Gracie Abrams is eking out a solitary existence, fighting day-in, day-out against the drain of working customer service and nursing two newborn kittens in her off time. Out on her own ever since her sister moved in with her boyfriend, the burden of...
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"What do you mean, nobody's back here?" I asked, nearly a huff and a puff away from blowing this whole back room to the the fucking ground. "There's only one person who can operate the forklift?"
The Grocery Department employee held up his hands, a careless roll of his shoulders that said more words than his mouth: I don't care. It's not my problem. You're not going to get what you want, so stop trying.
"So how am I supposed to pick this item?" I raised a brow, forcibly stilling my foot from tapping. My scanner moved from one elbow to the other as I shifted my arms. "It says there are thirty on the floor, but there aren't. I called Jed to make sure, and he couldn't find them, either. But there's a back room location, and it says there are 175 on pallet twenty-five. That's up there." I pointed my scanner up to where the shape of a pallet stacked high with cans sat, plastic wrap ensuring any sudden shift wouldn't murder whoever stood below. "How am I supposed to get it?"
Barney had worked at Meijer long enough that his "give a shit" barrel had completely dried up after too many people scooped a cup for themselves without replenishing it or paying for replacement fuel. A slow and steady leak at the bottom ensured that not even the dregs were left behind.
"You'll have to come back." He shrugged. "Wally's the only one here today who can operate them."
I tried to abate the growing sense of panic that washed over my limbs. It was a numbing feeling—one that reminded me of when I used to feel powerless. Helpless. "I can't wait," I said, choking back a scathing tone, "these orders are already half an hour late."
"Just mark it out, then." Barney shrugged again. His shoulders must be mighty strong with how much he worked those muscles.
I wanted to scream. Normally, I would have just marked the item as Out-of-Stock. Meijer Pickup customers shouldn't get special treatment—if the people shopping in the store couldn't get this item, then why should they? At least, that's what I had always believed. Pickup workers were meant to be fast, quick. Move, move as fast as you can. Get it all done.
But instead of focusing on fixing the counts in the inventory system or hiring more workers to actually fill the store's shelves, what was management's solution?
Don't mark anything out of stock without first typing in the UPC into the inventory app to see if a back room location was listed. If there was, you had to hike to the back room and look for it. If there wasn't, you had to look at the number and call a manager to either tell you where it was or make the final call to mark it out of stock and request an inventory recount.
Never did they imagine that having four grocery department team members would prove fruitless in keeping up with restocking the shelves, especially when they were assigned back room and special display tasks.
And with only one fucking crew member capable of operating one of the five forklifts in the goddamn place, how was anything supposed to get done anyway? Never mind that it was a Sunday, and I'd walked into Meijer Pickup this morning with over 2,000 items to pick. And that number was only climbing.
