The Chronicles of Workia

If I tried to communicate all of my adventures in one post, I think the Internet would crash. So to remedy that, I am splitting this up into three posts, one for each type of job. This will mess up the chronology slightly, but that doesn't actually matter. So here goes! This post will be about my adventures with the BARS Program, gotten through the temp agency.

The BARS Program is a company that hires people between twenty-one and twenty-five. They are given a list of convenience stores, gas stations, restaurants, liquor stores, and the like. They go to each on one day, ask for cigarettes or liquor, as per the list, and give the clerk a card depending on their performance. If they ask for ID, a green card and a smile. This they deliver to their manager. The secret shopper leaves, writes down such information as date, time, color card, and employee's name. If they ask for money before ID, they get a red card, which they also have to give to the manager. At the end of the route, the secret shopper calls in and reports the results of each stop, and the BARS Program later checks in with those stores to see if the S.S. was indeed there at that time on that date and if Joe really did receive a green card. That's the way it works.

My first route was a disaster. That evening I discovered that I inherited what we call my mom's "directionally challenged" gene. I got it bad. I started at 4:00 P.M. My first stop should have been around 4:30, since it was a little bit out there. It was 6:00 by the time I got there. Not a good way to start. I was so lost I didn't even know where I was. I pulled into a shopping center and walked through the Home Depot quickly, looking for someone who looked like they could help me. Simply by looking at the clientele, I realized I'd gotten myself into Prince George's County. "Oh crud, not here!" was about the extend of my thought process. I promptly left the store, began walking back to my car, and saw a man and woman wearing T-shirts advertising their Baptist church. I decided to ask them for help before I left, and they informed me that I was in Bowie. I wanted to be in Columbia. Darn. But, at least I knew where in the world I was. I was SO glad I had a map in the car. I think I would have given up without it. I got myself back on track and did about half the route before more trouble happened.

I had wandered through Bowie, Columbia, Glen Burnie, Severna Park, and Pasadena. I was almost done, just a few more stops, when suddenly I realized I'd skipped one. I had no idea which 7-11 I'd missed, but I had. I started to panic, but decided to finish the route and then go back and find that last store. I knew it had to be somewhere in Pasadena, which helped. I did everything else, and it was 10:30 by this point (because I'd gotten turned around a few times in there), and I was so ready to go home. I called the BARS people, hoping they could help me figure out how to find this stop. The guy said, "Uhhh, I only take completed route calls. I have no idea how this works. Uhhh, I hope you find it?" That was reassuring.

I looked at the address of the one I thought I missed, and looked at my map. For whatever reason, I was convinced I had to go around all four sides of the square rather than just travel that one leg of it, and didn't realize how dumb that was until I was half way around the square. I was hungry, tired, overwhelmed, and barely holding myself together. I just wanted to cry. I've never felt like such a royal failure. I got onto the B&A Boulevard again, and suddenly realized that wasn't where I wanted to be, and had no idea where I was (again). I pulled into a 7-11 to check my map (AGAIN), and thought, "Wouldn't it be crazy if this were the one I need?" But I knew that wasn't possible. I hadn't been to this 7-11 yet, and happened to glance at the store address. Then, looking down to my sheet to find the address of the one I was looking for, I saw the same address! I was right where I needed to be! I was so excited I almost started crying. I pulled myself together, finished the job, and adjusted my list. As I drove home, I had a panic attack because I thought I was going the wrong way. Then I thought, "NO! You're heading South! Riva is South of Severna Park! KEEP GOING!" So I did. Then I passed where I worked last Summer and sobbed a little, because I now knew absolutely where I was. I got home around 11:30, and called in my list. My mom poured me a very large glass of wine, and we stayed up talking until 1:00, which was much nicer than bawling.

It was really interesting noticing the reactions people had to their cards. The first was a red card, and he tried to get out of it by protesting that he could tell I was over eighteen. Tough luck. Whenever a girl got a red card, she accepted her fate, so to speak. One man really got angry with me. He was around forty, and had had a difficult time with the customer in front of me, so I kept thinking, "Please card me. Please card me. You don't want a red card right now. Please card me." He didn't. He used the same excuse about being able to tell I was over age, and I said, "I'm sorry, but you have to card." I walked away, and he yelled after me, "Well thank you! Thank you very much! I LOVE getting red cards!" As I drove off, I thought, "Well, keep it up. I'm sure you'll love getting a pink slip." I always think of good come-backs when it's too late.

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My second round with the BARS Program went MUCH more smoothly. I used my dad's GPS, which I didn't even know we had, so I didn't get lost. Everyone was a winner that day. It was a little more exciting, since I got to go to restaurants too and wait for a drink at the bar. My first stop was fun. I popped into a gas station, and asked for whatever my favorite cigarette brand was that time. The lady behind the counter was probably in her sixties, and looked like she should work at a pancake house. I asked for the cigs, and she looked at me with a calculating expression. She asked for my ID, and I gave her the green card. She chuckled and said, "I thought so. I didn't recognize you." That was unbelievable to me. I hadn't realized Stevensville was that small an area that she could recognize her customers. My stop at the Dave & Buster's in the Marley Station Mall was probably the most fun. I saw a mall cop on a segue. I didn't know they actually rode those. I thought that was a joke. It is a joke, made all the more hilarious because it actually happens. I walked in, ordered a Miller Lite, because it's a girlie beer, and was carded. In the restaurant situations, you have to take the card directly to the manager, so the guy behind the bar went to get him. I followed him, which he didn't realize. He disappeared into an Employee's Only door. A few minutes later, I heard, "...another one! I'm on a roll! Woohoo!" At this point, he came out and saw me. He stopped dead. "Umm yes, this is the young lady right here. Yes." I shook hands with his boss, who exclaimed over the hardness of my grip and told the bartender to watch out for my handshake, and then left. I was actually home at a decent hour that time.

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My third and, so far, final experience with this job was also fine. I didn't take the GPS because I was very familiar with the area, having gotten lost in it so many times the first night. It was an eight stop route, and I was allowed to do it in the morning, which was quite nice. Everything went without hiccup until the second-to-last stop. Up to this point, nobody had received a red card. I walked in to the Sunoco and asked for some cigarettes (again, whatever my favorite brand was that day). The teller was short, pasty white with glasses, pale hair, and bad teeth. Your typical basement dwelling fungi. He looked like he spent all day playing Dungeons and Dragons. I bet he was a level seventeen warlock. I placed my order, he sized me up, and asked for the money. I pulled out a red card. "How old are you?" he blurted. "Twenty-one," I replied. "I knew it! I knew you were old enough! Didn't you see the way I looked at you?" "Yes," I said, "but that doesn't matter. You must card anyone who appears to be under thirty." "But I knew you were old enough! I didn't want to insult you!" "Sorry," I responded. "The law's the law." He took the card. "Yeah?" he asked. "And anger is anger and temper is temper." He ripped the card into tiny pieces. I shrugged. "And a pink slip is a pink slip," I said and walked away. Later, when I called in my list, I told the lady that he had ripped it up, so that his manager would have no record of the incident. "But why would he do that?" she asked. "Because he was mad that he got a red card," I said. She couldn't believe it. I was surprised no one had done that before. I'm not sure how he'll fare, but I can't imagine his boss being too pleased with that. The stores pay to have the BARS Program check them, so it really won't go over well. It was fun, though, and so satisfying to say that. I was a little afraid, though, and I don't know why. He couldn't have beat me up. Maybe I was afraid he'd fly over the counter at me and try one of his D&D spells or something.

Well, that's enough for now. Maybe I'll get another route sometime.