The Day the Music Stopped

The problem started when he hired Kelly Walker and Lee Vann. They were both musicians, and on the day they started, Jeff assured them, "I know you're going to fit right in. We do our best to have fun with work around here, so just be yourselves and you'll do fine." Kelly and Lee really did fit in: every time Jeff looked their way, they were engaged in lively conversation with their new co-workers about the idiosyncrasies of local club owners, or the relative importance of Elvis Presley versus Little Richard.

As time went on, however, Jeff realized that Lee and Kelly weren't doing as much work as he expected. Not wanting to put a damper on the Kernel's distinctive atmosphere, he tried subtle signals, like "How are you doing with those melons, Lee?" or "Kelly, that customer looks a little confused about the vitamins." They picked up on such hints quickly enough, but as soon as they took care of the task, they'd be deep in discussion again.

Finally, Jeff called them into the stockroom to explain his concerns. "I'm glad you both feel comfortable here," he said. "But I need more of a commitment to working from both of you."

"I am committed," Lee replied. "I really like working here. It's better than any day job I've ever had."

"Same here," Kelly agreed. "You just tell me what you want done, and I'll be more than happy to do it."

"Okay," said Jeff, feeling relieved. "I'm glad we understand each other." Their productivity picked up for a few days--until it was short-circuited by a conflict over the kind of music played in the store. The employees had always enjoyed taking turns playing their own tapes, but ever since Lee and Kelly arrived, the workers seemed to be trying to outdo each other in coming up with obscure recordings, from Polynesian ritual drumming to improvisational jazz based on themes from 70s sitcoms.

As Jeff's irritation with the unfamiliar music grew, he also began observing that it wasn't just the new workers who could stand to bring their productivity up a notch or two. The entire store seemed to be slacking off.

Boxes of granola were left half-shelved in the aisle, and spillage around the grain bins was going unswept for hours. Every day, he saw more things not getting done, so he worked harder and harder to do them himself. When Kelly said, "Hey boss, don't you ever take a break?" Jeff didn't even look up from arranging the sprouts. "No," he replied, "that's what I hired you for." Eventually they'd get the message, he figured, without his having to spell things out in a lecture that would destroy the store's positive atmosphere.

That was before a long-time customer asked, as Jeff was bagging her purchases, "Who's in charge of the music? All this screeching and moaning is a little much, don't you think?"

"You're right," Jeff said. Surprised at how angry he felt, he went straight to the tape player and shut it off.

From the other side of the store, he heard Lee shout, "Hey--turn that back on." Jeff shouted back, "If people around here showed half the interest in their work that they do in the music, this store would be in a lot better shape. Do I make myself clear?"

The store was silent. Jeff paused for a moment, hearing his heart pound. Then he retreated to his office, full of regret at how he'd handled the situation.

But the more he thought about it, the more his outburst seemed justified. He had said what needed to be said, even if he hadn't said it perfectly. It would be interesting to see how people reacted. In the days since then, they've reacted terribly. Their griping and muttering seem amplified against the classical radio station Jeff now plays all the time. He feels like an outcast in his own store. He keeps trying to think of ways to apologize, but he doubts that anything he might say at this point would be accepted.