Back in my glory days as a stock boy at Wal-Mart (circa 1986), I toiled under the watchful eyes of several feisty and uneven-handed managers.  The particular Wal-Mart store I worked in was a training center for people who would eventually become store managers, which was an issue with all of us stock boys.  Instead of one manager to answer to, we had to keep six or eight of them happy.  Most of them were just a tiny bit older than us and giddily joyful about having the authority that they so richly deserved because of their two-year associate degrees or because their fathers or uncles worked for the company.  But I digress.  

I had previously been employed by our county newspaper for a couple of years, working my way up from typesetter to sports editor.  I had a lot of great times at the newspaper, and would ultimately return later, taking up my old job as sports editor.  But on that first stint, after a couple of years, as 20-year-olds are want to do, I grew restless in the job.  I hated calling people up and asking them for quotes for stories.  I always felt that I was intruding into their lives, interrupting their supper, etc.  I never really got over that, even when I came back to do more writing at the paper later on

So I left the newspaper and honestly was pursuing a job that would be as mindless and have as many menial tasks as possible.  I can't really explain why, but I needed some down time from deadlines and expectations and everybody in the county reading what I had to say each week.  Again, I was 20.  I needed to fade into the woodwork for a few months for my own well-being.

So I took the job at Wal-Mart.  Since this was the era of lay-aways (before credit cards were in everybody's pocket and when people had more of a pay-as-you-go mentality than they do today), most of my time was spent running up to the stockroom picking up lay-aways for people and bringing them back to the lay-away window.  I also had such high-profile tasks as swabbing out urinals, mopping floors, chaining up the bicycles at night, and helping little old ladies out to their cars in the rain when most of the time they couldn't remember where they parked.  But again, I digress.  

One of the few perks of the job was the 10% discount, which I enjoyed taking advantage of from time to time.    One particular stock boy, who ended up having a short career at Wal-Mart, decided that 10% was not enough of a price cut on in-store items; he was thinking more along the lines of a 100% discount.  Apparently he took advantage of the 100% markdown that he personally instituted one too many times when they caught him walking out with an expensive camera one day.  I think the police stopped by the store a little later to explain to him the difference in 10% and 100%.

The one other perk of the job that I thought was fabulous was when all employees were issued cards stating that we were to be LIFETIME members of Sam's Club.  In 1986, Sam's Club was still relatively new; it had been started in 1983, and was a great place to go buy stuff--lots of different kinds of stuff--in bulk and at reasonable prices.  The public really embraced this off-shoot of Wal-Mart, and I thought it was just the coolest thing to have a membership that would be free--and that I'd still have when I was 60 years old.

So young, so naive.

I ended up working for Wal-Mart about six months and decided that I couldn't take it any more.  I worked every weekend.  I cleaned up vomit.  I wandered around the parking lot at 10:00 at night gathering up shopping carts in the snow.   One manager would tell me to do something, then I'd walked around the corner and another manager would tell me to do something else.  Then I'd walk around another corner and yet another manager would put me on a different task.  I quit.  In retrospect, it was incredibly good for me.  I learned a lot about people, and I learned how to appreciate the good jobs I would get later.  It gave me more of an empathy for people who toil their whole lives in jobs where they are unappreciated and under-paid.  I admire and respect people who work at Target or K-Mart or Wal-Mart or any other job who are struggling to make ends meet.

However, even when I quit, I had that one memento from the job, that really cool and permanent lifetime membership to Sam's Club.  The closest store to our house was in Louisville, and I'd occasionally drive up there just for the sheer pleasure of flashing my card as I walked in and perusing through the store as a bona fide member, taking my time and looking around at all the stuff.  Basically, I had no life. 

Then came that historic afternoon when I drove up to Sam's Club yet again for a fun-filled couple of hours to be spent looking at radios and tires and Cracker Jacks that you could buy like 25 boxes of at once.  I walked into the little entryway, flashed my card, and started to walk on in.  The lady who looked at my card stopped me and said, "Sir, there's a problem with your card."  I smiled a smug, smirky smile back at her and said, "I'm a lifetime member."    She said, "I think you better go over to the Service Desk."

I curtly proceeded over to the Service Desk and handed my card to the customer service lady.  "They tell me there's something wrong with my card; do I need to get a new one?" I asked innocently.

Then those fateful words proceeded out of her mouth.  "Sir, you are no longer a member here." 

I cleared my throat and matter-of-factly shared with her that I had a lifetime membership.  "Sir, your lifetime membership has been revoked," she said. 

Well...I shared with her that by default a lifetime membership was just that, for a lifetime, that it was set in stone and that no manner of change could ever divert a lifetime membership since it was for the rest of your life.  She assured me that this particular lifetime membership was coming to an end, that in fact it had already come to an end, but that she would gladly set me up for a yearly membership if I was interested.     I wasn't interested.  I stared at her.  I tried again.  "This is a lifetime membership.  How can it be revoked?"  She stared back and shrugged.  "This card is no longer valid here."

Crushed, I walked back to my car and drove home.  This was an early lesson in life that very few things here are permanent, even when they are promised to be so.  I walked in the house and told my parents the whole story, and they thought it was knee-slapping funny.  They had lived a lot more of life than I had.   

But I will share that Sam's Club made a mistake that day.  They would have made a lot more money off me had they honored my "lifetime" card.  I haven't set foot in the place in over a decade. 

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