Confidence, Articulate, Touch

It is important for a manager to identify the qualities of interviewees. David Grieves could read it on his interviewee’s faces. Literally. The job qualifications he was in search of were high check bones, full lips, and an attitude that say’s ‘I’m so cool that I can see you, but I will still pretend that you are not there.’ Anything else could be taught on the job.

The newest Hollister interviewee seated in David’s office was a squared jawed, olive skin Latino. He actually was not even applying for a job. He mistook David’s office for a changing room and David asked him to stay.

“So, are you interested in working for Hollister, Casper?”

“How much is the pay?”

“Minimum wage. We do offer full dental and ten percent discounts on all Hollister product.”

“I actually am looking for a new job.”

“Really.” David saw an opening that he could exploit. “Where are you working now?”

“I work irrigation for Son-of-a-Ditch.”

“Irrigation is tough work, Casper. Tough work leads to wrinkles. Here at Hollister we don’t do hard work. Do you see that sign?”

David pointed to a sign tacked to the wall behind Casper. A black stick figure was bent at the waist as he attempted to pick up a black cube. A red circle with a line across enclosed the figure.

“Yea. We have those at Son-of-a-Ditch. It means to not lift with your waist.”

“Waist, back, knees…whatever it is, we don’t lift with it over at Hollister.”

“I’m used to breaking my back everyday at work.”

“Think of Hollister as a low input high output organization. We defy the laws of logic if you really think about it. So, would you be like to join the family?”

David extended his hand over his desk towards Casper.

“Ah, sure. I could use a change of pace. Not much can be worse then digging a ditch.” Casper met his hand and shook with confidence.

“Colon cancer. Colon cancer is worse then ditch digging, but that is neither here nor there. Can you come back tomorrow at eight thirty for training?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Great. See you then.”

Casper rose from the chair and left David Grieves office. David reclined in his black office chair, put his hands intertwined behind his head and sang softly to himself.

“Jungle love, it’s driving me mad, it’s making me crazy…crazy.”

~

“I think manikins are offensive. We should them Woman-ikins. “

“That’s a great point, Suzzanna. I had a dream on Tuesday that mankind named people after colors. The baby’s name would be the color combination of its two parents.”

“You have the most insightful dreams, Beth.”

“I ate lisid in college.” Beth believed that was the correct pronunciation for L.S.D., and she didn’t eat LSD. Her roommate’s boyfriend sold her the adhesive part of a post it note that was cut into tiny squares for three-hundred and sixty dollars. He used that money to buy himself high grade LSD that he consumed at an alarming rate. After college he started his own tech company, Apple Computers.

Suzzanna, a dark skin beauty with chestnut hair folded t-shirts while Beth, a six foot blond with legs any man would want to have squeeze the life out of him sat idly by. The time was 8:25 A.M. and Casper walked up to the counter.

“Hi, is David Grieves in?” He asked.

“Yes.” Beth said.

“I’m here for job training.”

“Ok.”

“Can I go back to his office?”

“It’s a free country.”

“Alright, thanks.” Casper walked away in a bit of disbelief that Hollister workers treat strangers so cruelly. Perhaps that is why David wanted more help, he thought.

“Did you see the way I flirted with him? He so want’s me.”

“He look’s like my ex, Pedro.”

“Pedro?”

“The Mexican guy.” Suzzanna could see Beth was still confused. “He worked at El Burrito Much Gusto.”

“That’s racist.”

Casper knocked twice on David’s door. “Casper, good morning. Come in and have a seat.”

“Thank you. Good morning.”

“So, are you ready to learn how Hollister operates?” David sat on the end of his desk with one foot on the ground while the other swung freely in the air.

“Yes, totally.”

“Great. Let me grab the television and we’ll get you brainwashed.” David laughed at his own joke. “Just kidding, but seriously.”

Casper sat quietly in David’s office and a picture on his desk caught his eye. It appeared to be a malnourished David wearing powder make-up, red lipstick, and a black leather suit on a catwalk.

“He was a model?” Casper wondered to himself. Then he wondered who would keep a photograph of only themselves on their own desk.

“Yes, sir, here is the television. Pardon the ancient technology, but if it ain’t fixed then don’t break, I mean if it aint broke don’t buy it, I mean if it is not broken then do not fix it. Whoa. Tongue twister.” David placed the twenty four inch tv with built in VCR on his desk, plugged the cord into the wall and hit the space where the play button had once occupied. The tv sprang to life.

“Oh, yea, fuck me rude! Deliver my mail!” The video in the VCR was ‘Front Door Slot: Nail the Mail Man’ with Chix Plenty and Todd Hopsonit. It played for two whole seconds before David lunged for the stop button. He hit the pause button and for another two seconds the image of a mailman and middle aged housewife bent at the waist remained on the screen.

“No. God damn it.” David blocked the screen with his body and hit eject.

“Is that the training video?” Casper asked. Dismayed.

“No, no, no. Leonard must have been using this again. I thought I destroyed all of these tapes.” David said to himself. He went through three draws of his desk before he found the real training video under a stack of expired check stubs.

A perfect comb-over hair cut business executive with a manufactured smile appeared on the television. For a moment it appeared that it might be another porn tape.

“Hello, I’m Grant Hollister,” the man on the business executive announced. David breathed a sigh of relief. “The founder and CEO of Hollister Clothing Company. What’s your name?” The phrase ‘Say Name’ written in white block letters flashed across the bottom of the screen.

“Casper.” Casper said.

Grant Hollister paused for five seconds. Casper was confused and did not speak. David’s office fell silent. “Nice to meet you, and welcome aboard. Let’s take a look inside Hollister Clothing Company.”

The screen slid from left to right in transition. A factory of oriental workers in blue uniforms with hair nets, masks, and gloves handled the clothes. Grant’s voice came in by way of voice over.

“Here is the start of the line. Hollister Clothing Co. owns over seventy-five well lit, accident free factories that are easy to escape from in case of emergency. All workers are documented citizens. Shipments of premade clothes arrive at the factories, this one specializes in jeans, and they are given the proper Hollister Clothing Co style. Razor blades and scissors are taken to each and every pair to make them appear worn and tattered.”

The camera zoomed up on a Mexican worker, unaware that she was filmed, pull apart a pair of jeans at the seams.

“Great job, Consuela.”

The camera slid from right to left in transition. Retail workers were at work in a department store.

“In the middle of the process is the store. The once cheap and un-expensive clothes are sold here for a five times higher price mark-up so the customer receives a sense of self-esteem and a sense of pride. Look, a customer.”

A group of three high school girls, hell bent on using their fathers’ credit cards, entered the store.

“Now this is where you come in. Greet the customer with our tried and true customer service approach, C.A.T. Confidence, Articulate, Touch.”

The Hollister Clothing Co employee walked up to the girls.

“ ‘Hello there, ladies. Fine weather we are having tis it not?’ “ He placed his hand on top of her hand that gripped her slushie.

“Great job, Pedro!” You’ll make the sale for sure.”

The camera slid from top to bottom in transition. Pedro was behind the cash register to cash out the girls.

“ ‘Your total comes to four-hundred fifty eight dollars and ninety seven cents.’

‘This undershirt is worth every penny. I feel like I can do anything in my Hollister clothes.’

“You absolutely can, Mary-Ann. Here are some other Hollister customers who felt the same way after shopping with us.”

Photos of David Beckham, Tom Hanks, Oprah Winfrey, Gilbert Godfrey, Louis Armstrong, Prince Harry, Emika Okafur, Mel Gibson, and Vladimir Putin crossed the screen. The camera slid from bottom to top in transition. Grant Hollister was in an open pasture atop a white horse.

“Mozaltov. You are now a member of Hollister Clothing Co. Since I started this company in my garage with only fifty pairs of jeans, one razor blade, and a dream I’ve had many milestones, the first dollar, the first million dollars, Forbes hottest under forty, and Mark Zuckerberg as a close personal friend, but the greatest milestone is the chance to meet you. Madonna, wait up.” Grant called out as the camera faded to black.

David hit eject and wrote ‘Training Tape’ on the video.

“Welcome aboard, Casper. Here’s your name tag.” Casper pinned it on his shirt. “You are officially a Hollister Clothing Co. Model. The few. The proud. The models.”

“Excuse me? Model?”

“Yes. We hire employees as models so if you become fat or physically deformed we can legally fire you.”

“Deformed?”

“A previous model, Pedro, worked nights at El Burrito Mucho Gusto where he suffered third degree burns on his torso and face from the deep fryer. His skin looked like bubble wrap.”

“Did you fire him?”

“You wouldn’t go to a dentist with bad teeth would you?”

“Well, I guess not. No.”

“Exactly. All you have to do is eat right, exercise, and avoid deep fryers at all costs.” David looked Casper in the eyes. “All costs. Now get out there and work that pretty face.”

Casper left David’s office unsure of what he had just gotten himself into. David looked in the trash and saw the porn tape. A moment of thought passed and he reached down and grabbed the tape, slid it in the VCR and hit play.