Career tip #1 Make a good impression with your colleagues
When you're meeting new coworkers, always smile and maintain eye contact as you're speaking with them. This will help you appear friendly, and will give them a good impression of you. Plus, a positive attitude is contagious—so bring good vibes into the office!
The bell above the door at Screen Play Video chimes.
"Joey Potter. To what do I owe the displeasure?" Pacey barely glances up from a dogeared paperback. His backside is on the chair, his feet on the counter, crossed at the ankles.
She ignores his comment, walks behind the desk and collects the black vest from the hanger. Pacey stands, blocking her from entering the back office, the paperback flops to the floor.
"What's going on here?" he asks, protective hands pulling the vest in her grip.
"You know, just me, your friendly neighborhood video store clerk," she replies.
"Friendly?"
She scowls at him, taking back the vest, lacing her arms through the holes. It's too big and still has the button attached with the words MY NAME IS DAWSON.
"Forgive me, but I'm expecting your taller, blonder beau to accompany me on the four till nine pm shift."
"He is not my beau." Joey ducks, trying to get around Pacey, but he moves, blocking her.
"Seriously, Potter, while I'm all for breaking rules, you can't come back here." He uses his body as a wall.
"I realize when God was handing out virtues he short-changed you on intelligence, but if the fashion-forward Screen Play Video vest isn't telltale enough, you're looking at this fine establishment's newest employee."
Pacey's eyes grow wide. "Wait. What? You? But the after-school shift is Dawson's roster."
"Precisely. That is indeed the exact roster I have inherited."
"I'm confused."
"Perpetually, it seems."
"Seriously Jo, where is Dawson?" Pacey's brows knit, he glances out the windows into the street.
"Apparently, he tendered his resignation last week, citing clashing schedules with his many extra-curricular activities," Joey plays the air quotes heavily.
Disappointment crosses Pacey's face. "Do those activities involve an attractive New Yorker?"
"One and the same."
"He couldn't have given me a heads up?" Pacey asks, clearly hurt.
"It seems we have been relegated to the very last item on his to-do list. Unless we have perky breasts and a short skirt we're off his radar."
Pacey's eyes flick to Joey's oversized jeans and the sweater that swallows her whole.
"So why are you here?" he asks.
"Why does any teenager submit themselves to customer service and bestowing the wisdom of Be Kind, Rewind? Money."
"What about the Icehouse?" He asks, begrudgingly granting her access to the back office. Joey goes out to deposit her backpack and returns.
"What about it? It still stands, but with summer waving us goodbye, it also farewells regular shifts and steady cash flow. Thankfully, video sales are a year-round phenomenon."
Pacey sighs, draping his body against the counter. Joey buttons up the vest, straightens the sweater beneath it.
"This is a travesty," he mutters, watching her adjust her clothes.
"Worried that you now have a fellow employee who might ask you to participate in actual bona fide work?"
"No," he immediately throws back, then rephrases. "Yes. Dawson and I had an arrangement. This is a low stress job, an after school wind down. If we merge Miss Academic Overachiever and my wind-down vibes, things are sure to go pear-shaped."
"I'm not here to rain on your slackerdom, Pacey."
"And let's not forget that this was the perfect place to woo fellow teens stopping by for Meg Ryan's latest rom-com. That's hardly going to happen with you here. Dawson was my wingman."
A shadow of disappointment crosses Joey's face. "Gross. I wouldn't have committed if I knew that this was going to be a Witter creepfest."
"I am always a gentleman," he straightens his vest.
"Pfft. Sure. Pacey Witter and gentleman, words I regularly use in a sentence together," she drips sarcasm and peppers it with a patented eye roll.
Pacey disregards her comment, takes a candy from the bowl on the counter, and fiercely unwraps the plastic.
"Don't you have to do some training first? Isn't Keith going to submit you to the many and varied ins and outs of comedy, horror, new releases, and my personal favorite, foreign films with R ratings?"
"I am being trained," she looks him directly in the eye.
He blinks, popping the candy in his mouth. It rattles between his teeth, muffling his words. "By who?"
"According to Keith, when I spoke to him on the phone yesterday, that task lies directly with you, much to my displeasure."
Pacey shoos away her comment. "That's ridiculous, he would have told me."
Joey points to an envelope on the counter. It is labeled in bold with the word Pacey and lies unopened beside the wrapper of a Three Musketeers bar.
He rips it open, scanning the contents. Joey watches as his features scrunch and relax reading the instructions that confirm her claims. Finished, he crumples the paper between his fists and shoots it into a wastepaper basket.
Turning to Joey, Pacey's hands fall together in prayer. "Please Potter, it's bad enough we have to share an association with Dawson and drudge through homeroom together. Please don't begrudge me of my workplace solace."
She crosses her arms, unmoved by his plea. "Trust me, the knowledge of extended hours in your presence distresses me as much as it does you, but know it's just for winter. Come summer, I'll be back scowling at Icehouse patrons. Right now, I need the money."
He groans, submitting to his fate, and collects the returns trolley, pushing it down the comedy aisle. Joey tags along behind him.
"Okay. You can stay, but know that my seniority is not to be questioned. I ask you to do something, you do it. No scowls, no talkback, no Pacey-Is-An-Idiot. You say, Yes Pacey, Sir."
Joey gags beside the Disney display case. "I agree to no such terms because you are, in fact, an idiot."
"Well, then you're out of a job, honeybun," he shrugs.
"Pretty sure you're not tasked with hiring and firing."
"Keith will not look favorably on insubordination in the workplace."
Joey's nostrils flare. "Get off your power trip, Pacey. I'm here to scan and stack videos. I will stay as far away from you as humanly possible, trust me. You can still creep on unsuspecting teens and linger in foreign films all you want. My intention is to work hard and go home. The less we converse, the better. So train me, and I'll stay out of your hair."
Pacey considers Joey's statement, picks up True Lies, and holds the cover to her face.
"Okay fellow employee, you want to be trained, lesson one, True Lies, an enchanting tale of regular Joe who is a secret agent. Can he save the world from extremists and a nuclear explosion with the help of Jamie Lee Curtis, in her sexiest role yet? Action or Comedy."
"Duh. Action."
"Beep. Wrong!" Pacey boops her on the nose and flips to the back cover. "You will see here that the genre is listed as comedy slash action. Whatever is listed first is how it is categorized."
"Your unbridled glee in being right is concerning."
"It's not something I can claim on the regular. So I will take my wins."
Joey put the VHS in an open pocket on the shelf.
"Space Jam, children. Mars Attacks, comedy. The Rock, action." Pacey makes his way through the pile with a leisurely amble, occasionally passing Joey a tape to allocate accordingly.
A pack of kids enters with an exhausted mother. They scatter the aisles and set up station in the children's section announcing with each attempted selection, "I've seen that Mom! That's for babies! Can we rent Dante's Peak?" to which she answers a swift "No!"
Pacey wheels the trolley back to the counter. "Now, Josephine we begin your customer service training."
"Goodie."
On the desk, he locates a sharpie, a large white sticker, and writes 'TRAINEE' upon it before slapping it onto Joey's shirt with a sardonic smile.
Her eyes flame, brows pointed. Pacey feels safe with customers nearby and doesn't flinch. They huddle in the tiny space behind the computer, the monitor flickering. Joey's arm inadvertently grazes his. Pacey reaches up and touches the spot, eyes on the screen.
One of the children throws the video case onto the counter and begins running loops around the tiny store.
"Watch and learn." Pacey glances at Joey, taking the case, then he turns to the mother.
"Harriet the Spy, excellent choice. Rosie O'Donnell is fabulous in this."
She gives a weak smile through tired eyes.
"So you take the video card, enter the number into the computer here ," he speaks as he's working, mouse moving, fingers tapping the keyboard.
"Then scan the barcode on the video here ." He points to it slowly and demonstrates how to hold it in front of the scanner as though Joey is a child. "Press this button and a little laser reads the number of the barcode. Incredible technology these days, amiright?"
Joey doesn't answer. Neither does the woman.
"That'll be two dollars for a weekly," he smiles at the mother, and she hands him a five-dollar bill.
"Now, Joey, see here she's given me a five, but the total was only two, so five minus two equals three. And now we count out three dollars in change." He separates three dollar bills and hands over the video, cash on top.
"Have a fantastic afternoon, Ma'am, and thank you for shopping at Screen Play Video," Pacey gives an enthusiastic wave.
They leave the store and the minute the bell chimes their departure, Joey turns and punches him in the arm, hard.
"Workplace harassment!" He says, rubbing the wound.
"You, Pacey Witter, are the reason the middle finger was invented. Do not treat me like that in front of customers again."
"But you're a trainee. I'm training you."
"You're patronizing me for the sole purpose of aggravating me."
The door rattles again and a group of teenagers stream in.
Pacey flashes her a counterfeit smile. "I'll let you handle this crowd. A bit of practice and I'm sure you'll get the hang of it." He gestures to the computer.
"A literal chimp could do it. And is," she whispers, taking the mouse and returns to the home screen.
Beneath his breath, Pacey replies. "Joey, Joey, Joey. This isn't going to work with the constant undermining."
"You're right, this isn't going to work. Might I recommend bag packing at the local grocery store?"
Pacey balls his fists, punches at the air. He mutters to an invisible sky god. " Why? Of all people, why her?"
"I think you'll find I was hired for my excellent customer service skills and responsible nature," she delivers a saccharine smile.
Pacey grits his teeth and swallows an insult whole. He walks to the staff room, takes deep steadying breaths.
On his return, he finds Joey directing an elderly woman to the location of Terms of Endearment and the teenagers deciding between Jackie Chan's best offerings.
Clutching the Shirley MacLaine classic, Joey goes to the computer, enters the card number, the VHS is scanned, and the money taken. Throughout the entire transaction, Joey has a warm, endearing smile plastered across her face. Her cheeks rounded and her eyes kind. She chats with the elderly woman about the weather. Joey reminds her it's a weekly and due back next Tuesday.
The woman leaves with a, "Thank you, dear."
The door closes, and with it, Joey's smile follows.
"That is legitimately terrifying," Pacey points to her face.
"It's called a customer service smile," she shrugs.
Pacey shakes his head. "Is the ability to switch personalities on a dime not the mark of a sociopath?"
Joey taps her fingers against the keyboard, without pressing down the keys. "The longer I spend in your presence, the more trouble I have with impulse control and hostile tendencies, so maybe you're right?"
Customers filter in a steady stream between five and seven pm. They browse, collect an overnight or weekly, pay, and leave. Kids fight in the aisles. Old men lurk in foreign films. Joey takes returns and restocks while Pacey works the desk.
The sun dips behind Capeside's buildings. Outside grows dark and the customers all but disappear.
Pacey appears by her side, fresh out of tasks to complete. He regards her curiously as if trying to solve a puzzle. "I've been thinking, and I've deduced that your surly nature is a product of your dismal love life."
"That's funny, I've been thinking, too. Wondering how much damage I can do to you with a VHS tape?" She feels the weight of it in her hand, narrowing her eyes.
"Minimal at best. But whatever you do, lay off the face." He glances at himself in the window's reflection and turns back to her. "You're miserable because of Dawson, right? His newfound love, his pivot from the dependable brunette sidekick to the blonde bombshell."
"No," Joey's voice is definite.
"Okay, lie if you want to. Why else would you take on shifts at his old workplace? It reeks of desperation."
She raises Cliffhanger above her head and glares at him in warning. Pacey's arms shield his face.
"I get it. Relegated to second fiddle so he can engage in afternoon spit-swapping sessions on his checked bedspread. When it used to be you on that bed, watching endless movies and solving the mysteries of the Spielberg universe."
Cliffhanger lowers, finding its place beside Con Air and Commando.
"Sounds to me like you're the jealous one. If memory serves me correctly, you were also on that bed once upon a time."
Pacey doesn't hesitate. "Deflection. Classic Potter technique."
"Delusion. Classic Witter technique."
"All I'm saying is that working here will not win him back, Joey. Sure, it's his preferred stomping ground and you're surrounded by the very plastic boxes that contain the meaning of his universe, but it's not going to be enough."
Joey glares at him, exhausted. She holds up her palms in a stop sign, a temporary white flag. "I'm going to go over there. I'm going to put these away and tidy the shelves and I ask that you, please, stay in your corner of the store, by the register, and let's try not to speak until the end of the shift. This will go so much faster if we are not speaking."
A shadow of disappointment crosses his face but retreats swiftly and he shrugs. "Suit yourself."
They haven't spoken for almost an hour.
Pacey munches an apple in Dolby Surround Sound and peels a PB&J from a paper bag.
"Wanna have half?" he offers the Wonder Bread, hand outstretched, while Joey is in a trance watching the rewinding machine make its way through the returns.
She shakes her head. Pacey shrugs and consumes it in seconds.
As the last inch of crust passes his teeth he says, "I'm going to give credit where credit's due Joey, you are remarkably capable of putting away videos without a running commentary on the editing, cinematography, or thematic nuance. Of this Dawson was not so skilled."
"Was that a compliment?"
He thinks, complete with a finger on his chin. "I'm going to class that one as an observation ."
"Well, I'm going to observe that you broke the no talking rule," she points to the clock on the wall, "But, I'll give you a pass because, by some miracle, the shift is over."
He looks at the time, surprised. "Hallelujah!"
Pacey performs the closing routine. Computer off. Display lights on. Main lights off. Vests hung back on the hook.
They walk out the door, the bell chiming above them. Pacey locks the door, then the deadbolts.
He turns to Joey, illuminated by the streetlight. "Well, this shift has really been enlightening. We've both survived. The odds were against us at the beginning, though. I thought for sure you would be gone by 7.30."
"Me, quit?" Joey scoffs.
"Yeah. I figured three and a half hours in the presence of yours truly would push you over the edge." Pacey stuffs the keys in his pocket.
Joey shakes her head. "It's going to take more than a Witter to annoy me out of the job."
"Is that a challenge?" He gives her a sideways look and takes a step back, anticipating the blow.
But she only levels a cautionary gaze at him. "I need this job."
"As do I. But Josephine, you are overqualified for this. You could work in any establishment Capeside has to offer with your superior serving wench skills. Think of the tips! Here, it's just your standard, low-wage, menial labor side by side with the bane of your existence."
"What's your problem? I'll ignore you if you ignore me. There is no requirement for us to converse."
"Au contraire. You cannot be in my presence and not berate me. It goes against the very fiber of your being."
"What's a little harmless quarreling between acquaintances that share a best friend?" she asks.
"This isn't going to work, Joey. We both know it. You and I are sworn enemies. We coexist in the world only to please Dawson. Lumping us fifteen hours a week on the same roster spells disaster and we both know it."
"You can't gatekeep the video store that you don't own!"
"I've been here for over a year, Jo. Keith loves me. I got invited to his place for Thanksgiving dinner last year. Fantastic green beans. If I say that you're not pulling your weight, he'll listen to me."
"You're going to get me fired?" Joey spits out the words, white knuckles gripping her backpack.
"No," Pacey remains calm. "You're going to quit."
Joey laughs, but there is no humor in her tone. "I'm not quitting, Pace."
"Oh, I think you are."
"Think again."
He walks to the Witter Wagoneer. Joey glances up the street for Bessie's car to come into view, but there isn't a headlight in sight.
"You can't make me quit, Pacey," she calls out.
"Watch me!" Pacey unlocks the Witter Wagoneer, propels himself inside, and starts the engine. Joey's eyes blaze a hole in the back of him, in his smug, stupid head.
He reverses back, level with her in the street. The window goes down and he leans out.
"You've got a ride coming?" he asks.
"What's it matter? I would climb into Ted Bundy's beetle before I'd get into a car with you," her words are honed now, sharpened for impact.
"Seriously, Jo, do you need a ride?"
Headlights appear behind him, and Joey's backpack is flung over her shoulder. She leans into the open window of the Wagoneer, her elbow on the lock, pushing him back in his seat.
"See you tomorrow at school, Pacey. Then, Thursday at work and Saturday, and next week, too. Every single shift you have, I'll be there."
Before he can reply, Joey walks to Bessie's car, opens the passenger door and climbs inside.
"How was your first day?" Bessie asks, watching as Pacey's wagon pulls away in front of them.
"Take me home, Bessie." Joey's arms are crossed, her eyes watching the red of his taillights disappear down the main street.
"Was it really that bad?"
"Worse."
"I get that Pacey can be a pain in the ass, but you're feisty. You've always known how to get your own back, and he loves to play tit for tat with you."
"He thinks I'm upset about Dawson and Jen being together," says Joey.
"Well, aren't you?"
Joey screws up her nose. "No! Dawson can date who he wants. He's my friend. We're hardly relationship material."
"But the other day, in the kitchen, you said you had developed feelings for someone you definitely shouldn't, I just assumed-" Bessie turns to face Joey, who is shrinking into the car seat, her face turned, pressing against the glass.
"Joey, were you saying you have feelings for Pacey? " Bessie's voice is skeptical.
Joey doesn't reply, morphing herself into one with the seat, seeking oblivion, face on fire.
"I didn't realize. I was so sure you were referring to Dawson!"
"Drive me home, Bessie," Joey pleads.
Bessie doesn't drive.
"Just an observation, Joey, but I've witnessed you and Pacey together, you both barely draw breath from relentless cutting banter. Insults fly without restraint. I'm confused as to how this eventuated."
"You and me both."
"Is that why you wanted to take Dawson's job at the video store?"
Joey turns to face her sister, features set, voice level. "That comment, the other day in the kitchen, was a lapse of judgment, a momentary slip of sensibility, hormones wreaking havoc on my brain. I hereby retract all previous statements and request they be wiped from the record. Now please, just drive me home!" Joey yells, exasperated.
Bessie bites down her smile, puts the car into drive, and takes the steering wheel.
They pass the Rialto, the grocery store. The lights of Capeside town center fade as they make their way towards the creek.
Bessie tries to calm her sister. "Joey, there are worse things in life than having feelings for Pacey Witter."
Joey sighs. "Actually, there isn't."