College Jobs

It’s nobody’s dream to become an accountant. Well, at least it was never my dream to become an accountant. In fact I’m not sure I have ever spent time dreaming about a career at all; maybe as an NBA basketball player, but that I’ve been assured of is a true pipe dream.

When I was a college student I began to realize that the manner in which I had spent my entire life was quickly coming to an end, and I would out of necessity be required to join the ranks of the gainfully employed. I looked around and took note of those who graduated and subsequently found a well paying job and those who did not. It occurred to me that accountants had strong job security and were compensated fairly well. With no other dream job to entice me in another direction, I applied to the accounting program, at a well respected school, and in time received my undergraduate degree in accountancy.

I wasn’t always so logical or calculated when it came to opportunities to make a little dough. During my days as a starving student I would often accept any job offer that presented itself. This was mainly part of an effort to prolong the occurrence of any negative interactions with my landlord. The jobs I took never seemed to be very long-term or reliable, but there was one job that was an exception to this reality; Asset Control at Wal-Mart.

It was explained to me that an Asset Controller’s job is simple yet precarious. The essential functions performed by an asset manager include blending in with the regular shoppers, observing those shoppers to ensure they do not attempt to appropriate any of the store’s merchandise, and calling in the big guns when a situation got too heavy. The primary reason that the job can become precarious is the possibility of a shoplifter confronting the Asset Control personnel, which in my case didn’t happen very frequently. The job itself was far less exciting than it may sound. I essentially pretended to be shopping, which I dislike to begin with, and spent my time observing normal people doing normal things. It was like watching a reality show about your next door neighbor, which really is not riveting television.

We were instructed to focus our efforts on people who “fit the bill”. Shoppers wearing large sweaters or jackets, or carrying oversized purses or handbags; individuals who continue to return to an aisle numerous times in one visit; and people who don’t pass the “smell test”. Some people may be inclined to call that profiling, but as my manager used to say, “The guns don’t go bang without the bullets.” I never felt too bad about it though, because I never called in a situation where I didn’t see a theft act.

Most of the time my job in Asset Control was mind numbingly boring, but it paid well and seemed to have a long shelf life. I was content to faux-shop three or four times a week as long as it paid my living expenses. At the time the thought of seeking other employment opportunities had not crossed my mind, but one evening I was presented with an opportunity and it pricked my interest. I was in the clothing department pretending to shop for socks, while keeping an eye on a group of teenagers who appeared to be in the store to simply pass some time. I was holding a pair of socks and thinking to myself, “Why don’t they make socks in a can?” - When I heard a male voice behind me whisper, “You’re blown.”

The first thought that crossed my mind was that there was no way that comment was directed to me. I turned slowly towards the source of the voice; not really sure what to expect. Apparently this person was talking to me, because I saw a round, smiling face staring right at me. He was Latin American, about 5 feet 7 inches and slightly overweight. His hair was a dark, brown mop on his head.

“Huh?” was all I could think to respond.

“You’re blown. Your cover is blown.” He laughed to himself as I stared blankly back at him. “It means I know who you are; like from Bourne Identity”, he said again, with an exaggerated smile. “I mean; I know what you’re doing. You’re a security guard under cover.”

“Yeah, it’s my job. How did you know? Are you with asset management too?” I asked.

“No, but I’ve seen you here before. You’re here like every day. Plus you have a radio, and I’ve heard you rat people out before.”

“So, do you need something? Are you looking for a job?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I actually have an offer to make to you.” I nodded slowly to indicate some sort of acknowledgement, despite not having any idea where he was going with this statement. “I don’t want to blow your cover” he said as he handed me a yellow sticky-note, “Meet me here after your shift.”

Again I nodded to him, but he turned and walked quickly away. As an asset controller I had experienced some very interesting things, but nothing quite like that. I wasn’t sure what to make of the man I had just met or the conversation I had just had. I looked down at the sticky-note in my hand and saw that he had scribbled the name of a restaurant, La Casita, across the note. At the bottom he had signed it “Efrain”.

I spent the rest of my shift in a heated debate with myself; was I going to meet Efrain at the restaurant or was it all just too weird for me? What could this guy possibly have to offer me? What was he going to ask me to do? The possibility of some kind of danger awaiting me at my meeting with Efrain had crossed my mind, but we would be meeting in a public place. I was also pretty sure I could handle myself if he tried to attack me or something.

I evaluated the reasonableness of discussing the situation with my manager, but I worried that it may cause my manager to lose faith in me if he knew that I had been found out. What kind of an undercover shopper gets found out by random shoppers? Talking to my manager, I decided, was not the best plan of action. I settled on keeping my appointment with Efrain just to see what he was after. When my shift was over I took the long walk across the parking lot, climbed in my car, and headed to La Casita.

The restaurant was dark and eerily quiet inside. The lighting was dim; the only source being the old chandeliers that hung from the ceiling.  I told the hostess I was meeting someone named Efrain, and she directed me to a booth in the back corner of the dining room. There was a large pillar five feet from the table that hid us from the view of anyone who may have been in the restaurant. I saw Efrain and he gestured for me to sit down, so I slid into the booth and sat opposite the table from him. The cushioning on the booth was thick and comfortable, but the table was greasy so I set my hands in my lap.

Efrain smiled at me and began asking me what I would like to eat. “Anything, my man, it’s on me.”

“I’ll start with water”, I said as the waitress handed me a menu.

“Take a look and let me know what you feel like” Efrain said, gesturing to the menu. “The food here is real good.”

The situation was not quite what I expected; there seemed to be no other customers in the restaurant besides us. In the background I could hear the soft sound of a radio playing Mariachi music. I had a feeling of déjà vu, like I had watched this scene in a mafia movie before; the only difference was that this place was Mexican and not Italian. “But”, I thought to myself “there is a Mexican mafia”. I took a quick look behind me and saw that all of the booths were empty. Efrain wasn’t talking anymore; he just looked down at his menu. I wasn’t really interested in eating at this point, it would have made me more comfortable to hear what Efrain had to say and then leave. I decided to break the ice as quick as possible.

“Why did you want to talk to me here?” I asked quietly. Efrain looked up at me slowly; his smile was now gone. He didn’t strike me as the type of person who would be involved in any mafia type activities. He just looked so weak and unintimidating. He was wearing a jacket, so I thought it may have been possible that he was wearing a gun. If he was part of the Mexican mafia he was definitely at the bottom of the pecking order.

“I want you to do something for me, and I am willing to pay you for it”, he replied.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You are good at what you do, at the Wal-Mart. You blend in well. You watch people and they don’t even know that you are watching them.”

“But you knew who I was. I can’t be that good.”

“I knew who you were because I knew what to look for.” He smiled as he said this, as if he was proud of himself. “Other people they don’t know to even look.”

“Go on”, I said.

“I have a person I want you to follow. She is very important to me, and I need you to make sure she is safe. I am concerned for her.”

“Who is she?”

“She is a friend of mine that I am concerned about. That is all you need to know. I want you to follow her for one week and tell me everything you see. Where she goes. What she does. Who she meets.” He slowed down has he said this last part. I started to think that this was not something I would feel comfortable doing; especially without more information.

“Don’t you need a license to do something like that? Wouldn’t I need to be a certified private investigator?” I asked.

“No. You can do it. This is America. You can do anything you want.”

“I don’t think I want to do that.”

“I’ll give you $1,000” he said with a stern face. “Next week school is out. Take some time off of work and do this for me, and I will reward you for it.”

“I don’t know I said”, but in my head I was thinking about the $1,000. That was lot more than I would make at Wal-Mart in that amount of time. I started to shake my head and Efrain reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He set it on the table and slid it across to me. I reached down and opened the envelope to see what was inside; there were ten crisp, hundred dollar bills.

To be continued…