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Work Ethic Greyson Scurco
Work Ethic Greyson Scurco

Work Ethic Greyson Scurco The Literary Arts Department Pittsburgh CAPA 6-12, A Creative and Performing Arts Magnet 
Copyright©2019 Pittsburgh CAPA 6-12, A Creative and Performing Arts Magnet Pittsburgh, PA The copyright to the individual pieces remains the property of each individual. Reproduction in any form by any means without specific written permission from the individual is prohibited. For copies or inquires:
Pittsburgh CAPA 6-12 Literary Arts Department Mara Cregan 111 Ninth Street Pittsburgh PA, 15222 mcregan1@pghschools.org Ms Melissa A. Pearlman, Principal
Table of Contents
• Code Adam • Red Bouncy Ball • Break Time • Best Buy’s Christmas Tragedies • The Great Chase • The Sound a Window Makes When You Think its Going to Break • Manners in Management • The Interview
Code Adam After Robert Olen Butler, excerpt from Intercourse Son I know Mom is probably in the store still and I probably have nothing to be this worried about but right now all I can hear is my own breathing in my ears and the worker telling some lady that the televisions in the store are down aisle four. Maybe there's a department for Moms and Dads who lose their children. Maybe my Mom is down there. I have been trying to get the attention of the large bald man ushering people around the store for ten minutes now. But for some reason, my feet are cemented into the tile and my voice won’t rise. Someone keeps saying things over the intercom but I have no clue what they are. I am now sitting under a table because it was too loud and I got too scared. I hope Mom can read my mind. Mom, I’m hiding under the table. It’s too loud, I’m sorry, the cookbook table; please hurry up. I watch pairs of legs walk past me. Mostly all of them are jeans, but the occasional brightly colored skirt or pair of sweatpants break up the sea of denim. My hands shake against my knees as I hold them to my chest. I stomp my foot so that my shoes light up. I keep doing it. It has a rhythm and it calms me down a little. A pair of khaki pants stop in front of my table, then a head interrupts the wall of pants and shoes I had gotten used to staring at. The hands grab me and carry me. He is moving so fast that the colors and people all bleed together. He presses a button on his walkie talkie and tells it that he’s coming to customer service right now. Everything in my eyes is blurry, but I know my mom when I see her. I focus on her until the blurry goes away. The hands pass me down to her and I
cling desperately to the ruffles in her purple shirt. She rubs the back of my head and tells me that this is why we always hold hands in stores.
Mom I have always thought parents losing their kids in department stores on TV were overdramatic. I would think, the kid isn’t going to up and walk out of the store. They aren’t stupid. And the kids are always found in the most obvious places, like the toy section, or by a television. But I’ve been through every single section of this store three times over and I have yet to find my son. I hope to God he’s okay. Nobody is at the customer service desk to help me, so eventually I decide to do it myself. I say something over the intercom that I can’t even hear myself. It’s too loud and all I can focus on is the click of ten other women’s heels on the ground and the way my hand shakes when it holds the phone. With the phone still in my hand, I see a few of the store’s associates run up to me. It feels like they are talking in a language I have never heard before. All are frantic. One seems angry. I keep telling them that I need to find my son. One of them goes into the back to check the security cameras, the other two begin searching the store again, and the last one stays with me and makes another announcement. I tell them he was wearing a Paw Patrol shirt- was? Why did I say was? He is wearing a green Paw Patrol shirt and blue Paw Patrol shoes. They light up when he walks. A man with brown hair that looks barely twenty walks over with my blonde haired, Paw Patrol loving son. When I hold my son he grips the ruffles in my shirt tightly. I rub his head, feeling his soft blonde hair and rock him somewhat, as much as I can. I tell him to always hold my hand when we’re in stores from now on.
Red Bouncy Ball after Shopping, by N. T. Franklin Josh threw his car into park once he reached the store. He nearly tripped on his own two feet as he exited, quickly scrambling into the building to check in with the manger before he started work. He rubbed his hands off on his jeans before he shook Brooke’s hand, but she did not look happy about it. “You were supposed to be here three hours ago, Josh.” He inhaled sharply through his nose, prepared to explain himself to her. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to working these hours. I promise it won’t happen,” she cut him off and held a finger in his face, “I don’t want to hear it. Just head back into receiving.” He nodded and walked back into the receiving area of the store. After he opened a box, he would put its contents into the corresponding cart and continue on. However, his rhythm of scan, slice, set, scrap, and so on was interrupted when he opened a box that withheld another cardboard box. Curious, he opened the second box and revealed yet another cardboard box, and in this box, another box. The pattern continued on until he reached the twelfth small box. By now he was ready to call his manager, this made no sense, this box was the size of a relatively small hamster. He cut it open delicately and with careful fingers, lifted the flaps to discover a single red bouncy ball. He stared down at it confused, picked it up and rolled it in his hands. The world around him kept moving. Eventually he just put it on the shelf as he did with all the other items, and continued along his way.
Break Time My feet are propped up on a cheap plastic chair. The matching black cushion dips with the extra weight it’s bearing. I stare down at my cellphone, focused on the game on screen. My headset is set down on the table, clamoring with almost constant chatter of a very overwhelmed staff team. I never turn my headset off, fearful of being called out onto the floor in case of an emergency. Erika walks in and looks at me. She is a marketing manager in our store, and she holds her title pridefully. “You keep that thing on while you’re on break?” She asks me. I nod my head, dropping my phone into my lap. “Yeah. I’m always worried Shane is going to call me to the floor.” She shakes her head. “He won’t do that while you’re on your break. It’s a break. Here,” she picks up my headset. “Just disconnect from the crazy world of work for a half hour. Play your number game. Eat your lunch. Do whatever you want. It’s a break, relax.” I watch her disconnect me, listen to the somewhat sad beep the headset plays whenever it turns off. I lock my phone and sigh. “But what if I get in trouble?” I ask her, rubbing my hands together. “You wont, Pat.” I take her advice, and leave my headset disconnected for the remainder of my thirty minute lunch break. She walks away into the management office, and I pick my phone back up and unlock it. After my thirty minutes pass by, always quicker than I’d like them to, I make my way back out onto the selling floor and clock in. “Patrick!” I hear Shane call behind me.
He makes his way through the thick crowds. “Why wasn’t your headset on? I was calling you for ages.” I look down at the headset in my hands, the one I was about to turn right back on. “Erika told me to turn it off.” “We needed you out here, man. It got crazy. People were fighting. You need to stay on deck.” I sigh and turn my headset back on. “I’m sorry Shane, it won’t happen again.” “Yeah, better not, ” he shoots back.
Break Time My feet are propped up on a plastic chair. The matching cushion dips in with the extra weight. I stare down at my cellphone, focused on the game on screen. My headset is set down on the table, clamoring with constant chatter from the staff. I never turn my headset off, fearful of being called in case of an emergency. I figured that the least I can do in order to relax on my break was to take it off. Erika walks in and looks at me. She is one of the managers in our store, and holds her title pridefully. “You keep that on while you’re on break?” She asks me. “Yeah. I’m always worried Shane is going to call me.” She shakes her head. “It’s a break. Here,” she picks up my headset, “just disconnect from the crazy world for a half hour. Play your number game. Do whatever you want. It’s a break. Relax.” I watch her disconnect me, listen to the sad beep the headset plays. “But what if I get in trouble?” I ask her. “You wont. Just relax.” I take her advice, and leave my headset disconnected for the remainder of lunch. She walks away into the management office. After thirty minutes pass, always quicker than I’d like them to, I make my way back out onto the floor. “Patrick!” I hear Shane call. He makes his way through thick crowds. “Why wasn’t your headset on?” I look down at the headset in my hands, the one I was about to turn back on, “We needed you out here. It got crazy. People were fighting. You need to stay on deck.” I sigh and turn my headset back on. “I’m sorry Shane, it won’t happen again.” I apologize. “Yeah, better not.” He shoots back.
Break Time My feet are propped up on a plastic chair. I stare down at my cellphone, focused on the game on screen. My headset is set down on the table, clamoring with chatter from the staff. I never turn my headset off, fearful of being called in an emergency. Erika walks in and looks at me. She is a manager in our store, and holds her title pridefully. “You keep that on while you’re on break?” “Yeah. I’m always worried Shane is going to call me.” She shakes her head. “Here,” she picks up my headset, “just disconnect for a half hour. Play your number game. Relax.” I watch her disconnect me, listen to the sad beep the headset plays. “But what if I get in trouble?” I ask her. “You wont. Just relax.” I take her advice, and leave my headset disconnected for the remainder of lunch. She walks away into the management office. After thirty minutes pass, always quicker than I’d like them to, I make my way back out onto the floor. “Patrick!” I hear Shane. He makes his way through thick crowds. “Why wasn’t your headset on?” I look down at the headset in my hands, the one I was about to turn back on, “We needed you out here. It got crazy. People were fighting. You need to stay on deck.” I sigh and turn my headset back on. “I’m sorry Shane, it won’t happen again.” I apologize. “Yeah, better not.” He shoots back.
Best Buy’s Christmas Tragedies after Modern Baseball, “Broken Cash Machine� The first time someone told me I had ruined their Christmas, I felt a little guilty. After working at Best Buy for almost six years, I've ruined more holidays than I can count. The first time it happened, a woman with breath that smelled like curdled milk asked me for information on a movie about dinosaurs for children. I put the information into the computer and once I found it, I went to look for her. Just like that, she was gone. I passed her information off to one of my coworkers, in case she came looking, and went up to the cash registers. In the time I was scanning, I had completely forgotten about her. The rhythm of greet, membership, scan, email, receipt was drilled so into my head so much that while I worked, my brain went on autopilot. I only remembered when I walked past her and heard her shout "HEY!" right at me. I grimaced before I turned around, putting on my best customer service voice, and explained to her that I had given the information to a different co-worker, someone that would know more about what she needed because I had to tend to guests up at the front registers. She told me that she knew, she had found the lady and that she had told her that the movie wasn't on sale. Instead of saying thank you for the help anyways, she cursed at me and told me I ruined her Christmas. I sighed and turned around, getting ready to return back to zone one, but I was stopped by the co-worker that had helped me earlier, the same one that had talked to the woman I just dealt with. She told me she had been here for sixteen years, and she had ruined more Christmas's than she could count. It wasn't anything to get down on myself for. I took her word as gospel and decided to just brush it off, returning back to the registers.
After this, I was safe for a year or so. Safe until the very day after Christmas. A woman who couldn’t have been younger than fifty five pushed her way through the return line. She was visibly fuming. She explains to me that we ruined her daughter’s Christmas because we weren’t open on Christmas day and she wanted to buy her a chocolate bar. I apologized for the inconvenience and offered to pay for the chocolate bar myself, it was only 70 cents. She told me that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that she wanted to return these toys that her ex-husband bought her children, but we couldn’t accept more than three non-receipted returns from a customer, it was just policy to prevent theft. She screamed at us and declared that she wasn’t a thief, just trying to return these presents so her children didn’t know their dad got them anything. I stared at her, dumbfounded. She blamed her daughter’s ruined Christmas on me, declaring that she had saw me shelving on Christmas day, and I wouldn’t let her in. I let her know kindly I hadn’t been working on Christmas day, wished her to have a wonderful day, all while sliding a chocolate bar across the desk. The last time this happened, my boss called me back into his office. He looked at me as if I had lit the store on fire. He pulled up a Yelp review on his computer and practically shoved it into my face. The review carefully detailed each and every word this customer and I exchanged. As it turns out, I couldn’t use the phone number he was giving me to look up his membership to our store. For some reason, it wasn’t coming up in our systems. Possibly that the cashier entering the data hadn’t entered it properly, possibly that he gave us the wrong number to begin with. I explained to him multiple times that we cannot “just give him the discount.” Our memberships are exclusive because one pays
for them. For all we knew, he was pretending just to get the money off. But my manager didn’t believe me. He told me I should’ve worked it out, the customer always comes first. “The Yelpers are out to get us!” he’d declare. “And you aren’t helping us one bit!” I tentatively explained the situation at hand, his membership number wasn’t working and he wanted the discount anyways. He told me he should've called him up, I said I would next time. After this exchange, he told me that I had been fired. Effective immediately, and I should see my way out. That year, he only ruined one Christmas, and it was mine.
The Great Chase In the southern reaches of a city, a towns center is full to the brim with people running around left and right. Two boys, one blond and one brown-haired, are crowded around a glass globe filled with rubber bouncing balls. They stare with wonder, searching their pockets until the blond one finds himself a shiny quarter. With anticipation, the boys hold the door of the machine open and await their reward. Out comes a bright blue rubber ball. It skips right over their hands and flies down onto the ground. It rolls and rolls and the boys follow behind it closely. However their speed didn’t even begin to match the speed of the ball as it continued to roll through the market. Eventually, the ball flies under a garbage cart and into a labyrinth of hallways, all dark and dank. The boys are not supposed to be back here, but that won’t stop the two ambitious youngsters. They push through the door and into a hallway where the lights hum above them. At the end of the hallway, they watch their ball ricochet off, and continue around the corner. They follow, not taking the time to notice where they had come in or how they were going to get out. They turn a corner and watch their ball disappear down another hall. By this time, the two boys find themselves very troubled. They are lost. They look at one another. “Do you know where we are?” The blond asks. The brownhaired boy shakes his head. “I don’t know where we are. What should we do?” The two of them continue down the hall until they hear the voice of a man. The man is wearing a white shirt and black pants. He has patches on the arms and has a walkie talkie on his waist. He tells a group of people, also in white shirts and black
pants, that the halls they are in must be patrolled, and anybody that isn’t meant to be there must be detained and taken down to the basement to be held until someone could pick them up. When the man dismisses the people he was talking to, the two young boys panic and hide away in a nearby nook. They share a look between one another. They hold their breath as the guards walk past them. “What do we do?” The blond asks the other. They decide to keep following the only thing they know they can: their blue rubber ball. As they round the corner, they see the back of a big, tall man in a white shirt with a security hat on his head. He is bouncing their blue rubber ball! The two watch, eyes stuck on the bright color. “I’m taking my lunch. If you need me, just radio.” The man with the ball says into his radio. He walks forward a few paces and disappears behind a door that has STAFF ONLY sprawled across the front in big, black letters. Both boys look at one another, then to the door, then back again. “On three.” One whispers. They count off. “One… two… three.” They push their small bodies against the door. The door flies open and they fall into the ground, hitting with such a force that the wind is knocked out of their lungs. The man in the white shirt turns around. Ball in one hand, salami sandwich in the other. He looks at the two boys. The two boys stare back at him. “Can we have our ball back?” One of them asks. The officer, mouth full with a mix of bread, mayo, salami, and provolone cheese, looks at the ball in his hand. He bounces it back to them, then says over his radio (with his mouth still full), “I have two boys, can’t be older than nine, just broke into the break room. What should I do with them?” The boys, panicked, quickly scrambling to their feet to run as fast as they could out of the room and down a hall. They reach a door that reads “BASEMENT ACCESS
DOOR.” They already know about the basement, this is where they will go if they get caught. But they hear footsteps trailing closely behind them. They push through the door and see a group of people sitting in chairs. They all scream to not let the door shut behind them, but its too late. The door locks from the inside. They boys don’t care, they run past in an effort to find a way out. No use to try and get out the way they came in. They eventually make their way through a garbage door, and tumble out onto the cold pavement. They shiver. “Do you have the ball?” The blond asks. The boy reaches into his front pocket and pulls out the ball, which has cracked in half from the fall onto the concrete.
The Sound a Window Makes When You Think its Going to Break after The Stone Mill by Ed Cottrell
My hands grip the counter tightly, so much that I worry my nails will burst through the other side of the granite. People line the outside, pressed against our glass storefront windows. I sweat through my undershirt. The dampness is uncomfortable against my skin, it clings to my sides. “Are you nervous?” Maris asks me. I look at her, releasing my grip from the counter and sliding my hands into my pockets. “No, of course not. I’ve done this before.” “You’ve worked on Black Friday?” She asks me. I look back outside at the crowd that grows by the second. “I never said that.” I look back at her and shake my head. She raises an eyebrow, clearly confused. The people bang on the windows. Their fists go ‘✱! ✱! ✱!’ against the glass and I’m almost scared they’ll shatter it right then and there. “I do this everyday. I come in, sell the games, and go home. Today is no different than that.” ✱! ✱! ✱! on the window again. Maris chuckles and walks off, saying something I couldn’t be bothered to hear. I’m too focused on the people outside. ✱! ✱! ✱! My eyes glaze over at the clock. It's five fifty five in the morning and the doors open in five minutes and outside there are two hundred customers and in my head I can only think the same five words over and over in my head. Don’t screw this up, Kyle.
I zone out into my own thoughts, thinking about the first (and last) time my mom went Black Friday shopping. For some reason she thought it was a good idea to bring her four year old son. A lady ran into me with her cart and— ✱! ✱! ✱! I can’t think anymore. I look back at the clock and the store opens in one minute. Over the radio, Shawn calls all of the staff. “Alright guys, I’m opening the doors now. Get ready, okay?” I forget to breathe and he opens the door.
Manners in Management after Matthew Burnside 1) Alyssa spits in your coffee every time you tell her to go get it. She will stop once you say thank you. So far, you never have. 2) Richard steals pens off your desk whenever he can. That’s why he always offers to take boxes to the back and stay ten minutes later to sweep the break room at night. 3) Michael wishes he could bring his fiancé in to the store. He heard Alyssa make a joke about a man that wore a pink shirt and painted his nails to match. She mumbled, “could he be more obvious?” to Kennedy. They giggled. He sighed and washed the dishes harder. 4) I know you stopped counting, but in all sixteen years in your store, one hundred and thirty four people have told you that you ruined their Christmas. The only Christmas you ruined was Kennedy’s when you scheduled her on Christmas Eve. She was going to visit her father in Washington. He died while she was driving up after her shift. Happy Holidays. 5) No matter how much you tell yourself you have everything you could ever want, you’ll always want a little more. Greed is never ending. You should learn this so you stop getting your hopes up. Happiness is fleeting. 6) Kennedy doesn’t have full custody of her children and so when she calls off last minute, it’s to see them. She has tried to explain that to you but you never took time to listen to her. Her sons call you a bad man. 7) Your store is out over one-thousand dollars in assets. Stop letting Richard take out the trash. If you keep letting him, check on him a little more. 8) Alyssa never spits in Michael’s drinks. Maybe you should take a few lessons from him. Didn’t you learn manners in kindergarten? 9) Kennedy does all the work a sales lead does but doesn’t get the pay for it. Give her a promotion, she deserves it. Similar to Alyssa, all she wants is a thank you. Notice a theme? 10)Michael dresses in drag in the weekend. Sometimes he comes in with a bit of lip stain still on his lips. On those days, he asks to work in the back. 11) The plants in the café aren’t real anymore. Richard stole the real ones, but figured you wouldn’t notice. That’s why he always waters them and not you.
12) Richard found Michael’s makeup while he was looking for change to steal out of employee’s purses. They promised to keep one another's secrets. 13)Michael’s first- and only girlfriend- frequents the store just to see him. He wishes you would 14) Your father is a regular in your store. He always asks one too many questions and always wants your help over anybody else. He is working up to telling you who he is. For now, he reads books on parenting and drinks black coffee. 15) A thank you can go a long way.
The Interview My eyes have barely adjusted to the brightness outside by the time I walk into the fluorescent store. I felt like my feet are roller-skates and I’m not even lifting them in order to move myself forward. My vision feels like a poor attempt at cinematography. I can’t help but wonder how people get themselves up out of bed to do this every single day. After a few strides, my roller-skate feet come to a stop and I stand at a desk right in the middle of the store. A brunette woman asks me a question, but it feels like there is cotton in my ears and I can barely hear her. I tell her that I have an interview around one o’clock. She says something into a headset and then gestured over to a section of the store with a few chairs in it. I walked over and sat down, carefully planting my feet flat on the ground in an attempt to bring myself back to reality. I am in a haze because of how nervous I am. I set my backpack down on the ground and pull a book out of it. It felt almost impossible to be able to focus on each word on the page. They all run together and it begins to look like a collection of symbols I can’t begin to understand. I fold the corner of my page down and rub my eyes, stealing a glance at the outside world through a window. It isn’t long before I bring my eyes back to my book. However, I find myself looking past the book and instead at my socks, which are visible at my ankles beneath khaki pants. One was white, and one was black. My eyes widened in panic and embarrassment. I quickly attempt to pull my pants further down, and while my eyes are averted from the rest of the store, a man approaches me. He waits for me to look at him.
“Are you Justin?” My heart drops into my gut. I look at him before realizing who he is, the manager of the store. I stand up and shake his hand. “Hi, yes, that’s me.” I clench my jaw at my word choice, now I’m second guessing everything I do. “Nice to meet you, Justin. My name is Trevor, I’m the store manager and I’ll be holding your interview. Why don’t you follow me so we can get started?” He waits for me to pick up my backpack before I follow him back into the offices. He sits down in a big swivel chair and gestures for me to sit down in front of him. To be completely honest, I don’t remember the rest of the interview. I’m assuming it went smoothly, sparing my nervousness. But what I do remember is what happened between my first and, what would have been, my second interview. Trevor left me with a paper to fill out, a survey of sorts, and he told me to go out into the break room whenever I finished. I flip the first page open and stare at the questions. Once more, the characters looked like a language I didn’t even know the name of. I focus harder, sounding out each and every letter until it begins to make sense. It began to make sense, filling out the name and address boxes with the neatest handwriting I can muster. Once I finally finished, I handed the papers over to him. He smiled and said thank you, turning around and beginning to read over the packet. I stood up and opened the door he told me to, exiting the office. However, I didn’t open the door to leave the room, I opened the door into a cupboard. There was a medium-sized window on the wall, and brooms and mops. I was panicked, humiliated. There was no way I could face these people ever again. My unmatched socks should have been a sign. I should have left while I had the chance. I look out of the window, we were on the first floor of the building. I have nothing to lose, I
could just leave. I hear voices of concern and confusion through the wall, I’m running out of time. My hands feel cold, and the windowsill’s temperature is only making it colder. I go with my gut and began to try to open the window. I fumble with the locks until they come undone, and eventually the loud, squeaky window gives way. My hands are shaking. Brooms and mops fall off of the walls and clatter to the floor like a horrible symphony. However, this closet isn’t sound proof. Just as I am swinging my leg over the windowsill to freedom, the door opens. Trevor and two other people, a man and a woman, all stare at me silently. I freeze, staring back at them for a few seconds before nodding once to signal a goodbye. I quickly run back to my car, practically collapsing into the seat. Since then, I have not been able to bring myself to step foot into the store.