Best Foot Forward Read Online Free PDF Page B

uncomfortable.”
    â€œNot me.”
    â€œSure you do. You can’t sell shoes like that.”
    That made him think. “So how do you sell ’em?”
    I’m clicking through Murray’s list—heart first, desperation, which might be a bad concept to introduce; humility, adaptability. “You go out there and want to do the best by people.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou want to really help them, Tanner. Make them comfortable, not just sell them something they don’t need.”
    Just then his phone rang. He snapped it off his belt. “Yeah? . . . Oh, hi, Baby. I can’t talk now. . . . Oh, yeah I do. . . .” He smiled, his voice got softer. “Now, Baby, you know I do. . . .” He half laughed, hung up. “She’s used to me being more available.”
    â€œBreak’s over!” I stood to full height. He got up, left the empty glass bottles on the floor with the banana peels. “Tanner, those get washed out and put into the blue bin. The banana peels go into the trash.” I sounded pretty bossy. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like your mother.”
    He scooped up the peels, slam-dunked them in the trash. “My mother don’t talk to me much.”

Chapter 7
    The official word came down from Ken Woldman on daily store specials.
    They get customers in the store.
    Every store will participate.
    The window sales signs came that afternoon.

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    But which TODAY ONLY special was for today?
    We hadn’t been told that newspaper ads and coupons had been distributed.
    We didn’t have enough shoes to meet customer demand.
    Then we’d forget to take the signs down in the windows and people would expect yesterday’s specials today.
    â€œI can’t remember what’s on sale anymore,” Murray shouted, checking the weekly sheet. He’d ask Tanner to organize the shoes for the daily specials. But that’s hard to do when you’re not sure what’s on sale. Tanner lugged out the shoe boxes, lugged them back.
    â€œIt’s not usually this crazy,” I told him.
    â€œDon’t matter to me.”
    â€œIt’s a better place than what you’re seeing.”
    â€œI don’t see anything.” He took the list Murray handed him and walked off.
    What’s your game, Tanner?
    Other Gladstone stores were having the same problems; upset store managers were calling Mrs. Gladstone to please do something.
    â€œI’ve talked to Ken,” she told each one. “He’s sensitive to our growing pains, but he feels this is the best way to go. I’m not running the show anymore.”
    She stood by the window in her office; afternoon shadows played across the room. “The new shipment of shoes came in,” I said.
    â€œAnd . . . ?”
    â€œWell, they’re kind of flimsy.” The term Murray used was “a joke.”
    â€œAnd have we heard anything back on the quality report I requested?”
    â€œNo.”
    I’d called Ken Woldman’s assistant, who sounded irritated that I was checking up.
    â€œAnd, Mrs. Gladstone, Helen Ruggles called from the Oakbrook store.” Helen Ruggles was a top store manager. “She said she needs to come in and talk to you about—”
    â€œThis nonsense?” Mrs. Gladstone turned sharply from the window.
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œTell her we’ll come to Oakbrook, Jenna. I need a fresh perspective.”
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    Early morning, I’m behind the wheel of the Cadillac, taking the open road to Oakbrook—at least metaphorically. I was actually on I-290 West, the Eisenhower Expressway, which was bumper-to-bumper traffic. Why they call this time of day rush hour is beyond me. It’s impossible to rush anywhere.
    Mrs. Gladstone was saying how there’s power in numbers and if enough Gladstone managers were upset, we might be able to influence Ken Woldman, a numbers man through and