I was cleaning out a drawer of old computer cables when Russ T. Blade peeked from behind my monitor. Rusty, as most readers know, is the miniature, imaginary produce manager who occasionally appears to talk shop.
Rusty: Time to sort through the junk drawer, huh? Moving out or just killing time?
Me: Huh? Oh, yeah. The last week of the year is a great time to get organized, take inventory of what to keep and what to pitch. With my career in the rearview mirror now, there’s only a few remnants to sort through.
Rusty: Cords and cables spur memories of a produce career?
Me: Sort of. I put my old briefcase in the donation pile for example. That followed me all over the country. In and out of countless overhead airplane compartments and in many hotel lobbies as I stayed up nights working.
Rusty: Probably used it as a footrest too, I bet.
Me: Yeah. When you travel a lot, as many in the produce world do, you discover what tools are essential. Or not.
Rusty: Your co-workers used to tease you good-naturedly about what a cheapskate you were on the road to save on your per diem.
Me: Make no mistake. It’s tough being away from family, but it’s a living. I preferred to stay at a Residence Inn or Staybridge Suites because the rooms had kitchenettes. I liked to fix my dinner on the road whenever possible. That’s just being frugal. And I’m not such a bad cook, by the way.
Rusty: There’s nothing like traveling to widen a produce person’s education.
Me: True. Every stop along the road has its story. I especially liked hotels that catered to working stiffs like me, which offered evening socials on Mondays through Wednesdays. These offered free food like a salad bar, nachos, tacos — lighter fare like this — and, of course, complimentary wine and beer.
Rusty: You were a cheapskate. Hotel taco night? Did those have real meat or sawdust filling?
Me: Uh-huh. Well, at least hotel breakfasts are usually acceptable. What I liked about the evening socials was meeting other business travelers. Sometimes we’d sit around and shoot the breeze over a bottle of suds or two. It reminded me of traveling salesmen I read about from the old days.
Rusty: What, like stagecoach days? Ha. You are old!
Me: More like the days when sales types traveled via railroad. They often gathered at familiar hotels along their routes, warming themselves around a potbellied stove in the lobby. They were a tight-knit group, all trying to make a buck on the road. They had colorful phrases — like when something mechanical got stuck, it was, “tighter than a Pullman window” — or shared clever phrases from ideas in meetings such as, “Let’s run that up the flagpole and see if anyone salutes it.”
Rusty: In the little bit of traveling today, I’ve overheard businesspeople yapping in language all their own, all right.
Me: Many people I chatted with on the road worked in sales or transportation. One did nothing but deliver equipment to pizza chains, another worked solely on installing those giant wind turbines. There I was, marketing potatoes. Must have seemed mundane, by comparison, but I enjoyed it.
Rusty: Someone has to peddle produce around the country.
Me: I recall reading about the old-timers who gathered in hotel parlors, over a swig or two of their favorite libations, describing how they could coax a few more shaves from a dull razor by rubbing the edge on the inside of a glass or how they referred to their expense reports as “swindle sheets.”One older guy I met said that, going back farther, travelers had to pack their own towels and soap, as many hotels didn’t provide these things. Imagine.
Rusty: Still think much about those days? The flight issues, the rental cars and traffic, the endless meetings, presentations, trade events and the musty-smelling hotel rooms?
Me: Sometimes. I especially remember the long, solitary windshield time on the road. I do miss all the people I met with from all the produce companies, as well as all the diverse roadies like me who occasionally sat together in lobbies on freezing nights or during those pleasant summer evenings on hotel patios. There was a kinship there.
Rusty: Now those memories are reduced to a handful of cords, relics in your bottom desk drawer.
Me: And somewhere out there on the road, some produce person is calling it quits. Or just starting out.
Rusty: Raise a glass to the past.
Me: And another to the future.
Armand Lobato’s more than 50 years of experience in the produce business span a range of foodservice and retail positions. He has written a weekly retail column for nearly two decades.
