During summer and holiday breaks in college I worked at Brooks Brothers at the Lake of the Ozarks. (Brooks Brothers is a fancy clothing store. Founded in 1818, it's the oldest retail store in the U.S. I was a cheerleader with the store manager's daughter, so when I graduated in 2009 she asked if I wanted to come work for her.)
By the summer of 2012, I had worked there for three years, and had come to really enjoy it. (That 2012 summer followed the Cardinals 2011 World Series Championship season, obviously. Which was also the summer I had spent many days reading and reading and reading about the Cardinals history. I knew all current players names and had watched every game I could that current season.)
One day that summer it was business as usual, mostly consisting of folding and straightening clothes. Truth be told, I preferred folding and straightening, because I was terrified of measuring a man wrong for a dress shirt or suit. So if a man needed help, I prayed another employee was around. I knew how to measure properly it simply stressed me out!
This particular day, my assistant manager, Patrick, and supervisor, Marsha, were both tied up, so the man needing assistance fell on me. He had me measure his neck and arm length for dress shirts. (Oy!) He picked out 3 dress shirts. Then he let me pick out 3 ties to match. That was always my favorite part. And this man was kind. Sometimes they were picky and hated everything I picked out (then why bother asking for help?!). This man, however, liked the options I gave him and quickly chose the 3 he liked best.
On to the cash register we went. We always had to ask their name and zip code to see if they were in our clientele system. At Brooks Brothers they keep record of sizes, so if you forget or someone is shopping for you it can be looked up. He wasn't in clientele and was fine with being added.
First name? Shane.
Last name? Robinson.
I looked at my wrist, where I was wearing my St. Louis Cardinals bracelet. Looked back up at the screen, Shane Robinson. Looked over the man standing in front of me. Yep, he could be a ball player. It's July. Baseball is on break for the All-Star Game. This could be him alright.
My hands were shaking and the inner turmoil set in. Do I ask? No. I don't want to disturb him. And what if I'm wrong? That's embarrassing. But what if I'm not? What if this is THE Shane Robinson? St. Louis Cardinals outfielder, Shane Robinson??? Yeah right. Not at the Lake of the Ozarks.
Don't worry, all of my inner thoughts occurred as I continued to check out Mr. Shane Robinson. (Yes, pun fully intended!) I bagged his clothes, he signed his receipt, and I sent him on his way.
As soon as he got out the door, I ran to the back squealing. Patrick, my assistant manager, was also a baseball fan. (He grew up in Pittsburgh, so he was a Pirates fan.) In three years we had had numerous chats about baseball. He always mocked me for talking about the Cardinals like I actually knew them. (He was about to find out I really did!) However, he was also one of the few men who acknowledged I knew what I was talking about when I talked baseball, so it was always enjoyable.
"PATRICK! I just helped Shane Robinson! St. Louis Cardinals, Shane Robinson! It had to be him! I think it was him! I have his address! Can I look up where he lives?!"
I'm typically a quiet human being, but when the Cardinals are involved all sense of calm escapes me. Patrick graciously directed me to the "for managers only" computer so I could Google Shane Robinson.
With the help of Wikipedia I learned Shane was from Georgia. Oh my lanta! I also learned he was 5'9". Goosebumps!
By then, Patrick had gone back out to help Marsha on the sales floor. I scurried back out, looked around for customers, and began squealing again.
"PATRICK! It was him! It was THE Shane Robinson! He's from Georgia! That's the address he gave me! And he's 5'9"! That man was not much taller than me! He was built like a ball player! I just talked and sold shirts to Shane Robinson! Eek! I measured him for those shirts! I just touched a Cardinals baseball player!"
(Yes, I do teach Comm. Arts. So yes, I'm aware that one should not overuse exclamation points. However, I am also aware of how unnecessarily fast and high-pitched I talk when excited, so I have deemed them all acceptable.)
Patrick and Marsha probably should have been highly concerned about me. Instead, knowing my obsession for all things Cardinals, they joined in the commotion with me.
"Is he still around? Where was he going? Go get his autograph!"
By that time, he had been gone for several minutes. He had gotten a phone call before leaving so I knew he was meeting his wife somewhere. And by then I decided it was best not to go searching for him. I'd be content with knowing I'd helped him and I'd watch interviews to see if I ever saw him in the shirts and ties we'd picked out together.
Patrick, being kind and gracious, went to the cash register drawer. He pulled out the receipt from Shane's transaction. He considered attempting to make a copy of it, but the copy machine Brooks Brothers had would have eaten up a receipt. So instead Patrick handed it to me and said, "you didn't get this from me."
That was the day I got THE St. Louis Cardinals outfielder, Shane Robinson's signature. No, not his autograph, his signature.
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| You didn't see this from me. |
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