Being the devout donner of a certain brand of clothing that I am, I figured it would only make sense for me to partake of a part-time job with the company. Time is definitely of the essence as it stands, but if nothing else, I was hoping to defray some of my shopping costs by funneling the pay from this new position into my wardrobe and saving some of my regular income for things like…oh, I don’t know…say, food and sundries?
During my high school years I worked as a barista at Gloria Jean’s Coffee Bean, but never in the retail realm. Well, that’s not entirely true. I had a two week stint at the Gap—but my enamour rapidly fizzled after an experience I had spending four hours reorganizing the sale rack by size and colour only to discover it was in absolute shambles the following day. It seemed like far too Sisyphean a task for my tastes so under the arrogance of youth I simply stopped going. (In Gap’s defense they had about 50 employees and scarcely noticed my absence.)
My former retail experience was wrapped in the foggy gauze of delusion because all I could see were dollar signs and the positive impact an employee discount would have on my closet. This will be insanely fun, I thought to myself. Being such a proponent of the product, I’ll be able to sell wads of this stuff with my eyes closed! - My delusion continued on in this manner until my first shift last night.
A navy white Gingham-checked oxford arrived that very day from, let's call this store "Modern Chic," so I quickly ironed it, put on my capri pants, decked myself in bejeweled bracelets and necklaces, coiffed my hair, slipped on my Toms and went on my way to “work”. I looked the part, I think. At least, I hoped I did. Upon arriving I encountered a disaffected gentleman I will refer to as Thomas who, with his Sperry Topsiders, skinny corduroys and well-manicured mustache, looked like he walked off the set of a Wes Anderson movie. He explained how I should clock in and began leading me around speaking in a tone which indicated he could not have been more bored.
I don’t want to say that I was oblivious on my first day, but I was definitely confused (being completely new to the environment.) No one seemed to have any clear idea of what to do with me and I was shuffled off to three different people to shadow during the two hours the store was open. I padded along behind them closely like a lost puppy keeping a pleasant countenance and an open mind.
Finally, I landed on a girl we shall call Poppy and was to learn the cash register with her. The register was a foreign beast of which I was completely horrified because it meant that I was responsible for charging people for their goods. Poppy eyed me cautiously and I tried beaming at her, apologizing for the interminable length of time it was taking me to do things but she seemed disinterested and slightly annoyed. I like to think my wit can keep me afloat in new and uncomfortable situations—but her wall was impenetrable. It began with the slightest nuances of elitism: I told her that I worked in Issaquah in the Costco corporate offices and lived in Ballard and she couldn’t possibly fathom why on earth I would drive so much. But then things became increasingly, from my perception, more hostile. She would take control of the register because I was too slow; feign deafness when I complimented a skirt she was trying on; and she felt the need to share with everyone within earshot that she had to swoop up items quickly because her size (a size ZERO) was the first to go. I was hurt and slightly befuddled and began to wonder what I had done wrong to garner such dislike from this woman who was effectively a complete stranger. I felt marginal and sad. Realizing that my attempts at friendliness were rather fruitless, I turned inward and simply began reorganizing the sale rack of t-shirts.
Once the store closed, I began to fold, refold, straighten and straighten again every single item in sight. After sizing and straightening one rack, Poppy came over and lambasted my shoddy job of organizing. “It has to look
NICE, like
THIS…okay?” she oozed with such an air of superiority that I was smarting as though I had been smacked on the face. I smiled and said "Got it!" and then scampered away.
From that point on no one made any effort to chat with me. The college girls bounced around and made small talk. At one point I tried to insert myself into a conversation about yoga that failed so quickly it was as though I had farted on everyone’s face. I’ve never been so socially inept so I couldn’t help but wonder….was I being hazed?
My folding skills which I had thought were so immaculate were apparently not so much because everyone re-did what I had already done. The place was to be pristine-- almost as though a deft army of robots swept in to do the work. At quarter after ten, it seemed to be satisfactory. I quietly followed the group to the back room and collected my belongings.
I drove home in silence, wiping my mind of any thoughts. I felt numb and wasn't sure what to make of this new experience. But then again, I reconciled, I wasn't after making new friends...this is all about the discount, isn't it?
That should be self-indulgent enough for the time being.
