We passed the security guard stationed by the back entrance and made our way to the storage area.
Mundo and I stood in the middle of the small room, wooden pallets of shipping barrels piled against the walls on either side. I saw Mundo’s eyes do a furtive scan, quickly rejecting the sight before them.
“These are your barrels,” I explained. “They’re from people in the neighborhood shipping back to Jamaica, Haiti, Guyana, et cetera. Their home countries.”
Mundo pulled a face.
“You’re responsible for logging them into the inventory book when they come in and logging them out when they’re gone. And you’re also responsible for managing all of the couriers coming to pick up shipments. You need to make sure they grab the right barrels and that everything’s handled with care. Do you hear me?” I asked.
Mundo nodded.
I steered him towards the hidden part of the back room- the place where Bolo’s product was kept. The number of barrels here was far more impressive than what could be seen up front.
“This here,” I told Mundo, “is all Bolo business. And it’s not to be fucked with.”
Now I had Olmando’s attention.
“The only thing you’re to do is review the schedule I have here in this ledger.”
I pointed up to a leather-bound book placed on a high shelf.
“It’s updated every night with a list of incoming and outgoing shipments.”
Mundo nodded.
“As soon as you get in each morning, at nine o’clock on the dot,” I said, pointedly, “you go to the book and see what the day’s schedule is. Then you organize the barrels going out and make room for the barrels coming in.”
“And?” Mundo asked, waiting for the big reveal.
“And when they show up for the barrels, you make sure they have the right barrels. And you make sure no other product is taken ‘accidentally.’ By anyone.”
Mundo smiled and nodded.
“This is serious, Mundo,” I warned him. “I personally keep an eye on all of Bolo’s inventory. If anything comes up missing- even an eight-ball, I’ll know about it.”
“Don’t worry, Hopeton,” Mundo told me. “I got you.”
“See that you do,” I replied.
“Is that it?” Mundo asked. “That’s what you’re gonna be having me do?”
“For the most part, yes,” I said.
“Really?” Mundo asked, like maybe I was lying to him about the scale of his responsibilities.
“Well, you’ll also be responsible for helping the actual shipping barrel customers up front,” I replied. “I expect you to take our public facing clients seriously, as well. They’ve been loyal to me and they deserve our respect.”
Mundo’s eyes glazed over.
“What’s up with the security detail over there?” Mundo asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the guard.
“We have twenty-four hour coverage,” I explained. “And part of their job is to make sure that employees aren’t fucking around onsite. Remember that.”
I then steered Olmando out to the front of the store and ran him through front of house duties- how to conduct transactions with our regular customers, and such. Conveniently, Miss Allona turned up right when I was explaining how to fill out a packing form, which gave me the opportunity to show him the process in real time. Miss Allona was sending her monthly shipment of goods down to her family in Brown’s Town.
“I need you to get me two empty barrels,” I told Mundo, as I punched in the security code to let him enter the back room.
As soon as Miss Allona had left the store, Mundo turned to me and asked, “Am I gonna get the code to the back room?”
“Hellllllllll no,” I replied.
“Then, how am I supposed to get back and forth between the front and the back?”
“I’ll let you in the back when you need to get in.”
“But what if you’re not up front with me?”
“You’ll have to page the security guard with your employee code and the guard will let you in,” I said.
I gave Mundo his code.
The next two weeks were trying on my patience.
Every morning, Mundo would show up some time between nine thirteen and nine thirty-nine. Never at nine on the dot, but always before ten a.m. Once or twice, he’d show up with an offering of cinnamon bundt cake from Lali, who loved to bake, or a clipping from a trade journal that Téo thought I should read.
I’d do my best to get Mundo settled for the day, but it seemed as if he were incapable of staying inside. He knew his main responsibility was to keep track of inventory in the back room, but I found him constantly drifting towards the front or, even worse, outside on the sidewalk.
When I’d try to corral him back inside, Mundo would protest, “But the next drivers are supposed to be here any minute now. I’m just waiting to make sure they’re ready to grab their order!”
It was a constant battle I had no interest in fighting.
One afternoon towards the end of Mundo’s second week of employment, I was sitting at my desk working on a business plan I was preparing to present to Bolo. Téo had agreed to review it for me and I wanted to make sure it was as detailed as possible. We needed to pivot.
I heard a soft noise and looked up to see Mundo sliding into the chair across from me.
“Yes?” I asked. “Can I help you?”
“I just wanted to let you know I have everything in order back there,” Mundo said, turning and pointing towards the area all the way in the back where Bolo’s business was contained.
“Good,” I replied, as I looked back down at my proposal.
“And there’s not much for me to do right now,” Mundo continued. “What else you got going on for me?”
I looked back up at Bolo’s heir. Téo’s son.
“Nothing right now, Mundo,” I told him. “This is the job. You do your work, then you sit by it.”
He squinted his eyes and cocked his head, like he didn’t believe what I was saying.
“Seriously,” I said. “That’s what you do.”
“But what about you?” Mundo persisted. “What do you do? I mean, you can’t just spend every single day sitting here, watching shit go in and shit go out. What’s going on outside?”
I deflected a bit- there was no reason for Mundo to know about my port runs, but explaining money pick-ups seemed safe enough.
“How are your driving skills?” I asked.
Mundo laughed sharply.
“I’m a fucking amazing driver,” he bragged.
“Of course you are,” I replied, deadpan. “But you’re going to need to strictly stick to inventory duties for the foreseeable future.”
Mundo tried hard not to roll his eyes, but failed.
“Until you get a feel for the business,” I explained.
After that, I could tell that Mundo was trying to find his own way into PanStar’s unremitting routine. He manned the front as needed, stayed in back to make sure the product was ready for shipment, oversaw loading barrels onto delivery vehicles and basically tried to appear useful.
And on the Friday morning of his third week of employment, Mundo showed up at nine o’clock on the dot, Pierre in tow.
