The transformation of our Price Chopper into a FreshCo is proceeding in stits and farts. It is nothing short of incredible how much is accomplished in each overnight period; it is likewise almost incomprehensible how much work there actually remains to accomplish.
It's kind of awe-inspiring to watch the construction team move an entire grocery aisle from one side of the store to the other without taking anything off the shelves, and without dropping a thing. Ten or more extra-long pump-jacks, strategically placed, and an unwavering steadiness seems to be all that's required. Then there's the tile-lifting machine that looks like a combination between a chisel and a broom. The flooring comes up neat as you please.
For all that, there have been glitches. The produce wet case was not installed properly the first time 'round: some of the vegetables were parched while others rotted in excessive moisture. And, of course, there's what happened yesterday.
Like everything else in the store, the refrigeration system is getting a massive upgrade. While that's going on, the old refrigeration units are disconnected from the monitoring system. We must perform temperature checks in 54 places every two hours. Can you guess where this is going?
A temp check was the first thing I went to do when I got in yesterday. It turned out to take a little longer than I'd anticipated. In fact, I didn't past the first four bunkers I checked for something on the order of two hours. That's because I could feel the heat baking out of them before I even came in sight of their thermometers.
The frozen bunkers are supposed to read between -22 and -29 C. These were at plus 30. You can perhaps imagine what the contents--gelato, frozen fruit, and pizzas--looked and felt like. And the attached dairy bunkers, containing chocolate soup milk and cottage cheese, were likewise hideously warm.
Grab shopping carts. Fill them quickly but neatly, trying not to let what used to be gelato spill all over the floor. Cart everything off the floor before somebody chances to attempt to buy any of it. Count it up: 147 cottage cheese, 81 bags of once-frozen fruit, and so on and so forth. Cut out the UPCs on the frozen items for reclamation. Throw everything else out. Sigh mightily and reflect that now you're out of stock on five different specials, most of which you didn't order for today on account of you had no idea the garbage can would come in and buy up the store.
Then there's the deli, most of which is in my dairy cooler right now because there's nowhere else, yet, for it to go.
Most customers have been understanding. Most. A few have been almost perfect assholes, but as retail proctologists we're largely used to that sort of thing. Still, you get the message right quick: people don't like change. Not even if it's for the better, as this will surely be. Shopper after shopper remarked that we'd have to hand out road maps at the door. It's almost as grating as the 'say one for me!' I hear from my knees at least twice daily. Yeah, I'm praying, all right.
But it's disconcerting, because with all this rapid and ongoing change, we don't know where anything is, either. Like: the pop. How does an entire aisle of pop go missing? "Well," I said to the first customer who inquired, "I can tell you where it WAS." I then gallivanted all over the store only to discover they'd moved it off into a temporary alcove not far from (but completely out of view of) the front entrance. I felt like a prime cut of grade-A idiot.
This weekend marks my first Sunday shift in years. The boss approached me about this some time ago, quite apologetic. "Have to do this--all the full timers will--for the needs of the business--really don't want to wreck your home life" and lots more in that vain before I finally stared at him and said "why are you apologizing? You're telling me that, for the price of working every other weekend, I get every other weekend off? When getting even one weekend off a month is like pulling teeth around here right now? This represents a huge improvement in my schedule!"
Not this week, it doesn't. Because next Wednesday--which was supposed to be my next day off after today--the dairy counter moves from its current location against a side wall to a new spot in the rough center of the store. I'm excited as hell about this, because it's like a giant reset button, but I just wish it could have moved on ANY...OTHER...DAY.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to do the square root of frig-all today, storing up relaxation to deploy against the inevitable stress to come...
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