Good at Weddings
The hard side of Bed Bath & Beyond
Figuring out the cadence of publishing these Substacks is hard.
I like writing them. I like that you read them, too. But it’s hard figuring when — and what — to post. My sweet spot seems to be every month or so. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but that’s the average.
I like to have a mix of funny ones with more serious ones. You know, like if we’re sitting around having a beer and I’m telling you some of the things that have happened to me. Some would make you laugh and, well, some would be serious. Then somehow make you laugh anyway.
But not every story fits nice and neat on Substack. Hoping to beat my once-a-month average, I found myself writing one about being on the cusp of 21 and having a moment that would alter the course of my life. I just didn’t know it at the time. That’s the ultimate purpose of this project, I guess — to talk about the moments that become meaningful much later in life. I think that’s what I’m exploring here: what combination of moments put us where we are today? How do they shape us, and what do we take from them?
When I finished that piece, I sat with it for a while, unsure if it fit this space. Unsure it was right. I asked my wife Robin to read it.
“Hmmm. Maybe this one is for the book,” she said. Which means I guess I’ll eventually have to write a book if I ever want you to read it.
I took her feedback like I always do — with gratitude and trust that she knows me so well. It made me remember that life is full of moments, and there is plenty more to write about.
Like the time in 2009 I worked at Bed Bath & Beyond.
I arrived in 2009 broken and defeated. I had decided to switch careers from TV advertising to commercial real estate just a few years earlier. It was 2007, the height of the real estate market. Agents were selling houses left and right to people getting outsized loans with little more than a signature. Houses seemed cheap, and you could walk past any Wells Fargo and they’d give you a loan.
I had some early success, too. Lots of little deals that my broker was sure would turn into bigger ones. But talk about bad timing: the market crashed about eight months after I got my license. Monthly deals dwindled to quarterly deals, then to no deals.
A market crash wasn’t the worst of my problems, either.
My marriage wasn’t over yet, but we were actively ignoring the dashboard warning lights staring us in the face. Those easy loans? We’d likely had one too many. A big house with big bills, and the stress mounted. I was not emotionally in a good place, circling around my bottom.
On top of all that, I was sick a lot.
I think you know why. Cancer. I’ll tell you about that sometime. But fast forward to August of 2009, and it’s apparent that I’m going to need chemotherapy.
No deals meant no income. Chemotherapy meant a long-term gig wasn’t likely. I needed a job, both for the money and to keep me sane for two months.
Enter Bed Bath & Beyond. An Old Tucson Studios friend of mine managed a Bed Bath & Beyond and offered me a job. I asked him not to tell anyone my history or the short-term nature of my stay.
Bed Bath & Beyond has obviously closed, but back then it was a behemoth. Behind the scenes, it had a hard side (pots, pans, and utensils), a soft side (think towels and pillows) and no storage. Home of the never-expiring coupons, it was the favorite place for newly arriving college students, first-time homeowners, candle lovers, and kitchen gadget aficionados. Something for everyone.
Working there was satisfyingly repetitive. Since there was no back room at Bed Bath & Beyond, the only place merchandise could go was on the shelf. It was 3-D Tetris, and I was the master of stacking coffee makers and knives. I was also good at talking to customers about coffee makers and knives.
The hard-side manager noticed my knack for connecting with customers. My years of selling advertising made it easy to ask questions and point them in the right direction.
Where I was just talking to people about knives or coffee makers, she saw something else.
“You’d be good at weddings,” she said.
Weddings?” I thought. “Have you seen my life? It’s in shambles. I’m not good at LIFE right now.”
Weddings was its own department at BBB. Working with excited couples to put together their registry was a definite moneymaker, and she wanted me on her team.
The short-term and secret nature of my employment meant I couldn’t take the opportunity or tell her why. I think we were both bummed.
For a moment, I was on a high. I was desperate to be good at anything during this time. Any thread I could pull to stay afloat. I could still connect with people, pull that thread, and find something about them that made their life easier. And apparently, put me in line for weddings.
Other than stacking and chatting, I also knew how to run the register, which I did not do that often. I tended to stay hidden on my hard side of the store. But when it got busy, I’d have to go to the front.
One time, an NAU college radio friend came through the line. I looked up and we caught eyes. A realization came across her face, and she said, “Tim Bentley. No way!” She didn’t say it in a way that sounded excited, either. In my broken-down brain, Lisa was looking at me, wondering what I was doing at a Bed Bath & Beyond, ringing her up.
I felt defeated.
There was nothing wrong with Bed Bath & Beyond. I liked it there. The people were genuine. Nice. It was a good place for my brain to be. It gave me a place to be of service, help others, and begin to deal with the fact that my life was changing in just a few months.
It was the way she looked at me. Surprise, then judgment. I could hear her brain turning, creating a story about how I wound up here. I was ready to sit in the mud, too, because none of the stories my brain invented for her involved cancer.
I took her coupon, rang her up, and promised a connection on Facebook.
I headed back to the hard side to lose myself in the coffee makers and knives. I didn’t care what Lisa thought.
My life may be in shambles and about to change dramatically, but shut up, Lisa.
At least I know I’d be good at weddings.
I guess there will need to be a book someday, but first I may need to go check out the new coffee makers.
Another piece of excellent writing. ❤️. Your storytelling shares that soft underbelly many writers won’t touch. That vulnerability makes us all human and relatable. Thanks for being brave, thanks for putting these chapters together so the book can come to fruition.
Not to add to the pressure you are already heaping upon yourself about the book, but I think it also needs an audio version, with you as narrator, of course.