I’m the fastest stocker in my store, despite being a manager. Like, grab a box with one hand, flip it in one motion, one-handed, to the correct position while walking to the item’s location, microseconds eyeballing the “home” to see if it’ll fit, open the box bare-handed, items on the shelf in a couple of seconds, punch and flatten the box, and move on. When I was a stocker, I could do 20 hours’ worth of freight in 5. Last night I did 15 hours while monitoring my supercenter, straightening every feature in the store, ran register for three hours, and got all overstock binned in both general-merchandise and grocery areas. I know the location of every item in the store, and don’t need to open a box to figure out what’s inside. I’m really, really good in retail. (Funny thing, since I’m trained in pure mathematics and really don’t like retail.)
I do enjoy it when people who know retail see me going and comment. Last night, a couple of grocery stockers were near me, and commented when I passed by: “you stock like you’re Neo in The Matrix.”
Oh, and I love lording it over my much younger fellow manager the women whom I date. He’s a handsome small-town fellow who is at sea in dating in his new home, the “big city” (or to me, the medium-sized metro of Indianapolis). I look like a cross between Sheldon and Leonard. Then he meets my flings, and gets really ticked off.