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Carol H Tucker
Passionate about knowledge management and organizational development, expert in loan servicing, virtual world denizen and community facilitator, and a DISNEY fan
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Be warned:in this very rich environment where you can immerse yourself so completely, your emotions will become engaged -- and not everyone is cognizant of that. Among the many excellent features of SL, there is no auto-return on hearts, so be wary of where your's wanders...
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What do you call the Saturday before Easter?
Sandwiched between the drama of Good Friday and the celebration of Easter Sunday is the bleak day when Christ was immured in the tomb. It is Saturday -- and I never know quite how to refer to it. Easter Saturday? Holy Saturday? the Easter Vigil and a day of fasting? Easter weekend? the last day of Lent? part of the Easter Triduum? Black Saturday? Easter Eve? In some countries it is actually a holiday with its own observances but here in the US, it is the day of Easter egg hunts and frenetic shopping
While I had realized that grocery store shopping was always an ordeal, I hadn't realized just how frenetic shopping was on this Saturday until I worked at Mother Goose Shoes at Security Square Mall for three years. We sold children's shoes that were made by a factory in Western MD -- and Irv [the manager] had laid in a huge supply of the black and white patent dress girls' shoes and different styles of little boys' dress shoes for Easter. Sales were always brisk as the holiday grew closer; because kid's feet grow quickly, savvy parents would wait until the week before Easter to buy to ensure the shoes would fit. But the day before Easter? The entire mall was packed, but Mother Goose Shoes was literally swamped. Most of the staff was there for store hours -- open to close -- and we were hopping the entire time.
As the time passed and we started selling out of some sizes, an edge of desperation would creep into the parents' voices.... finally, well after the closing time of 10PM, Irv would pull down the gate and then the fun would begin.
We had a chain link gate at the front of the store. Every year, as we stood trying to settle the cash drawers and clean up the store, parents would rattle the gate and demand that we talk to them. They would wave money and shout out shoe sizes, telling us just to go and get the box. Some women would scream obscenities at us saying that we were spoiling their Easter because their little one wouldn't have new shoes to go with the new Easter outfits they had just bought. Their children would stand there sniffling and crying. Irv would stand inside the gate and start cussing at them and the noise would get louder. Security would show up and the parents and Irv would start shouting at the men, gesticulating wildly as a crowd gathered. It was one of the few times when we would leave by the back door, walking out into the dimly lit, empty area with the dumpsters. Security would come and escort us, taking Irv to the bank to drop off "the bag" [the commercial deposit of the day's take] and making sure the staff made it safely to the more populated area of the parking lot.
And that was how I first got to know Frank -- back in 1982, he was one of those Security guards on duty that night and he walked me to my car.
on another note:
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