I Don't Have a Dead Uncle John

I Don't Have a Dead Uncle John

I hated my job at Media Play. Out of all the jobs I've ever had, it's down in the bottom three for sure. Now, I loved the environment. I was in charge of the video department, and if there's one thing I know, it's movies. People would come in with vague recollections of movies, asking me "What's the name of that movie with the guy, and he's dead, and the girl, whatshername, and they do the thing with the clay? You know which one I'm talking about." Then I would find them their copy of "Ghost" and they would be happy.

But what I didn't know when I got the job was that it would be heavily sales-oriented. We were required to approach every customer and try to sell them useless accessories and add-ons. Did I say "approach"? I meant "ambush".

I was the king of the Skip Doctor, the thing that - in theory - fixes your scratched CDs. We had two versions, the hand-crank one and the motorized one. I would attack people as soon as they came in the door, hand-cranking my Skip Doctor like nobody's business. On a really good day, I might actually sell one. But this wasn't good enough! We had quotas to meet!

I'll be the first person to admit that I'm not a very good salesman. First off, I'm too honest. If something's a piece of crap, I'm gonna tell you. This, of course, didn't sit well with my manager, Dean. His store was number three in the company for sales and I think he was shooting for number two. At one point he pulled me aside and asked me point-blank why I couldn't just get out there and sell, sell, sell.

"I'd love to sell, sell, sell," I said, "but I have this thing called a soul, and I want to keep it."

Shortly after that, I found my hours cut down considerably. Even though I only worked a couple of days a week, I would still make up excuses and call off of work. After a while, I was running out of good excuses. So one day, I called in and told Dean I couldn't come in. Of course, he asked why, and I rummaged around my brain a bit.

"I have to go to a funeral," I said.

"A funeral?" he echoed.

"Yeah, I have to go to a funeral. I, uhh... just found out about it."

I was actually shocked that he bought that excuse, since I don't know of many people that have funerals on a last minute's notice. But it got me off the hook for the day, which meant more time for me to find a new job.

A couple of days later, I went in to work, having totally forgotten about the whole funeral lie. Everyone seemed happy to see me, and they all asked me how I was doing. This seemed odd, since I knew they all hated me. And vice-versa. Barb, one of the few people that I liked, came up to me and asked how I was doing.

"I'm doing great," I said happily, thinking about a job interview I had that went really well.

"Oh, that's good to hear. I heard you went to a funeral."

Oh, what a tangled web we weave...

"Oh, uhh, yeah," I stammered.

"Who was it?" she asked sincerely.

For a moment, I contemplated killing my mom. "It was...my uncle."

"What was his name?" she asked.

Think of a name, think of a name..."John. My uncle John."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she said. With genuine concern, she asked, "Did you know him very well?"

For once, I could be completely honest. "No, not really."