It’s been a while, so let’s bring you up to speed on what’s been happening with your good buddy with a bag over his head. A couple of weeks ago, there was…well, there was an incident. I don’t want to get into details, but apparently management has had enough of the temper flares and thrown parts, because this time they came prepared. All I know was one minute, I was tearing into a guy who was trying to get a full reimbursement on a fake spinning hubcap because he broke the spinner off and the next moment, I looked like a grizzly bear that had been shot in the ass with a tranquilizer dart. Apparently Regional wasn’t kidding about their new “Smiling Faces, Friendly Places” approach to sales. Hm.

I awoke, dazed, a few hours later in a room. I don’t know what kind of sicko tries to treat anger management issues with copious amounts of opioids and Enya on repeat, but I want to make things very clear here: I wasn’t the one who needed to have their head shrunk in that arraignment. For the last week, this room was home. No computer. No customers. No management. Just the soothing sounds of 1990s New Age crooning, hardcore psych meds and my own demons to work out. I wouldn’t have minded so much if Regional’s idea of a relaxing getaway looked like Malibu at sunset, or the woods near Lake Tahoe, or Curaco, but instead I was all but certain I was being kept at a warehouse in an industrial park. There wasn’t even any street racing to listen to at night. So disappointed.

After a week of Regional’s attempts to bring out the calm, collected UPCG, they finally released me. I guess they gave up. But I’m not so sure that this little experiment of theirs didn’t have unintended consequences. I’ve been out for two days now, and earlier today I needed to get some two-stroke oil so that I can get back to all of the weed-eating I need to catch up on. I was prepared for battle the moment I walked in the door, ready to dish out evil comments to the lethargic staff. Instead a gentleman in a crisp shirt with a surprisingly friendly countenance greeted me and asked if there was anything I needed help with. I was stunned, and simply told him that I knew what I was getting. “Ok, maybe that was a fluke,” I thought. I took a breath, calmed down, and grabbed two bottles of mix. Getting to the counter, I was greeted again by the happy guy, the clean, crisp, professional counter clerk. You ever wonder what perfection looks like? For all you aspiring UPCGs out there, this guy was it: he was the person in the flyers, on the television ads. And he was good. “Do you need an air filter for your…let’s see, weed eater, right?”

He knew. He anticipated. He offered up additional sales, but in a way that didn’t scream out “trying too hard”. He was the UberClerk. I panicked. I threw money at him, I don’t know how much, probably more than necessary, and left. He even caught me at the door…admittedly, the smile was replaced by a look of genuine concern as he made sure I had everything: “You take care and have a good day, okay, sir?”

UPCG has met his match. I blame Regional’s sensitivity training for this. Starting tomorrow, I’m going into a battery of angry customers, horrible calls and a three-minute lunch break. I’ve got to get my edge back!