The Syndrome of The Lowly Worker Bee

Everyone has a little thrift store in their neighborhood they enjoy frequenting. For me, it's a place in Plymouth, PA called Community Family Services, but everyone knows it better as merely the Plymouth Thrift. I'd like to tell you some thoughts I had as I witnessed a rather awkward exchange.

On this particular day, upon pulling my car into the lot, I noticed there were a few large, brand new expensive cars parked there. I thought it a bit odd since they seemed SO out of place, especially for a thrift store. Anyway, upon entering, I observed a small pack of men in the back sorting area, dressed in super-expensive suits, shined shoes, gold jewelry, the whole works. Not just WELL-dressed, but almost flamboyantly OVER-dressed. Men of power and wealth, no doubt. They all looked very stern, discussing things that men of power and wealth discuss, pointing and angrily barking orders at the lower folks on the totem pole.

As I entered, I say hi to the one worker there, Danny. Most people know Danny, as he has been there forever, and probably assume he is a manager of some sort, which he surprisingly is not, especially given his years (or decades) employed at this place. He quickly shushed me and gave me a bleak look of alarm and terror on his face. I assumed this had something to do with these men in the back, and took the hint to quietly go about my business.
I poked around a bit, not so much shopping but more keeping an eye on the happenings of these men, who I surmised were either the owners, or the mob. Either would be plausible, at this point. They looked every bit the part of La Cosa Nostra, like a pack of extras in Goodfellas whose scenes ended up on the cutting room floor because they were so over-the-top, trying to steal the show with their exaggerated melodramaticism. I figured these are the kind of guys that only show their face when something big was going down, or somebody needed to be "taken care of."
A week or so later when I returned, Danny came up to me and apologized for being short with me, explaining that the "big bosses" were in and they don't take kindly to workers talking to the customers unless it is thrift store-related business.

This is what really got me thinking. First, about the inner workings of the Plymouth Thrift. Clearly, no charity-based business would have the Black Hand pulling the strings, or would they? Doing my due diligence to check into things, I found out the Plymouth Thrift most certainly is not any sort of charity. It is just one leg of a purely for-profit venture, no big surprise there.

The second thing to get me thinking was Danny. The look of anxiety and imminent peril on his face disturbed me. I mean, here's a guy that has been working here for at least the 20-plus years I have been seeing him there, being a good employee, playing by the rules, et al. And here comes along this pack of gangsters, at least a couple of them looking younger than he or me, throwing their weight around and everyone is supposed to keep their mouths shut and be properly terrified. And it seems they were indeed. It shook my pillars, and gave me second thoughts about going there. It also made me infuriated that this is what basic employment and being able to pay the bills means to not just Danny, but a good amount of the work force.

I have never stayed at a job where I was bullied to do so. I have had plenty of good bosses and plenty of shitty ones. I never want to have the latter, nor be one. I can't grasp the concept of management by intimidation. It seems you'd end up with a pack of trembling worker bees that will do just the bare minimum to avoid repercussion rather than a solid team of folks that want to rise to the occasion to make the place better, and in turn make their own work environment more conducive to creativity, progress, and production.