The room filled, and the various department managers came in and sat near the front. Once everyone was seated, a familiar man stepped in front of the group and said, “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for coming in early today. I’m Owen Palmer, your new owner.”
It was the dark-haired, blue-eyed customer I’d chatted with the day before. I was so very, very fired. I wondered if maybe I’d at least get credit for honesty. That was the only way I could imagine my job being saved. I hoped someone left a newspaper behind this morning. I’d definitely need to review the job ads.
He talked about keeping the store open in spite of the challenging economy and mentioned a few changes to help us be more profitable. Most of it had to do with more creative shelving and how we could take advantage of the fact that we didn’t have to abide by top-down dictates like the chain stores. We could shelve books where our customers were most likely to discover them, even in multiple places around the store. It wasn’t exactly an earthshattering idea, but it wasn’t something too many other stores did. He talked about getting employee input on purchase decisions and offering incentives for hand-selling books.
I tensed when he got around to discussing the coffee shop. I didn’t think he’d fire me now, but I prepared myself for a lecture on providing a positive customer experience. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our coffee is lousy,” he said. There was nervous laughter from the group, and I cringed. It wasn’t my fault, but would he see it that way? “We need to revamp our coffee shop, and we’ll be considering new suppliers.” I wondered if the revamp would include employees who didn’t peruse the classified ads while on the job or openly criticize the coffee to customers. But all he discussed was the quality of what was offered, not the employees. He’d probably fire me privately, in a one-on-one meeting later that day.
The meeting wrapped up, and everyone headed to their respective jobs, or to home, if they had later shifts. Most of the booksellers were already talking excitedly about how to rearrange the sections. Florence and I were less excited, since it was our department that had been singled out as a failure. Not that we disagreed—we avoided our own coffee shop—but it didn’t bode well for the owner to criticize us.
We hurried to get the café set up for the store opening. In spite of the nasty coffee and stale scones, we had our usual morning crowd. In this city, I was surprised that people hadn’t found better options, since I passed several on my way to work in the morning. The whole time, Owen Palmer hung around, lingering over a cup of coffee at the outermost table while he watched the flow of customers.
When the rush had died down and we were getting ready for the morning coffee break crowd, Owen came over to us. “Which of you is the resident coffee connoisseur?” he asked.