Wal-Mart: I Don't Belong Here

By Sean William Brown

After 15 years in retail management, Ben Brown found himself heartbroken, jobless, and living in his parent’s basement. In the worst economic recession in 25 years, Ben too an entry level job catching shoplifters for Wal-Mart. Not just any Wal-Mart, but an inner-city test store in the Midway are of Saint Paul, Minnesota. Drugs, poverty, an

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean Nelson
• Release date: Aug 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781622174560

Sean William Brown

Sean William Brown is also the author of Dear Customer: Inside the World of Baristas, Upselling, and the Rules of Serving a Special Cup of Coffee. He lives in Minnesota with his wife and two kids. Follow him on Twitter @SWilliamBrown33

Book preview

nelson ebook cover

Walmart: I Don’t Belong Here

by

Sean William Brown

Copyright © 2016 by Sean William Brown

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2016

ISBN: 978-1-62217-456-0

To Catalina,

If I didn’t go through this hell, I would never have found you.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Prologue

Sometime in September…

I get to the store around 7:30 a.m., and I’m still sleepy. I’m looking forward to a nice, lazy morning in the office, just killing time. I usually zone out until 9 a.m., when the off-duty cop arrives. I walk into the office, and Stu already has something going on. Fuck.

He took an entire peg hook of Boost Mobile Phones. They’re in his jacket. Stu is quickly switching cameras to keep the guy on different monitors. The shoplifter is moving quickly. And he’s twitching.

This is the absolute last thing I want to deal with. I haven’t put in my contacts yet; I’m wearing my glasses. I’m not really awake. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is going to be trouble. I wait by the store entrance for the wiry, thirty-ish, black male to exit. Some people are afraid of big guys, but not me. It’s the small, wiry ones that scare me. They will fight all day.

I doubt Stu will help me. Our store’s police officer won’t show up for a while, and no Walmart associate is allowed to assist. It’s me against a drug-fiending shoplifter. I hate my job, and I hate my life at this moment.

The guy walks into the vestibule, and I pop out from behind the sliding doors.

Hey, dude. I’m with Walmart Security. Let’s head back inside. Don’t worry. It’s no big deal. He starts veering away from me, toward the exit doors, and I sigh. I don’t want to deal with this at any hour of the day. I push him into the wall, kind of hard, but nothing too extreme. He hasn’t started to fight, and I don’t want to provoke him by starting too rough.

Come on, dude. It’s too early for this shit. Cops are on the way, so no big thing.

Stu arrives as I am tackling the guy into a row of carts and…watches.

Are you going to come in? I growl at the guy. He tries to worm away, but I again throw him into the carts. Did you call the police? I ask Stu.

They’re on the way. He is still standing there. Watching. Not helping.

Calm down and let’s just go to the office! I plead with the guy. This is not worth fighting. I push him into the carts again. I just want to keep him inside the vestibule, so he doesn’t run away. We dance the dance of shoplifter and security, which is not as cool as it looks on TV. The phones fall out of his jacket, onto the floor, and Stu picks them up.

Okay, okay. He quits struggling, but I’m ready for anything.

Go to that brown door. I point.

We head back to the office, and I’m behind the guy, waiting for him to run or something. We get to the door, and he turns around and puts up his fists like a boxer. He starts bobbing and weaving. I just stand there, sighing.

And then he punches me right in the face! I don’t see stars, nor do I black out or anything, but I’m caught off-guard. I back up and take a running start and tackle him into the door. Stu watches.

A People Greeter named Jeeka, an African man I can hardly ever understand, runs over and helps me keep the shoplifter on the ground. Jeeka holds his feet, then stands up and stomps on the guy’s ankles.

Jeeka! Stop that! Stu yells. The shoplifter starts screaming that he has stomach pains. Aw, man, my stomach! Leave me alone! Uh-huh. What a pussy, I think. Faking he’s hurt after punching me in the face.

A group of associates and customers are watching, so I drag the guy into the office. I throw him at the bench.

The police arrive, of course, moments after he settles down, and I tell them that he punched me. They discover the guy has warrants out for his arrest and was a Golden Gloves boxer in North Carolina. The cops say they plan to charge him with a felony for hitting me because of his boxing background. Everyone else in the office is excited, but I don’t know if I am. The guy obviously has a drug problem and is stealing to get money for his habit.

Stu pussed out and wouldn’t help me. And everyone noticed. It’s hard to give him crap, though, because a shoplifter stabbed him once. He probably shouldn’t be in Asset Protection anymore if he won’t get involved with what has to be done to back up his teammates.

Jeeka kicked that guy, Stu says as we watch the video.

He was helping me out.

He should be coached.

He was helping me when you wouldn’t, I want to say, but I think Stu realizes it.

I sit in the office after the whole thing is over. The adrenaline has worn off. After all shoplifter apprehensions, I enter a contemplative mood. I look at my shirt and see blood. I didn’t know the guy was bleeding. Am I bleeding? Is this worth it?

And I decide I am officially done stopping American black people.

This job is not worth getting hurt. The shoplifters can hit and do whatever they want. They might have weapons or needles, and I am just a person doing a job. We have rules telling us that, if we fight or hit, we could be fired. We could lose our lives for trying to stop shoplifting.

I have never felt this way before, but after working at Walmart? Black Americans frighten me. Not Africans, not Asians, not Mexicans, not South Americans, and not white people, except for creepy white pedophiles. I feel ashamed for thinking this way. I hate what this job has done to me. No one else is looking out for me but me. I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. I’m scared.

And so I stop.

FEBRUARY

This is Walmart.

Chapter 1

Let me get you up to speed. My name is Ben, and about six years ago, I was an out-of-work, soon-to-be divorced loser. I cried most days because my life had turned out so pathetically. It went wrong in a lot of places, but the main one was falling in love with a girl who shit on me. In the end, the funny part was that I uprooted a comfortable life, a stable job, and moved to her hometown. For her. And she left me. I always use the word funny when I want to say soul-shatteringly depressing, and it’s making me cry to type this. She ruined my insides.

I had been in retail security, or Asset Protection, since 1999 when I started working for Kohl’s Department Stores. Asset Protection is responsible for catching shoplifters, employee theft, and maintaining safety programs. Throughout my almost ten-year career, I have worked loss prevention for Kohl’s, JCPenney, and Shopko. I had been an Asset Protection manager for most of my working life. As my career was ready to take off with JCPenney (I was a senior manager), my wife Ursula and I decided to move to her hometown in Marshall, Minnesota, from Minneapolis.

The JCPenney gig was a sweet job, and I never should have left. I had a pension and a 401k. I could have retired when I was fifty-five. I managed ten people who basically did my job for me.

Ursula and I decided to move back to her hometown because we were fond of the small town quaintness and wanted a different lifestyle than city life. I found a decent job as an Asset Protection manager for Shopko, which didn’t have as nice a salary as I was used to, but the cost of living was cheaper. The mortgage was $700 a month for an old farmhouse with hardwood floors, a huge garage, and a great yard. So I changed my entire life and moved away from my friends and family.

Ursula and I went to work remodeling the house. She got a part-time job to save money, and while my job wasn’t that exciting, it paid the bills and then some. Our goal was for her to be a stay-at-home mom. Kids, white picket fence, the whole thing. We had almost completed the house by Thanksgiving. My grandma from Seattle visited with my family for the holidays and everything seemed perfect. I thought life was going great. It felt…right.

A few days later, Ursula told me that she had to leave. You have to leave? What does that even mean? I couldn’t wrap my head around it. She came back a few times, but then would leave again. I didn’t know where she went. By leaving she meant, leaving me.

Ursula had been going out drinking without me, I found out later. This blew my mind because I was the fun guy. I was the guy others wanted to go out and get drunk with and laugh the night away.

It seems crazy, and I laugh (and cry) about it now, but at the time, I truly believed she would change. I know that never expect people to change is day one relationship advice, but I thought she would be the exception. I wanted it to be true so badly.

One night I found Ursula at a bar in Marshall. She said she wanted to have fun and didn’t want to live in Marshall anymore. She gave me back her wedding ring.

If we had still lived in Minneapolis when Ursula left me, it wouldn’t have been such a soul-crushing experience. But I was alone in a town where every relationship I had made was connected to her. I was three hours away from my friends and family. And I had just bought a house, for God’s sake!

I tried to struggle through and keep working, hoping I would come up with a plan to maybe win her back, maybe become happy. I eventually realized Ursula was not coming back. And if she did, it wouldn’t be the same. Her parents, who I thought I had been very close to, had been lying for Ursula. There was, of course, another guy, or guys. Ursula had been hanging out with an eighteen-year-old girl she met at her part-time job. Her friend from work was dating a sophomore in high school. So Ursula, who was twenty-seven years old, was hanging out with high schoolers. Sophomores at that. I look back on it now as incredibly weird, and I don’t know why I tolerated it.

Ursula had been married once before me and told me that her ex-husband had beaten her, cheated, was in a cult, and was an all-around asshole. Her mother confirmed all of this, so I never had any reason to think it was not true. Later, Ursula told a friend of my sister’s that she left me because I had beaten her. A lot of things with Ursula and her family didn’t add up. I was confused, hurt, and angry, and I was losing control. People were starting to worry about me.

I couldn’t sleep. After work, I would buy an 18-pack of beer and come home to my dark, empty house. I would drink nine beers and then eat a bunch of Hamburger Helper and pass out. It was the only way I could fall asleep. Otherwise I would be awake, thinking of my wife with other men. Thinking that maybe she had never even loved me. I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, alone with my nightmares.

Worse, some nights I didn’t stop at the ninth beer. I would keep drinking, drive to different towns, wander into the local bars, looking for a fight or a party. And always looking for Ursula. I found her friends one night. I yelled and cried, and the only reason I wasn’t arrested was because the cop felt bad for me.

I went home for Christmas, and it was brutally awful. I stayed in the basement whenever company came to my parents’ house. Maybe you should stay? my parents asked. I can’t stay. I have a job. A house. I didn’t think I could stay.

Being alone on New Year’s Eve was the worst. Awful thoughts crept into my head. I didn’t want to live like this. I couldn’t go on. But I couldn’t kill myself, either. I felt like I would ruin my brother and sister’s lives. Having an older brother who committed suicide would torment them. So I didn’t.

On a Monday morning, I called my boss at Shopko and told him, I’m quitting.

He laughed and thought I was joking.

I’m serious. My wife left me, and I have to go.

At work, I had never let on that anything was wrong with my home life. My stepdad came to Marshall, and we packed up the house. And I moved back home. To my parent’s basement.

I had quit my job without having another one lined up. We also happened to be in the worst economic recession since the Great Depression.

I was despondent every day and still missed my wife. I wanted my life back, but it was never going to happen. And I knew it. I spent my days playing video games and paying heating bills for a house that sat empty. I knew I was crazy for quitting my job, but it was better than coming home to that dark, empty house, crying all night and drinking myself to sleep.

The only good thing about my life was that I got to keep our dog, Atticus. Ursula didn’t want anything to do with him. I would hold him and tell him, It’s just us now. He kept me going.

I would read constantly to keep my mind busy. I have always been a big reader. In fact, that year I kept track of every book I read. Fifty. Pretty good for being consumed with remodeling a house and having my life fall apart. Now, I had no job, plenty of time, and a mind that wanted to remember everything about my ex-wife. None of the bad, mind you, but all of the great things about her. I was a fool for still worrying about her. And I knew it. And for a few moments, when I was deep in thought, reading, I forgot about everything.

Nighttime was the worst, especially Friday and Saturday. Picturing my wife drunk and dancing with strangers made me insane. My parents thought I was crazy and depressed, and I was, but there wasn’t much anyone could do for me. Time heals all wounds, I hoped.

My family stared at me at get-togethers. I had become the elephant in the room. I hated my life. I tried not to cry in front of people, but sometimes the tears slipped out.

About a month after quitting my job, I still didn’t have a new one. I didn’t have any leads, any callbacks, any apologetic e-mails stating nothing was available right now. And I needed something to do. Now.

I called Doug Buxson, and it was the last option on my list because it is no one’s dream to work at Walmart. Doug used to work for me at Kohl’s and JCPenney, and he was an Asset Protection Coordinator, known as an APC, at Walmart. The APC is in charge of a team of people dedicated to catching shoplifters, employees stealing, and safety issues. Exactly what I did before. I just wanted a stupid manager job somewhere. Anywhere. I didn’t need $85,000 a year. I only needed $30,000. He was my last resort. I had to get a job. I called him, and he called back. Thank god.

He worked at the Bloomington Walmart, but that location was closing to be remodeled. So he was moving to be Co-APC of the Walmart in Midway, a very tough area of St. Paul. The Midway store was so busy with thefts that it was allotted two APCs. He needed my help. The staff and store were a mess. I couldn’t imagine Doug as my boss — he was never a very good employee — but he had a good heart, and I was ecstatic when he called again to set up my interview. Hope is a good thing.

Chapter 2

Istand on the sidewalk in front of the Midway Walmart and sigh a depressing sigh. This place is dirty and gray and sad. When you go from the suburbs to the city, the biggest change is color. The suburbs have green grass, clean businesses, and the parking lots are crisp black pavement, and no trash. The city is dirty and gray. Colorless. I debate whether to drive off and start borrowing money from family members. But I can’t do that to them. And I can’t do that to myself.

I’m from the west side of Minneapolis, so I haven’t spent much time in St. Paul. Minneapolis and Saint Paul, the Twin Cities, are about twenty minutes apart. Minneapolis is the on the west side of the Mississippi River, Saint Paul on the east side. Midway sits in Saint Paul and is a lifetime away from the west suburbs of Minneapolis. My stepdad once told me that Charles Schulz, the creator of Peanuts, was from Midway. I always thought Charlie Brown comics were depressing. Midway probably had something to do with it.

Inside the Midway Walmart, at the customer service counter, I am standing behind an Asian man trying to return a stroller, when two black guys push to the front of the line. They are trying to return one balloon, which is seriously odd. The man with the stroller yells at the two guys returning the balloon. And then all of them start arguing with pretty much everyone else in line.

A woman comes from behind me and tries to elbow her way in front of all of us. I feel like the customers — and even the Walmart employees behind the counter — look for me to handle things. Just because I’m wearing a suit. I’m here for a fucking job interview, I want to yell! But I say nothing and wait my turn.

I finally reach the counter. An unfriendly woman named Elvia says something into a radio when I tell her I have an interview, and addresses the next customer. I stare at her. She tells me TJ has been notified. It’s not really clear, but I guess that TJ is the person who will be interviewing me. I get out of the way.

I lean up against the wall next to the counter and try to make myself small. This isn’t easy because I’m white, I’m 6’3" , and I’m wearing a suit. Midway’s customer service area for returns is right next to the exit/entrance, and it has a long line. The registers all have lines. The store is big and loud, and it’s the middle of the day. There are two Walmart door greeters, but they don’t say a thing to anyone. They seem to be in their own world.

I wait and wait for TJ. It’s probably only ten minutes. But it feels like hours. Defeatist thoughts keep running through my head. What if I fail? Make a fool of myself? Freeze up? What if he doesn’t pass me through to the next round? Failing a Walmart interview would be a lot to handle. I want to start crying or laughing hysterically, probably both, at where my life has led me. I really need this job.

TJ arrives and walks me to the personnel office. There are three people waiting for their paychecks. One is speaking her name very slowly and loudly. Two women are working in a half-cubicle type area, two people are working on computers, and it seems like everyone is talking at once.

This is where we’re doing the interview? I ask.

Yeah, this is where we do them. TJ is breathing hard from the walk to the back of the store.

This is, by far, the worst place I have ever interviewed for a job. Why isn’t the area closed off? How can they expect me to answer questions with all these employees around? Interviews are typically done in quiet, isolated areas. This is not going to help me make a good first impression. Maybe it’s not the norm and things are really busy. I find out later that things were not busy and this is the norm.

TJ is in his early thirties, with a shaved head. He has tattoos on his arms, neck, and wrists. He wears retro ‘50s glasses and says he had wanted to be an Asset Protection Coordinator (APC) at Midway, but has family working in the store. It isn’t allowed by Walmart to be an APC in the same store as family members. This is a good rule because a perfect way to steal is to have family being the ones watching. Or not watching.

TJ has a typed list of questions to ask me. I can see the questions and below them, the options for rating my answers: development needed, solid performer, exceeds expectations, and role model. TJ asks his first question, Tell me about a time you had many tasks that needed to be completed in a specific timeframe, and before I even finish giving my answer, he circles role model. My answer trails off. This is a little awkward.

He asks about five more questions and quickly circles role model for all of them. Either Doug has instructed him to pass me through or he has never interviewed someone with my experience. The interview lasts about four minutes, and then TJ gets up, tells me he’s going to go get Doug, and leaves the office. I have never interviewed in front of a room full of people, but, at least, no one seems to be paying attention to me. The office never quieted down when my interview started.

Killing time until Doug arrives, I wander around the store, taking it all in. I search around a maintenance area and find a pile of ripped off tickets and empty packages of what appears to be sports apparel clothing. Someone had obviously hidden them, poorly, in the area. I move along and poke my head into the break room. The conversation and laughter inside almost immediately stops. Everyone stares at me. It’s like I’ve walked into a saloon in a bad Western movie. I turn around and head back to the office. I don’t want to bother anyone on their lunch break.

It’s a start, I keep reminding myself. Get a foot in the door. Get a job. Just start building again. You’ll find something else soon enough, and you can be out of here.

Just as I get back, a guy named Bradley shows up and introduces himself as the store’s Co-APC. He’ll be interviewing me, he says. Bradley is in his early twenties, with really short red hair, and wears an earring. I find out later he is in the Army Reserves.

Doug finally wanders into the office a few minutes after Bradley starts asking his list of questions. This is normal for him. Doug was notoriously tardy when he worked for me. Doug sits next to Bradley, but doesn’t say anything during the interview.

Bradley, at least, tips the sheet with the interview questions up, so I can’t see his notes. But it doesn’t matter because, after each question, he says, That’s an awesome answer. These are really great answers, and that he wished he could come up with answers like this. After the interview, Bradley says that I know more than he does about asset protection, and that he is pretty sure I am more qualified than him. I don’t feel like he is being complimentary, just talking to himself.

Doug is the same old Doug, which is comforting. He is wearing a wrinkly blue shirt, no nametag, black Doc Martens, white athletic socks, and tan dress pants that are too tight and too short. It’s the most dressed up I have ever seen him.

He tells me later that every AP applicant gets asked the same interview questions. I have no idea how they could get to know me that way, but I do know that I blew them away, and should have the job wrapped up. They want to hire me right away, but have to check in with another manager because they didn’t interview anyone else. Doug confides that if he doesn’t go through the motions and interview two other qualified applicants, whoever they are, he could be fired. Going through the motions is very important at Walmart, I learn. Doug says the manager will still approve the hire, and he’ll call me when he knows more.

There’s no way you can just get me in? I ask. When I hired Doug at JCPenney, he only interviewed with me and could work whenever he wanted to. I made the schedule and controlled the hours as the manager.

Walmart is full of rules, and I can’t break this one. Doug tells me to go home, but maybe hang around for a little bit, just in case I can get my drug test out of the way today. He calls me thirty minutes later, as I browse through the almost-empty Borders Bookstore next door, with a job offer pending a background check and the drug test.

I complete the online employment paperwork and discover I’ll be paid $11.80 an hour. I had asked for $20.00 an hour. I accept the $11.80 though, because, let’s be honest, I have absolutely no options. Doug says that is the highest they can offer even with my experience.

I head immediately to the drug testing office near Midway. The drug test lady tells me some people use animal piss to try to pass the test. It’s a pain when that happens, and they have to shut down for a while and clean all the machines.

I stress out about the background check and drug test. I have no rational reason to worry about failing, but things in my life have been pretty shitty lately. Explaining to my friends and family that I didn’t get hired at Walmart would probably send me to the closest bridge.

Doug calls and tells me to show up at the store for orientation, from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., the next day. That seems brutally long. A normal orientation at JCPenney or Kohl’s would last three or four hours. Still, just like that, I have been hired at Walmart as an Asset Protection Associate making $11.80 an hour!

Doug explains that all the other APAs at the store are awful and he needs my help cleaning it all up. I’m just excited to have something to do all day and not have my mom stare at me like I’m the biggest loser in the world. Even though I might still be the biggest loser in the world, at least I don’t feel like it anymore.

Chapter 3

It’s my first day on the job, and the morning traffic isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I live across the city from Midway in a fancy suburb. But don’t be impressed; it’s my parent’s basement. I think I might have mentioned that.

I arrive at 7:45 a.m. sharp for my eight o’clock start. And the training coordinator, Taron, hasn’t shown up yet. I track down Kristen, the personnel manager.

Where do I go? I ask. She is confused. I explain who I am, and she gets really confused.

Taron might be late. I don’t know if we knew you were coming today. I guess Taron is going to be the person training me. Eventually. Welcome to Walmart, I tell myself.

Kristen calls Taron. We find out she is dropping her car off to get the tires changed. Shouldn’t she be at work? Have I uncovered a Walmart scandal on my first day? Walmart associates are punched in, but are not working or even at the store!

Midway is not allowed to hire any new associates because they have too many employees and are not making sales goals. I am an exception because Asset Protection needs people, and the payroll is not based on store sales. Taron doesn’t do orientation classes very often, even though it is part of her job. She probably could have dropped her car off another day.

I spend my first forty-five minutes on the Walmart payroll debating whether I should text Ursula or not. I think, Now I have a job in the city. Maybe we can pretend we never moved away. Maybe we can be together again, the way it was. I realize how pathetic that is. I don’t text her.

As I decide that, I hear a woman’s voice next to me say, Hello. Nothing else. I take a chance.

You must be Taron? I venture. She nods. Why didn’t she introduce herself? This is my trainer? Someone who can’t even introduce herself?

Taron says she called me and left a message.

When did you call me?

Hmm. I can’t remember.

What number did you call?

The one we have on file.

What did your message say?

To call me.

I don’t believe her. Is she lying to me because she forgot I was coming or because she got her lines crossed with Doug? She is lying to me about something.

Taron is white, in her mid-thirties, short, about forty pounds overweight, and did not iron her outfit this morning. She wears no makeup and looks tired and unkempt. Her plain brown hair is slicked down, oily, and in a bun. And she might not have showered. Taron is wearing a blue Walmart polo shirt and light blue pants, but neither are ironed, nor clean. (I would come to learn that many people at Walmart wear the same set of clothes everyday.)

Taron’s grammar and pronunciation is so random; I find myself not being able to concentrate on anything else. Y’all get nowhere with those shoplifters. I seen it. I am shocked that she is the first person new associates have contact with at Walmart.

Taron started as a cashier a few years ago, then moved to customer service manager, and now is the training coordinator. She helps out Kristen with orientation and other tasks. She tells me that she started with nothing and has moved up, and has plenty of places to go opportunity-wise. She is very proud of that, and I admit I can understand why. I ask Taron where she would like to be in five years, and she replies, Assistant Store Manager.

Taron excuses herself from the orientation a few times to argue with her boyfriend on the company landline phone. Apparently her son, Lil’ J, is acting up at school, and her boyfriend is at home, but will not discipline him.

We play a fake board game and learn fun facts and core concepts about Walmart. The game is kind of like Monopoly, but with different department’s specific questions. Questions such as when the very first Walmart opened, when they went public, different locations, and general Walmart trivia. I can imagine the Human Resources people thinking this game is a great idea. Learning about the company while having fun! It’s really boring and not really a game.

Taron is really mailing it in and reading directly out of the training manual when I ask a question.

How much of one dollar in sales does Walmart get to keep? she asks me.

Four cents? I guess.

No. 3.8 cents. She stops and pulls the training manual farther away from me, as if I saw the answer.

I start asking Taron even more questions about the company that she can’t answer. What do we do in sales a year? What was our shrink? Do we take stolen items out of the inventory or just order new ones? She doesn’t know and gets flustered, and her answer to any question I ask becomes, A manager will be coming in to talk to you.

The store manager, Darnarian, usually meets with every new associate during orientation, I learn, but he is out of the building today for a rally at the capitol building in St. Paul, something about anti-union. Eddie, the co-manager, is also off today. So Mia, the assistant manager, will handle the manager portion of my orientation. I can only guess what that will involve.

I learn about Walmart’s 3 Basic Beliefs. I have never heard of these before, and I have read a lot about Walmart to get ready for this job. Maybe none of Walmart’s critics know they base every decision on these 3 Basic Beliefs:

1. Respect for the Individual

Treat one another with respect. The differences of people increase our ability to do business. Live by the Golden Rule. Give the benefit of the doubt to your neighbor. Strive to be flexible with Associates’ needs. Give our Members individual attention – call them by name when you know it. Be a Servant Leader. Recognize and commend others’ positive actions. Trust people. Be fair and truthful.

2. Serve the Needs of the Member

This is our competitive edge. Offer quality merchandise at the lowest price. Maintain our pledge that Member satisfaction is guaranteed. Operate at the lowest expense level to pass on those savings to the Member in the form of lower prices. We all have a direct positive or negative effect on each Member’s shopping experience. Operate a