D. Allen

Old Blog

David Allen is a mathematician, graphic artist, writer, personal trainer, and video producer for-hire.  But, honestly, you'll be lucky if he blogs on any of these things.  He'll probably just tell you how his day is going (or how yours should be).

In Light of Recent Bankruptcy

After my first semester at Colorado State University, I was in desperate need of a job.  I was desperate enough, in fact, to take a part-time position at TransistorHut that summer. (Obviously this electronics store chain wasn't actually called TransistorHut.) This particular TransistorHut was one of their larger stores which was, at the time, being operated by a fewer than minimal number of employees.  This meant, of course, that I was almost immediately needed to help open and close the TransistorHut.  So, within my first week, I had a key to the store and an alarm code. 

Now you should know that the aforementioned skeleton crew running the store consisted of only four people. I will list them in order of hours worked.  First, we have the manager, who also happened to be the only full-time employee. Then there was me, who was getting more and more hours. Thirdly, there was W (I call him W to protect anonymity).  He only worked about ten hours a week, in order to subsidize his pot-growing business.  And, finally, there was B, who only worked Sundays as a favor to my manager.  Otherwise, he was a professional MMA fighter.

As mentioned, I had moved that summer.  And, one day, I had requested off so as to free up some time to complete some much needed move-in tasks with one of my new roommates.  Well, wouldn't you know that our travels took us to the ACE Hardware adjacent to my TransistorHut.  So, I said to my new roommate, "New Roommate, let us saunter into the TransistorHut and bestow some glad tidings on my workmates," to which he agreed.  When we entered, we found my manager at the counter with W creating a "sign."  I put "sign" in quotes, because it was more of a crappy palimpsest on which was scrawled in scraggly ink, atop the same letters in hi-liter (clearly written first and deemed unacceptable due to the dim hue), the words "closed early family emergency."

"What's going on?" I asked, as their levity seemed to imply no such emergency.

My manager responded.  "F-- this place. I work too many hours and they pay s--.  I took a job selling [something or other] over the phone. We're going to the concert at Red Rocks." (In his defense, he did work too many hours for pay that wasn't good.)

"Who's going to run the store? Who will open tomorrow?" I asked as I was not scheduled to open.

"You can, if you want.  I don't care either way," he replied as he taped his glowing message to the front door.

"You work here?!" my roommate finally asked.

Yes.  I worked there.  In fact, I opened the store the next morning--working it from open to close.  For three weeks I basically ran a TransisterHut on my own.  I did, however, need to leave midday a couple days a week in order to attend the summer class I was taking.  Fortunately, TransisterHut corporate had no idea that W was implicated in the family emergency at Red Rocks, so he was able to cover for me.  Additionally, I was able to enlist the help of the MMA fighter a couple of weekends.  At first he was hesitant, as he didn't like me too much.  He did, however, like whiskey; so, I bought him a bottle.  After that, thanks to the transitive goodness of whiskey, he liked me too.  So I ran the store for three weeks, working open to close most days.  I even continued to make the store's cash deposits, which I don't believe I was technically supposed to be able to know how to do.

And that's the story of how I, with the help of a horticulturist and a martial artist, became king of the TransisterHut.