RECORD STORE TALES #1094: Sanchez

“There was one customer in Cambridge who hated selling to me, he always asked where “the regular guy” was. He asked my name and I told him it was Sanchez. When T-Rev came back, we had a laugh over the employee named “Sanchez” who was apparently low-balling this customer for his dance CDs.” – Record Store Tales #526: Location, Location, Location

 

The year 2000 wasn’t a particularly happy year at the Record Store for me.  My good buddy T-Rev, who normally managed our Cambridge location, was also a talented guy with a hammer and saw.  The boss sent him off to the GTA to build one of our new stores.  This left his location unmanaged for several weeks that summer.  Because I had a car, I was often the go-to guy to fill in for others.  This meant pulling double duty, managing two stores at the same time.  Sometimes I’d be working the morning in Kitchener, and the evening in Cambridge.  I remember the boss promised to make it “worth my while” but never did.

Another manager had to do two stores at once, and thought I shouldn’t be complaining about my lot in life.  My answer:  “You do you!”  I’ll complain if I like.  It took them weeks/month to pay my mileage, so yes, I’ll complain.

Each location had its own quirks.  Some stores had customers that were more into dance, others had customers that liked classic rock.  Cambridge appealed to the lowest common denominator.  We had just as many customers asking where the strip club was, as were looking for classical music.  (An exaggeration, but a funny one.)  Cambridge also had regulars who were used to dealing with T-Rev, aka “the regular guy”.

Here’s how it went one night in Cambridge.

Dude walks in with a box of crappy dance music.  “Hey, is the regular guy in?”

“No, I’ll take a look at those for you,” I’d respond, although I really didn’t want to have a look at them.

“The regular guy usually gives me a good price,” came the answer.

“Well, we have a pricing scheme that helps us give you consistent pricing, so I’ll take care of that for you.”

“OK…” was the reluctant response.

I’d go through the CDs, which were often scratched and/or outdated, mixed in with a few things of higher value.  I’d sort through.  Put them in piles of things that were scratched vs. in good shape.  Check to see if we had too many copies already.  Check the scratched ones to see if they could be fixed.  Price them accordingly.  Call the guy back to the counter to show him what I found.

This particular guy wasn’t happy, of course, and was sure that the “regular guy” would have done better.  (I would make sure I called “the regular guy” and tell him what I offered so this guy wouldn’t be doing any better when he returned.)

He passed on the offer.  “When is the regular guy back?” he asked.  I told him two weeks or whatever the answer was.  He then asked my name, because of course he would complain.

“Sanchez,” I answered.  It was my standard answer for when an asshole asked my name.  I looked nothing like a Sanchez.  I was as pale as a sheet of paper.  I also had tried to bleach my hair, which came out kinda orange.  Sure enough, this guy returned to the store and complained about “Sanchez, with the orange hair,” who low-balled him on his dance CDs.

I had already discussed this guy with T-Rev, and so when he came back, he didn’t really offer much differently than I had.  But because he was the “regular guy” and not “Sanchez”, the guy took the money and we got the CDs.  We had to do twice the amount of work to get them, since T-Rev had to repeat everything I did, but we were fairly consistent.

T-Rev called me.  “Hey Mike!  I just had a guy in here complaining about somebody named ‘Sanchez’ that lowballed him for his dance mixes?  Said he had orange hair?”  We had a good laugh about that.

I didn’t have to use the name Sanchez often, but I did use it!