Trouble At Harry's

By F. B. Bennett

A warm, witty comedy/drama that reveals an inside look at the grocery business. Based on a true story, "Trouble at Harry's" examines a recent store boycott with both touching and hilarious results. How far does loyalty go to help a well-respected boss?
Find out in "Trouble at Harry's"! Written FOR employees (and customers) BY an employee! Harry D. for CEO!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543938425

Book preview

Trouble At Harry’s

F. B. Bennett

ISBN (Print Edition): 978-1-54393-841-8

ISBN (eBook Edition): 978-1-54393-842-5

© 2018. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Based on a true story.

This book is dedicated to both my family

and the Harry’s family.

This is also for the real ‘Harry D.’.

Table of Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-THREE

FORTY-FOUR

FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-SIX

FORTY-SEVEN

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY-NINE

FIFTY

FIFTY-ONE

FIFTY-TWO

FIFTY-THREE

FIFTY-FOUR

FIFTY-FIVE

FIFTY-SIX

FIFTY-SEVEN

FIFTY-EIGHT

FIFTY-NINE

SIXTY

SIXTY-ONE

SIXTY-TWO

SIXTY-THREE

SIXTY-FOUR

SIXTY-FIVE

SIXTY-SIX

SIXTY-SEVEN

SIXTY-EIGHT

EPILOGUE

YARD SALE

SOURCES CITED

ACKNOWLEDGMENT PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ONE

Monday, March 17, 2014

HELEN K, CASHIER, STORE # 33

Today is St. Patrick’s Day. It’s a Monday and we had tons of snow over the weekend. Everyone in the area is digging out and showing up at the grocery store with Herculean-sized orders. Ted, the tall, young, dark-haired bagger announces with sarcastic wit, "Hoarders episode—coming this way! I whisper under my breath, Crapola." Hoarders episode is grocery store lingo for a large order in an over-stuffed shopping cart.

Good afternoon, Miss, Ted and I say in unison.

This woman comes in about every two weeks and buys every cookie, candy and frozen dinner of every brand imaginable. Also one of her two carts is full of beer, soda, and juice. I know her name is Carol because she always writes a check. She also wants everything in paper. At least she is pleasant and sometimes she brings her little sons and daughter who are adorable.

We say good-bye and wish each other a happy St. Patrick’s Day. Her last name is O’Reilly—it’s printed on her Thomas Kinkade check that she hands me. I have given up on correcting people who think I’m Irish. I have a fair complexion, green eyes and light brown/dirty blonde wavy hair. Several people have told me that I resemble a female version of Kurt Cobain. A handsome woman I’m sometimes called. Being a huge Nirvana fan, I take that as a high compliment. I happen to be half Ukrainian with a mixture of English, French, and Polish. I think every nationality deserves its own holiday.

A couple of hours into my shift, I get somewhat bored. The store managers always tell us that if we can lean, we can clean. It has slowed down, so I grab some Windex and a few paper towels and wipe off the conveyor belt and register area.

The next customer really catches my eye. This lady is thirty-five or so with pretty, long dark hair and blue eyes. She is tall—looks kind of like an ex-model. However, beneath the expensive looking clothes, chic glasses and Coach purse, there is an expression of defeat on her face.

Her shopping cart has only has a few items; the bland but necessary milk, bread, eggs and the like. Her son appears to be 9 or 10, lanky and All-American handsome. He says hello and introduces himself as Ethan. He is wearing a Red Sox shirt—a Mike Napoli jersey. I ask him if he’s planning on going to any ball games in the spring. Then Ethan, this kid who could probably steal everyone’s heart (he sure stole mine) breaks it in an instant when he utters in a soft, sweet voice, I sure hope so. I steal a glance at his shaven head, poking out from under his baseball cap. (It occurred to me that many boys his age sport a buzz cut.) I’ve got a few more rounds of chemo and then we’ll see…

His mom is oblivious. She’s digging around her purse for her checkbook or debit card. Finally she hands me an American Express credit card and with tears forming in my eyes, I say, Gosh I’m so sorry. You will be in my prayers. I hand the lady her receipt and give Ethan and his mom a sheepish wave. They both whisper, Thank you.

I am thankful there is a lull so I have a chance to compose myself for the next customers.

TWO

Fri., April 4, 2014

MICHELLE A, BAGGER/CASHIER, STORE #33

I’m just getting ready to clock in near the courtesy booth, which is decorated with paper cut-out bunnies, chicks, flowers and everything Easter, when my front end boss, Glo-Jo, short for Gloria Joanne Appleby, calls me over to the manager’s station in front of the store.

I’m going to have to write you up, Michelle, announces Glo-Jo.

I’ve got a sinking feeling in my chest. Also, I am feeling a little light-headed.

What’s going on, Glo-Jo?

The short, buxom, middle-aged African-American former Army drill sergeant wasted no time chewing me out.

I’ve had a few customers complain that you gave them the wrong change. Yesterday, your drawer was twenty dollars short! You need to focus, Missy!

I’m really sorry. I’ve had lots on my mind lately. My mother just passed away two weeks ago. I was hoping for some compassion. Was I sadly mistaken!

We’re all aware of your recent loss. You have two choices, Michelle. Either we give you an unpaid leave of absence, or you can bag for the time being while Mr. Tuck (the store manager) and I decide when to let you relinquish your cash drawer. It’s up to you.

I really needed to earn some money after taking ten days off. I was getting behind on my bills, so I agreed to take the bagging gig.

Okay, Glo-Jo. I will bag. Thanks.

Turn in your purse at the booth, clock in, and then bag for Tracy on register seven!

Will do.

Of course, when I get to register seven, Tracy is in the weeds; her bagger had to help a shopper outside with his order who was riding a motorized scooter while at the same time attempting to push a shopping cart. I recognized the older disabled man heading out with Brian the bagger as Chet. Chet was a Vietnam vet and had sort of a dark sense of humor. I remembered his name so well because Chet was the name of my Yorkie that I had as a little girl in Yonkers, New York before we moved to Baltimore in second grade. Chet and I gave each other a friendly wave before he headed outside in the rain. It had been raining for a few days now and everyone was sick of it. As I was hanging bags on the bag holder and bagging up the order for three middle-aged women on their cell phones, one of my favorite new songs was playing on the store’s radio, the bluesy rock of the Stewart Hall group, Double Deckers, singing What Did You Do? Nothing sounds better than cool keyboards and drums on a rainy afternoon. Little did I know at the time that I was going to meet Stewart Hall and his band personally in the future, but I will get into that at a later time.

THREE

Tues., April 15, 2014

SIMON H, GROCERY DEPT., STORE #33

I’m five minutes into my night shift stocking shelves, wearing my blue smock and a nametag. The Beatles’ hit song, Taxman is playing on the store’s radio. Very apropos for April fifteenth, I must say. I am whistling along with the song atop my ladder in Aisle 7, arranging Goya navy and black beans safely and neatly. Suddenly, a middle-aged couple approaches me. I greet them with, Hello—may I help you? They respond by asking whether or not we have any Passover foods left. I step down from my perch and tell them to check Aisle 10, near the Chinese soups. It is only the second day of the eight day holiday, so it would be a shame if we were out of matzoh, Gefilte fish and the like. I wonder if I look Jewish or if they called on me because I was the first person they saw. Most people tell me that I resemble Daniel Craig of James Bond fame. I tend to agree. I am British. I moved here after high school to attend college and check out America. I was always fascinated with my mother’s homeland, so I chose to try out New York City for a couple of years before moving on to New Hampshire, where I split an apartment here in town with a couple of buddies. My mother is a Jewish woman named Leah (maiden name Krantz), originally from Brooklyn, who grew up watching TV shows such as All in the Family and Fame among many others. My sisters and I immensely enjoyed watching these American classics on VHS tapes and later on DVD’s. It became one of our family traditions on rainy days or evenings or days off from school. I miss my family; however, they come to see me now and then when they can. I am going on holiday this summer to England to see everyone. I can’t bloody wait!

By the way, my dad, Leon, is British—my folks met each other at a horse race. They were both spectators who happened to be sitting next to each other. My mum had just gotten out of the service and she and her friends wanted to spend a ‘day at the races’, British style. A year later, they got engaged and the rest, as they say, is history.

A high school boy named Oscar just went home sick, so I am called up front to help bag for the dinner rush, that period between 5 and 6:30 p.m. when every register is packed with huge orders—customers rushing home to prepare dinner after their workdays.

I am plugging along with a large cloth bag-filled order when I notice Ulrich Rick Baden in my peripheral line of vision. His type makes my blood boil. He often says things to Michelle, who happens to be my girlfriend and bandmate, which are truly in poor taste. I wish I could catch him in the parking lot after hours and try out my fists on his pudgy, redneck face. I need this job though; as any musician will tell you. Until things start happening with either an album or a tour, I’ve got to stay where I am and keep quiet. I can’t afford to get fired right now. My landlord is not related to me, therefore, he needs his rent check every month—no exceptions.

FOUR

Wed., May 7, 2014

HELEN K, CASHIER, STORE #33

I didn’t get the chance to tell you about my family and how times are crazy at the moment. My daughter, Sofie, has been helping me plan all of our activities for our upcoming summer Disney World vacation. Scheduling rides and restaurant reservations at the Magic Kingdom and the various nearby theme parks is nothing short of rocket science. Certain times of the day are blocked off at many attractions, and not knowing the lay of the land of any given park just makes average people like me guess at how long it will take to get from say, the Seven Dwarfs Mine Train at 11:00 a.m. (with ride bracelet Speed Passes) to Space Mountain, which may be a mile or more at a different section of the park by 1:00 p.m. We just have to wing it and hope for the best. Sofie works here at the store with me as a cashier a few hours during the week after school and on weekends. She is almost 16. At five-foot-six, she’s almost as tall as I am. Sofie has long, dark brown hair and is attractive in a Gypsy sort of way. Like most people her age, she can’t wait to get her driver’s license. We still have several driving hours to go and a few months for her to reach her birthday in order for that to happen.

I am helping my son, twelve year-old Matt, study for his Bar Mitzvah this coming September. I’m the only family member who remembers any Hebrew, as my husband, Adam, has forgotten most of it from when he was younger. Matt is a typical boy, which means that he would rather do anything than practice saying words and sentences in a different language and study the Bible. So needless to say, helping him practice for his Torah portion is challenging. He is a good kid who loves animals and baseball and favors me in the looks department. He is very fair, blond, and handsome.

I have enjoyed becoming friends with my co-workers, Michelle and Simon. We have lots in common, mostly a love for rock & roll music and quirky senses of humor. Right off the bat, I was surprised to learn that Michelle and I have a few coincidences that despite differences in our ages, (she is 24, I am 49) are quite startling. We both lost our mothers—Michelle lost hers quite recently—I lost mine eleven years ago. Also, we both have a brother named Henry. What are the odds of that? My brother is older than I; Michelle’s brother is younger than she is. He