South City Confessions: Experiencing a company move as both a young and old(er) warehouse grunt

Going from old to new is something helped by experience.

“Time and experience, son.”-Brock Lotus

Back in 2009, Senoret Chemical was on the move. The doors were closing down on Jefferson Avenue and Interstate 44, an old warehouse space being sucked up by Shillington Box company in a building that also housed Johnny Brock’s and Randall’s Wines and Spirits. A new place in Kirkwood’s old Ashley Furniture warehouse was waiting for the hundreds of cases of insecticide and repellents, the stars of an independent company that gave consumers Terro and Sweeney products for bugs, moles, deer, and whatever needed to be kept away from your skin or yard.

C.O.O. Stew Clark and C.E.O. Tom Kratz were the masterminds behind a move that took us from a dark, dirty and dingy work arena to a giant space that looked like a facility the Rams could practice in. It’s a jarring experience to go from one spot to another in relation to a job. New is a good thought, but comfort is a powerful thing. Something that develops into a robotic action-no offense, but that’s a job for 99% of people-becomes more comfortable the longer one stays in a particular spot.

For better or worse, you get to know the dangers and area well so it affects you less. The street dock that saw tractor trailers shave off a piece of the brick wall that surrounded it was less shocking each time it occurred, and Shillington’s warehouse manager carrying a loaded gun and a lit cigarette on a propane forklift somehow became less dangerous to me after a couple years. The running started there, with lunch breaks being subbed out for a three mile run around Lafayette Square. You’ll be surprised at the kind of crazy you can adapt to. Suddenly, we were going from a rough but wholesome place in the city to a shiny new spot in the county.

At the time, the move reminded me of going from my childhood home on Kingshighway to a condo in Brentwood in 1993. A time when your parents tell you it’s a bad neighborhood and something bad could happen, but the movies tell you bad could happen anywhere. As an adult, I get the necessary aspect of it, even if this is being written from a house that sits less than ten minutes from the old ball and chain structure off Tholozan.

The Senoret move was chaotic, fun, and generally something that represents mowing the lawn. It’s so much better when it’s over. The packed to the gills Jefferson dust dump slowly got more spacious, as in you could see more darkness and dust once 25 pallets were pulled out of there. The dual shrink wrap machines were also moved, thankfully. Instead of twirling around a skid until dizziness and paranoia settle in, you carefully placed the skid on a platform and pushed a button. I compare it to basic radiology in a warehouse setting.

At first, you could throw 50 yard spiral passes in the Kirkwood spot, but then it filled up and those football tosses became hockey puck shots between the aisles. There was fun and work inside one setting, something that is sadly retired these days. Over time, the new, fancy spot became comfortable and more of a spot that you spent 40-50 hours a week at. Think about it. You spend more time at a job than you generally do with your own family. As Ned Kelly said right before the noose slipped around his neck… “such is life.”

In 2012, Senoret Chemical was sold and we emptied it again. Kratz took a scrappy upstart from $5 million to around $50, or so I think. For him, it was time to move on. The business was thriving, but life doesn’t repeat so it was done. The giant spot that we stuffed with pallets and forklifts was suddenly vacant, existing today days as a dual coffee production and storage facility. Two companies under one roof, just like the Jefferson setup.

I remember that final day there in June. My good friend, Eric Moore, sat with me right at the opening of one of the dock doors. The final truck, carrying 30 pallets in its 53-foot trailer, had just taken off. It was over, and two years later my warehouse career was also finished.

Ten years after my final day at Ronnoco Coffee (wicked warehouse sense of humor), I am back in the warehouse world with Crescent Plumbing Supply. Like Senoret, we’re moving from a dusty old spot near the Delmar Loop to a new place… three minutes up the street. Making the small jaunt from old to new is better than driving up Interstate 44 so many times that you start memorizing billboard phone numbers.

Walking into the new spot on Olive Street gives me Kirkwood Senoret vibes, mostly because of its space. The front of the building seems like a wide area, but then you stare down to the end of the building and see it expand. Overwhelming is the word, at least until hundreds of pallets and equipment goes into it. Slowly but surely, the space will become a home away from home. A place where you spend many hours inside sweating, earning, and trying to stay sane… just like any job.

Events in our life are marked by the buildings we work in. We moved back into the city when Senoret moved to Kirkwood. Albert Pujols signed with Los Angeles, and I can remember exactly where I stood in that Kirkwood warehouse. Eric, Chris McHugh, and myself started film-addict.com, a website that would get us on the screening list. My beloved grandmother, Henrietta, passed away while I was working at the Kirkwood spot.

It’s an eerie thing what our mind allows us to recall. When I got the call that she had passed, around two weeks after taking a hard fall, there was no one else in the building but me. A giant, devoid of life place that was my personal office to break down in. It was in that moment that I allowed myself to cry, openly and without judgement. When you cry, it’s the most vulnerable position a person can be in, so someone laughing or coming too fast to your rescue can throw everything off. I don’t cry a lot, only when the levee completely breaks upstairs.

The new Crescent spot will undoubtedly carry similarly sad memories, along with all the good stuff. It doesn’t take a reaper to understand that none of us are making it out of here alive, and the places we work will be a setting for gain and loss. They’re a supporting actor in our lives, so all of the experiences come with it. People like to utter the phrase “this too shall pass,” but that pertains to the good, bad and ugly.

Getting that feeling inside the new building, the bittersweet tingle of possibility, means it is already taking shape as a mainstay in my life. It’s talking to me, in that weird way that buildings can transmit in the early morning. Project Lunar, as we call it as supplies are being transferred, is my first stop in the morning. I walk in, and see a handful of people, racking, and offices.

Soon, there will be a grumpy yet lovable old man named Andy shouting, “NO, NO, NO” inside of it. There will be a firm yet fair man named Paul taking absolutely zero shit. Nick, the Paul Bunyan of our establishment, will lift incredible things and make it look like the Natural finding a bat inside a tree. Our leader, Don Smith, will try to hold onto the boat wheel and keep it steady. Ciara and John will gather copper and keep the mood light. Tony, the city truck driver to my county route, will provide levity and just the “aw shucks, who cares, it’ll be alright” personality trait that a warehouse needs.

Deep inside the office, a legion of women that could run through any problem or obstacle like a blowtorch goes through paper will keep the tide moving right. Joe and Steve, my new Stew/Tom combo, will make the tough decisions that guys in power have to measure and choose from. I’ll just be… well, me. Businesses, and buildings for that matter, thrive on a collection of misfit souls somehow coming together-putting their personal lives on hold temporarily-to carry out a common goal. In our case, it’s making sure people have the finest toilets, tanks, tubs, heaters, shower doors, and piping known to modern man.

Times change, people don’t, but life keeps on playing like a TV show that never ends. The ingredient that brings it all together is experience. Repetition breeds confidence, and that produces experience. At 42 years old, I am a warehouse veteran. Everything that’s odd or worrisome about a warehouse comes naturally to me. I was 25 when I started at Senoret, and who knows what age I’ll be when the next thing calls my name.

All of this to say, life has a very good sense of humor and it takes time and many years to fully comprehend that reality. Oh, and the shitter’s FULL!