Remote Overload

Working at a pawn shop often requires you to sign your initials on random pieces of paperwork throughout the day, and today a co-worker noticed what my initials were and laughed to himself. He then informed me that someone who had previously worked had the same initials as me. Apparently, this previous co-worker was very mischievous. I was told of one instance when a $1400 road bike had been on display in the shop, propped up on one of those bike stands that holds up the rear tire just off the floor. One day, this past employee decided it would be fun to pedal this expensive bike with his hands as fast as he possibly could. Apparently, his efforts were enough to make the rear wheel pop off the frame and zoom across the shop. What made it even more dramatic was how the wheel slid behind a stand of computers and unplugged several of them. By the grace of the Pawn Shop Gods, nothing was broken. There was, however, a lingering smell of burnt rubber from where the spinning wheel had just barely rubbed against the floor at an accelerated rate. I admit that I am somewhat disappointed that this individual no longer works there because I'm sure he would have provided plenty of entertainment.

I was given another organizational task today. This involved sorting through the couple dozen IPods we had displayed in one of the glass cases. I was to remove any repeats of the same IPod, reorganize the display, and then put out any additional models that we did not already have out.  In order to save time running each individual repeat IPod into the backroom for safe keeping, I ended up putting several of them into my pockets and then dumping them all at once. I felt really odd shoving IPods that weren't mine into my pockets. I felt like I was stealing, enough though I wasn't. I felt guilty and nervous like I was going to be confronted about my attempted theft. Weird, exaggerated emotional response aside, this first part of the task was relatively easy. The second part, however, was much more time tedious. I was directed to a large drawer in which there was a tangle of MP3 wall and car chargers, USB cords, and headphones. There was also a surprising number of IPods, MP3 players of various brands, Nintendo DS consoles, and GPS units. My job, as you may have guessed, was to organize this drawer. While I enjoy these little tasks of organizing things and how they get me away from having to deal with customers, it is very curious how I have been the only one being given such chores. Perhaps my boss has noticed my strong organizational skills. Maybe I'm being given all the crap jobs because I'm the new guy. I suppose it doesn't matter which because I'm still getting paid and do enjoy the work (and I don't think these assignments are made out of spite, everyone has been really nice so far).

Towards the end of the day, I remembered that I was supposed to stock headphones in one of the display cases hours ago. The extra headphones were stored in a large orange container in the back, so I got the container down from a really tall shelf, stocked the case, and then was going to return the container back to the place where I had gotten it. At that moment, a co-worker who had been cleaning and organizing the back (ah, it's not just me that's given such jobs) told me to put it somewhere else, only this somewhere else was currently occupied by several paper bags. I was told these bags were trash, and when I went to help dispose of said bags, I found that two of them were completely filled with television remote controls and another one had been halfway filled. Two and a half paper grocery bags worth of remotes and we were throwing them all away. It's at times like these that I wish I was an artist. I could have made something very awesome with all of those remotes! There have been times when I've collected weird things such as egg cartons or twisty ties, telling myself that I'd make something really cool out of them. I really intended to do this, but these collected items always ended up sitting in my room for months, the collections growing steadily larger and larger until I finally admitted defeat and either threw away or recycled them. I could have taken those remotes home. I mean, I could have done something with them. How often do you come across that many remotes for the taking? But I didn't take them because I knew that they would have met the same fate as all the other collections I had intended to turn into art. It was a sad moment, seeing all those remotes being swallowed up by black plastic, but I was strong and did not show my true emotions of disappointment and sorrow.