Jerry’s Marginalia — The Turmeric Saga (Management Cut)
Every store has a story that never really goes away. It just waits for new management.
We were clearing u-boats—crackers, chips, miscellaneous corporate nonsense—two, maybe three aisles deep. Real work. Rhythm work. The kind where your body’s moving and your brain is on autopilot.
Then I saw it.
Powdered turmeric.
I looked at the new store manager—LaTrisha. Shorter than me. Absolute short stack energy. I tease her. I tease the other ASM under her. High-fives all around. Goblin diplomacy. Morale intact.
And I said, calmly:
“I once grabbed a bag of turmeric and turned into an orange reject Oompa Loompa.”
No buildup. No warning. Just lore.
I explained how I became a walking Limited Edition Cheeto Puff. How the bag betrayed me. How the dust cloud chose violence. How for one brief, cursed moment, I was no longer an employee—I was seasoning.
She looked at me.
She processed it.
And she walked away.
Which is, to be clear, the correct response.
The other ASM? She heard the story and immediately said she’d just gone home.
Also correct.
Some knowledge doesn’t require follow-up questions.
Later, I circled back to LaTrisha and reassured her: “I won’t shake the bags so vigorously next time.”
A promise. A lie. A professional courtesy.
Then the work continued.
U-boats cleared. Cardboard loaded. Carts dumped. Back room cleaned.
Meanwhile, the new Courtesy Clerk—first night on the job—was nearby, watching all of this happen. Not the story. The aftermath. The quiet part where nobody’s laughing anymore and the store still has to function.
No speeches. No flexing. Just execution.
That’s the real saga.
The turmeric incident is funny. But what matters is that the story gets told once, management learns something, and the work still gets done.
Every store has a legend. Every legend is a warning label.
And turmeric? Turmeric remembers.
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