Keeping It Brand: Part 11

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Carrie Underwood? Yes, please.

I could’ve sworn I saw Carrie Underwood in Target today. You know how it is when you think you recognize someone but you don’t want to be stupid enough to call their name, only to realize it isn’t them when they don’t even turn around. Or worse yet, when they turn around and you realize it isn’t who you thought it was. Now, I’ve never met Miss Underwood before, so it was definitely possible I had made a mistake, but I wasn’t willing to give up on the dream just then. So I followed her. And I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t like that at all. I just didn’t want to embarrass either of us when I inevitably yelled, “Carrie!” as if we were old friends. But it wasn’t her, I found out when I caught up with her cart. I was glad I didn’t yell out or ask for her autograph. Close call. I did say hi, though, because I say hi to everyone who walks into my domain, and she smiled at me, so it wasn’t all bad.

If you didn’t know, I work at Target, where we all wear red & khaki and hopefully smiles as well. I have stories I could tell you every single day, tales from work that you wouldn’t believe actually happened. Today was no different. The following are true quotes from guests who I talked to while they were shopping in the store:

“Is there a bathroom in every department?”

“Do you guys carry shrimp rolls, you know, like at a restaurant?”

“What happened to all the pools?”

“Do you still have real books here?” Continue reading “Keeping It Brand: Part 11”

I Did What?: My Sordid Job History, Volume 7

The cattle were lowing, and making more manure.

It was only my first day of high school and I was sticky with sweat, my brand new sneakers were ruined, and I smelled like manure. Not to mention that I had cried my eyes out no less than two times, my parents had left me to fend for myself, and my prospect of getting friends was dim, considering I smelled like manure. Home seemed too far away to dream about, and my sister was pretending not to know me. Yes, my high school career started off with a bit of a bang, you know, like most people’s. And I remember it like it was yesterday, even though it was 23 years ago.

See, I went to a boarding school in mid-western Pennsylvania where they practiced what they preached. It was all about helping god help you, or something like that. Which meant that even thought the tuition to attend the school was larger than a golden goose egg, the school made sure all of its students worked to help lower that tuition. They were called on-campus and off-campus jobs, and they were not all created equal. Needless to say I got the worst possible job, in my opinion, working on the campus farm.

When we arrived at school on the Sunday before the first day of school, my parents had no idea what job I was going to picked to do, but I had high hopes. I wanted to work in the administration building, maybe answering phones or cleaning floors or something. I thought that job would be possibly even fun, but when we got up to the work assignment table in the gym I was hit with the truth. In the state of Pennsylvania, as a 13-year old there was only one on- or off-campus job that I could legally perform. You guessed it: the farm. As soon as they told us, I was so shell-shocked that I just stared down at my brand new white sneakers purchased specifically for a new school and a new attitude for me. I knew they were toast. Continue reading “I Did What?: My Sordid Job History, Volume 7”

I Did What?: My Sordid Job History, Volume 6

I think a lot about the jobs people do and how they ended up there, just one of my many quirks being a people watcher. When I was in the mall the other day I saw this girl working at one of those “turn gold into cash” kiosks that takes all your gold and gives you a pittance for it. She was sitting there on a stool reading a book. Blonde hair. Nose ring. Angular face. The book she was reading was in another language, possibly Russian. I would say she was no more than 25 years old. And I thought about why she was working at that kiosk, how she even found out about the job, and what it would pay to do something like that. I almost walked over and asked her those questions, but she was working, even though no one else was approaching her kiosk. That’s just how my mind works, and I do that same thing many times during any day. Then I started thinking about what people see when they look at me when I’m working. Do they wonder those same things about me, or do they just go on about their day oblivious to the curious stories they might be missing out on?

When I first moved here 11 years ago I needed a job in the worst way. I hadn’t yet finished my undergraduate degree, and I was having to stay with my girlfriend’s mother for at least the first month while I found that job so that I could support myself. That first week up here I was scouring every single ad for jobs in all the local papers, placing phone calls for interviews, and even visiting a staffing solutions company, yet nothing seemed to pan out. The staffing solutions company had nothing that fit my qualifications, and because I was going to be going back to school in the fall (I moved here in late May), my hours were a difficulty to get past. That’s why I didn’t get that job at the prison, and why even though I was able to get a writing job for a computer company it was royalty dependent, so in essence I didn’t even get paid for that job until the software was released along with my companion writing piece. It was beyond frustrating. I even thought about selling encyclopedias door to door, but bailed at the last minute. Continue reading “I Did What?: My Sordid Job History, Volume 6”

I Did What?: My Sordid Job History, Volume 4

Temple University’s Paley Library

Since I was a six-year old runt trying to keep up with my seven-year old superstar sister, I have been reading books, and lots of them. I remember my mother showing me how to tell what grade level the book was for, and I would always go after the ones at least three grade levels above my own. Of course I wouldn’t always know every single meaning to every single word, so I would have my old red Dictionary handy to look them up. If I didn’t understand the definitions I would see my mom about it, and hope she knew. Otherwise, I would have to skip over them. And the glory of those books was that I could have a plethora of them whenever I wanted. Because that was the same year I discovered the library.

From that point on what I wanted to do was work in a library, but I never thought it would be possible. It seemed to me like everyone who worked in a library had to be middle aged or a woman, and I was neither, so I sucked it up and said it wouldn’t happen. Then I grew up and went to college, a place beyond my wildest dreams that had an incredible library of its own. As luck would have it, my mother’s friend worked in the campus library and put in a good word for me. Before I knew it, I was working the job I thought I would never have, a job in the library. Continue reading “I Did What?: My Sordid Job History, Volume 4”

I Did What?: My Sordid Job History, Volume 3

Ah, the memories.

I never thought it was possible to make less than minimum wage, that the word “minimum” truly meant what it said and I would be guaranteed at least that wage or higher. By the way, minimum wage in 1999 was $4.85 an hour, but in that same year I got a job that paid me $2.13 an hour, and I was happy to have it. For a number of reasons.

When I first arrived in Tennessee, I knew I would have to find a job, but I had absolutely no real experience, no real schooling, and no idea what the job market was like. I know, that sounds like a recipe for success, but after three months of living in Knoxville I still hadn’t found anything suitable for me. I had applied to office buildings, to mall stores, and even to a hotel in the area, but nothing panned out. The office buildings weren’t actually hiring, the mall stores weren’t in the middle of the holiday rush so they weren’t hiring either, and the hotel wanted me to have some business experience.

Finally, I just got up one day, walked down to “The Strip,” and was hired straightaway — without interview, mind you — at O’Charley’s Sports Grille and Bar as a server. I hadn’t even expected to get a job after so much failure, but I guess I should have recognized what it meant that they hired me right away and wanted me to start the very next day. After I accepted the job they told me that I would be making $2.13 an hour — and, oh yeah, plus tips. What they didn’t say was that tips were split equally between each server on the same shift, so even if I got a $100 dollar tip I wouldn’t pocket $100 dollars. Ouch. Continue reading “I Did What?: My Sordid Job History, Volume 3”

I Did What?: My Sordid Job History, Volume 2

The dog chased me down the street, his mouth afroth, drooling and flinging his foam and spittle every which way as he closed in. My sneakers seemed to make impressions in the sidewalk as I literally flew down across the avenue, but he was gaining. And I was tiring. I dodged into the nearest alley, wheezing and panting for my life. My messenger bag had somehow flung wide open during my journey, and a stream of papers had flown out, falling pell mell in the street, on the sidewalk, and in the yards and bushes that punctuated my escape route. I think I finally lost him, too, with that last sprint. But it had been raining, and all the flyers were ruined. Oh well. That was how I ended my first job.

We all remember our first jobs. Well, most of us, anyway. Some of us were barely ten, raking lawns for the neighbors to get a little pocket change. Others were given odd jobs by people in the neighborhood who needed odd jobs done. Still others were babysitters for kids who were nearly as old as they were. I wasn’t allowed to do any of that, so my first job actually came when I was 16, when I began working for the Philadelphia Vision Center passing out flyers. I discussed it briefly here, about the year I was Santa Claus, but there was a lot more to it than that. Continue reading “I Did What?: My Sordid Job History, Volume 2”