’re interviewing with Bo…he’s the president of the company.”

“Great.”

“Yeah…uhm…he wants us to come to his house for the interview. He hasn’t come in to work yet. He….I’m sorry Ken, this whole thing is really unprofessional. Whatever you do, don’t wear a tie.”

Brent picked me up and we drove over to Bo’s house. We walked into his backyard, and I suddenly found myself staring at a very thin Elliot Gould, circa Ocean’s 11. The man had on a robe, shorts, flip-flops, sunglasses, a baseball cap, and thin cigar between his lips that had quit smoldering about 15 minutes prior. He claimed to be from Las Vegas, but if so, then he picked up a New York accent from hanging out with the mob for too, too long.

He was hanging out in his back yard, having one of his employees – I’m not making this up – fix his pool. We sat down at the patio table: me, Brent, Elliot Gould, and his other employee.

“So, Ken…tell me about yourself.” (Said in thick, Jewish, NY accent from Las Vegas.)

“Well, I was previously working at Now Defunct Bank of Nevada (name changed to protect…myself0, where we did $300 million in revenue last year.”

“And was that because of you?” (It suddenly became apparent this guy was trying to compliment me, no matter what I said or had done.)

“Well, no. I wasn’t a loan officer, I was the director of marketing. So, really, I would try to drive the business to the loan officers.”

“So, they couldn’t have done it without you, is that what you’re saying? Don’t be modest.”

“Well, I –”

“Can you create a marketing plan?”

“Sure.”

(Looking at Brent, with a very smug look.) “That’s great, because Brent here hasn’t created one yet – and I’m sorry to say, Brent, my wife is very upset with you.” (Mrs. Elliot Gould is the CFO of the company.)

“Uhm…I’m tech support. I don’t think that’s my job…?” said a perplexed Brent.

“What else, Ken?”

“Well, I was working at Now Defunct Communications (name has been changed to protect me again)…but they are having financial difficulties.”

“Didn’t they know that before they hired you?”

“You’d think so.”

“So, they hired you to save them…but it was too little, too late.”

“I guess. Like I was hired to steer the Titanic.”

“You know…I saw Titanic yesterday for my third time…(wait for it)…powerful movie.”

We sat at that table for about an hour, experiencing tangent after tangent, before Bo/Elliot Gould stood up and announced, “Let’s take this conversation to a restaurant. You like steak?”

On the way out to the car he has me follow him into his house, where his wife was on death’s door with some kind of croup. I waited in the hallway, with Bo about ten feet from me, looking into a bedroom, and having a one-sided conversation with someone I hoped was his wife.

“We’re going to The Ranch House, do you want something? Why don’t you come here and meet Ken Craig. I know you’re sick, but he’s right here. Well, do you want something form the restaurant? I know you’re sick, just come meet Ken Craig…we’re on our way to the restaurant. What are you watching, Titanic?”

She walked out to meet me and shook my hand. And if whatever was making her feel that sick was on her hand, I was certainly not going to be eating steak before washing my hands. She looked like she had been praying for death and was hoping I could assist with her termination. We exchanged pleasantries, she whispered “Please kill me,” and Bo, Brent, Employee, and I left.

We sat down at the restaurant and Bo offered me the job. Boom. It was mine. He said he’d have to run it by his wife, the CFO, but as far as he was concerned, it was mine. Said he’d call me early the next week.

I never got that phone call. The next Sunday Brent told me that Bo/Elliot Gould had checked himself into rehab in Reno. But he said Mrs. Elliot Gould was still alive and still wanted to interview me. We met and she offered me the job, in between puffs on her non-Virginia Slim cigarettes. She said, “Well, I’m going to have to look at the books, but I think we can get you what you are asking for.” I never did get what I was asking for, because the next Sunday Brent told me she was filing for divorce and they weren’t sure what was going to happen with the company. I told him “You know what, Brent, I’m not really interested in the job anymore.”

However, I AM interested in the job with SealSource. I am thrilled to be a part of the team. And just so you know – this is a national sales position, so if any of you have connections to people who manage or somehow make decisions on the maintenance or construction of large portions of floor space, please keep me in mind! The company would pay for that business trip and I would pay to take you out to dinner wherever you would like to go! The first glass of SealSource product is on me!

www.sealsource.com

Potty Humor

Since you asked, I play racquetball about three times a week at a tremendously fashionable gym in town that goes by the name of The Las Vegas Athletic Club. This gym is overly crowded; nevertheless, since it is on my way to work, I bring my toiletries and do my showering bidness there, in spite of the enormity of body hair casually on display in the locker room. (Not mine, others.)

Oddly, brushing shoulders with Wookies is not the most offensive part of my morning routine. It is the four bathroom stalls located directly across from the sinks where I brush my teeth and wash my hands after applying a medium-sized dab of hair gel, referred to as “product” by my hair gal, Holly. Anyway, these bathroom stalls might as well have revolving doors with how much use they are getting, and unfortunately, the room is permanently permeated with the most pungent funk that has ever burned your nose hair.

It is affecting my life.

I fear my teeth are suffering the consequences, because I cannot stand to be in there long enough to give them a proper cleaning. I’ve tried holding my breath; I’ve tried going in at different times of the morning; I was even going to try pulling the fire alarm so everyone would evacuate and I could brush in peace, but if they aren’t evacuating from the dreaded stench, I have my doubts they would evacuate from the less-threatening effects of fire.

Then I leave the gym and head to work. I work in an office building where a single bathroom is shared by, oh, I estimate about 40 men. There are two “sit-down” stalls; and again, they are in frequent use. And if you thought the gym was bad… Now you are dealing with a more enclosed space, and the less-health-conscious mindset of Corporate Americans. Oh. My. Stank. 

Many are the days I am torn between doing a “stop, drop & roll” while I crawl out of the bathroom or being a Good Samaritan and hanging around to make sure this poor individual isn’t in need of immediate transportation to the hospital; because they must be dying inside.

What it has come to is this: I have grown weary of smelling O.P.P. (Other People’s Potty habits.)

Perhaps I come across a bit insensitive; and if so, it’s most likely because I’ve never been much of a P² myself. (P² = Public Pooper.) I’ve always been an “At Home” kind of a guy. And at this point in my life, if I come home and Katie and the kids are off running errands, and I have the house/bathroom to myself…I almost get emotional. It’s like Christmas morning.

Of course if you are going to force the issue I will admit that there are emergency situations, and that is why we have public restrooms. I guess. I remember in college, at BYU, I actually had mapped out the best restrooms on campus. You know, in case I was too far from my apartment, or was uncomfortable, or just newly married and trying to keep a good impression going at home.

The best restroom on BYU campus? Seventh floor of the Tanner Building. Nobody is ever – ever – up there. One time I went in there around 11 a.m., and the lights were still off from the night before! Delightful.

The worst bathroom? The basement of the JKHB. One time I was in there because, I don’t know, it must have been a life or death situation, and I checked and nobody else was in the bathroom and I was minding my own business in the stall furthest from the door...when somebody else entered the bathroom. I sat silently. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t flinch. I did not want to be acknowledged. And so stellar was I in my silence, that when this intruder left the bathroom…he turned off the light. I guess he figured nobody in there, no need to waste BYU’s precious electricity.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been trapped in a dungeon-like bathroom in one of the most vulnerable positions you could ever be left in…but it was an experience I shudder to repeat ever again. I really had to hurry because the only thing worse would have been to have somebody else wander in, turn on the light, and then hear me in the stall and wonder why some weirdo would have been sitting in a bathroom stall in the dark.

The bottom line (pun intended) is this: If I am doing the world a favor by keeping my Potty Habits in check, why should I be exposed to O.P.P.? Why is this not on the ballot? Where does my candidate stand on this issue? And where does my candidate stand on federally subsidized back-waxing at local gym locker rooms? Because Oh. My. Chewbacca.