A sequel to #106: My Favourite Aunt
and #287: Closing Time
RECORD STORE TALES #1168: Christmas Crack
Closing time at the Beat Goes On wasn’t always easy. At 8:45, we shut down all the customer listening station and began tidying up for cashout. If people came in during the last 15 minutes, we reminded them that we were closing soon. Some were respectful of that, and did their shopping within the allotted time frame. Some brought in CDs to sell at the last minute, always an irritant. Others purposely seemed to take their time, as if to put us in our place. “How dare they tell me, the customer, that I only have 15 minutes to shop. I’ll take as long as I want.” Retail employees always have to put up with the worst behaved adults, so much so that we often forget the good ones.
December 23, probably 2002, I was closing up with a newer employee name Lori. We were closing per normal procedure, getting ready for the big chaos on December 24. Straightening the CDs on the shelves. Filing things away. Shutting down the customer listening stations. Cleaning, counting the minutes. Having a perfectly pleasant closing.
In came a mid-30s disheveled looking woman, lugging an absolutely huge black garbage bag.
“Hey guys! Looking for some used CDs?” she asked with a huge smile on her face.
It was never a good sign when used CDs arrived inside a huge black garbage bag. It didn’t speak well for the quality of the discs inside.
Had the bossman/owner been there that night, five minutes before closing on December 23, he would have seen dollar signs. I know exactly what he would have done. He would have told the woman to put the bag on the counter, called me over, and instructed me to race through the piles and check every disc for quality. Then we would have had to check every once for pricing and current stock, so we could make an offer. With a garbage bag the size she brought it, we’d probably be there until close to 10 that night, especially since we would have to log each disc. It wouldn’t have been the first time he kept me that late after closing at Christmas time. “We will need this stock after the annual Christmas blowout,” he would have thought to himself. As a bonus, she looked desperate, so we could lowball her too.
Not feeling like a slave to the cash register on December 23, I took the initiative and turned her away.
“You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” I said as my part-timer continued to tidy up for closing. “We’re done at nine.”
“But it’s not nine yet!” she protested. “Where am I supposed to get the money?”
Ah I see. Crackhead, as I suspected when she walked in with the garbage bag. We had a lot of those.
“Well, we’re going home…it’s the day before Christmas Eve. All the pawn shops are closed now. You can leave the bag here for us to look at tomorrow morning if you want to.” I gambled that she’d say “no” to that idea. Crackheads were not the most trusting people.
“Well can you just look at a couple of them and give me a few bucks?”
I decided that I just didn’t want to.
“Sorry. We’re cashing out.”
Should I have looked at her discs, at least until it was time to lock the doors? Yes, I should have. But then we’d have to ID her, log the dics, and pack them up. Did she even have any ID? And I just wanted to go home. My boss called it “old dog syndrome”. I called it “I don’t get paid enough to deal with crackheads at closing time” syndrome.
So the unhappy woman packed up her garbage bag and lugged it out the door, off to who-knows-where. Not to buy crack though.
Merry Christmas.

