This week has been a walk down memory lane for two interesting milestones in my life. Twenty years ago this week I wore English Leather cologne to a high school party and a girl thought I peed myself. That’s a whole other story that I’ve told a million times, but I’d rather talk about the ten year anniversary of foolishly taking a job at an Iranian man’s lock and door hardware company. It was a nightmare from the get-go.    

 Let’s rewind back to the innocent days of August 2000. People still bought CD’s, cell phones were everywhere you looked, and America was breathing a collective sigh of relief after we made it out of Y2K unscathed. I was working at Enterprise Rent A Car and was miserable as can be. I didn’t fit in there, because I wasn’t banging any of my bosses or co-workers, and I steadfastly refused to drink the Enterprise Kool-Aid (It was green). I was working in the “Pennsauken” office, which was the nice way of saying the Camden office. For those who don’t know, Camden serves proudly as a perennial winner of “America’s most dangerous city.” I was renting cars to drug dealers, the occasional pimp, and a lot of guys in velveteen track suits. We were renting out Cadillac Escalades on cash, no credit card needed, and thank heavens, because very few drug kingpins carry plastic. And I hated every day of working there, and every time the phone rang I cringed. Because it meant I’d have to pick someone up somewhere dangerous, argue with someone over the daily rate, or go to a dealership and rent a car to some pissed off old man whose Cadillac was broken down. But one phone call I took was going to change my life for ev…well, for a few months.

It was a beautiful August morning, and I answered a call made to our office from a man with a very thick foreign accent.  It was a very stern, cold accent that reminded me of Ivan Drago’s wife from Rocky IV.  He wanted to be picked up but was not in our area.  (Enterprise “law” forbade stealing other branch’s business by picking people up in an area not in your branch’s zone).  Knowing my manager was already breaking Enterprise law by renting to people out of our area and knowing it was going to be me stuck picking up this guy, I just went ahead and took the directions. I was too tired to even explain to the guy that he called the incorrect branch. Plus, he lived in Cherry Hill and had a credit card, so it was going to be a refreshing change by not renting out a car that was going to transport narcotics.

When I got to his home and picked him up, he looked just like sounded — foreign and stern. His mouth seemed to permanently frown, and he looked like a miserable human being.  Just what I loved about this dreadful job — awkward, uncomfortable conversation with someone who I wasn’t go to be able to understand.  So as we were talking, I came to discover he was from Iran (and was trying to remember if it was Iran or Iraq that hated us).  Part of me was afraid that the vehicle I picked him up in was going to burst into a fiery explosion, part of me didn’t care if that happened at this miserable point of my Enterprise career.  He seemed very interested in knowing about me, and was asking very probing questions.  I, being the chatty Cathy that I am, was singing like a canary or a Mafia turncoat.  His name was Alex and it turned out he owned a company over in Philadelphia that was a distributor of locks and door hardware and just fired an incompetent salesman. 

For some reason, Alex took a shine to me and was hinting at the possibility of hiring me. I was entertaining this because at the time I would have taken a job as a human ashtray (would have been both a pay raise and more esteemed job). I had nothing to lose, Enterprise was a prison and I had to escape. We exchanged numbers and he told me he really wanted to hire me.  For once, I felt like I was getting a lucky break and would finally be on the road to success (since I was on the Highway to Hell presently). So as soon as I could, I sent my resume and cover letter that outlined how interested I was in the thrilling, fast-paced, sexy world of locks and door hardware. I was under the impression that I was practically hired on the spot so I was confused when he asked me to send all that stuff and request an interview. Well, after a few weeks, I finally got a response and a chance to interview.  Right about here I should have seen the stoplights, white flags, and Jerry Springer guests saying “don’t go there!”

When I walked into the world headquarters of Alex’s company, I should have just turned around, tucked my tail between my legs, and done my best Carl Lewis impersonation.  It was the most dreary, awful, dimly lit depressing place I have ever been (besides any IHOP or Kmart on a weekday morning).  The current employees looked like extras from any 60’s zombie flick and barely grunted when I walked through the doors.  But I’ll get to that cast of characters in a bit.

The secretary told me Alex wanted me to sit and wait for him since he was on a business call.  I sat in a room adorned with locks, lock posters, keys, key posters, and an inch of dust on everything.  When he was finally ready for me, after a half hour wait and a quarter inch of dust collecting on my body I ventured into his office.  The friendly Iranian lock dude I picked up a few weeks that was literally throwing a job offer at me turned into a totally different person in the interview.  I felt like a prisoner of war being interrogated by the enemy.  The questions were quick, short, and many, it was like a firing squad. I have never been so uncomfortable being asked questions in an interview. In congruence with the fact that I cannot possibly take anything seriously, I almost starting giggling nervous like a schoolgirl, or mental patient.  But alas, I made it through with a straight face and after a stern handshake I was on my way (I know I am using the word “stern” a lot, but this guy personified the word). 

Now a normal human being or even someone with a few problems, issues, and conditions may have just stayed away and realized that this was bad news.  But foolish, silly, and stupid Marty needed to get the F out of Enterprise so I accepted the job offer. But after the interview, and before accepting, I had to pass a drug test and “personality test”.  Both were going to be held at the same place at 18^th and Locust in Center City. The place was like a private investigator’s office, well it wasn’t “like” one, it WAS one.  The girl who interviewed me and gave me the tests was very fetching.  It made it even harder to tell the truth since I could barely speak English to this girl to begin with! She starts asking me questions, and they are actually very personal!  And of course me, never taking anything serious, try joking with her.  I tell her “Before you ask, I am NOT going to tell you when I lost my virginity!” Fully expecting her to chuckle, she stared at me blankly with a stone, but pretty face.  The rest of the session was uncomfortable, as you could imagine, but I made it through. Although the drug test came back saying I had too many deep fried materials in my system.

Finally I was given a start date of January 8, 2001. Yes, that was about four months after I met him and he sort of offered me a job on the spot. Alarm bells were ringing, but I wasn’t listening. I was so eager for my first day, where I was going to take the lock and door hardware world by storm! (What was I smoking? Apparently nothing because I passed the drug test!) I’m fairly certain nobody in the world had a first day like I did at this place. I dressed in a freshly pressed full suit, shiny new black shoes, and a handsome properly tied tie. I breezed through the doors and proudly introduced myself. The response was quieter than crickets on a cool summer night. The people barely acknowledged me. They literally ignored me. I then grabbed the guy who was supposed to be my trainer and manager to show me what I need to do. He said he wasn’t sure and we had to wait until Alex came in, which was 11 o’clock. This made me feel so wonderful. Nobody wanted to talk to me or help me, and it was like they had no idea I was starting that day. So I sat and stared blankly at a computer screen and watched people come and go. We could only sell to distributors and the two old cranks sitting up at the counter with me seemed to love being dicks about that. Somebody would come in and they would be completely rude and ignorant and treat the person like they were the worst human being alive for coming in and asking to buy something. There were no signs that advertised this, and so it happened a lot. I’ve seen carnival workers be friendlier to customers than these guys were.

I would be remiss if I didn’t discuss my co-workers. I guess a better term is “other people that worked there” because they didn’t work with me or try and help. We had this old know it all named Charlie who was sort of friendly to me. The guy who sat next to me was this goofy dude named Robert who spent the entire day bashing the company and making cheesy jokes. He went out of his way to not be of any assistance to me, and anytime I needed his help he would let it be known how much of a pain in the ass it was to him. There were Dave and Amy, who were very finely dressed sales reps that sat in the back and had all the good accounts. Amy never breathed one word to me in my time there. Dave wasn’t much help either. I just basically knew to stay away. The office workers were slightly ok. They at least would acknowledge my existence. The folks in the warehouse were a whole different story. There was a woman who huffed and puffed every time I needed help and I once overheard talking ill of me. Then there was R.J., who was a whole blog in of himself. He was the skeeviest, scariest, most disgusting person I have ever seen in my life. He clearly must have been a meth addict, because he had three teeth in his mouth that were rotted beyond belief. He would talk all day about having sex chats on the internet with girls, and all that nasty stuff. It was stomach churning to say the least. And he hated me probably more than everyone else. Because he wanted my job, and in all honesty he deserved it because he knew his stuff, but unfortunately people with three teeth in their mouth and sores all over their face aren’t the best sales reps. The one other guy in the warehouse was a black guy named Frank. He was the only person who was friendly with me and talked to me, he was a pretty good guy. Thanks to him, I knew that everyone hated me because they liked the guy who was fired, and R.J. got shot down for the job. Like this was my fault?

Finally Alex came in, and what I came to learn was that the entire office changed after he came in everyday. In the morning, they were all talkative to each other and friendly to everyone but me. But when Alex came in, the place stopped, nobody spoke and everyone seemed to be on edge and miserable. It’s not shocking why. This guy was a complete jerk. He came from some wealthy family and bought the business on a tip from someone he met. He treated people worse than anyone I have ever met. He lied to me, about everything, and most of all the customers I would have. Basically, he said I was getting a ton of accounts from the guy he fired. But since it took him four months to fire me, the accounts were eaten up like Pac-Man by the other reps. And believe you me, they weren’t going to hand them back to me.

Hard to believe this was ten years ago. In some aspects, it feels like yesterday, but really I am still so scarred I can never blank it out of memory. The next four months were easily the most depressing and damaging of my life. I was in a haze. There was nothing I could do. I would call businesses that didn’t use us and solicit their business.  (Keep in mind we really could only call on businesses in the area since any further away would not be beneficial to the company due to shipping costs) The few times I could get someone on the phone they would tell me they would never buy from me because of who I worked for. On many more than one occasion people on the other line told me to quit and get as far away as possible. Things just go worse and worse — then we went on our “road trip”. Please join me next week as I discuss my trip down south with two middle-aged Iranian gentlemen!

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