Retail; open your eyes
Retail: Open Your Eyes
Typically, it was my first proper job, working for some fashion company or other. I thought it would be easy to get in; everyone else my age was working in Maccy D’s or a Saturday shift at the shop up the road. Everyone has a job - how hard could it be? So when I got my first interview, I was fairly relaxed and lacking in preparation entirely. I planned to show up early, dazzle them with some charming flattery, and walk out hopefully having signed the contract to my new job. Unfortunately I was quite mistaken. Unlike most people my age I know nothing about fashion. Of course I thought I knew the basic rules: don’t mix patterns; socks and sandals are an absolute no-no, and double denim is forbidden… that said it seems I didn’t even know that much as double denim is seen splashed across the pages of magazines once again. Returning to my interview, I began to feel nervous when the other candidates started to wander into the waiting room. Each of them was dressed flawlessly in some kind of designer get up, a skinny frap in one hand, iPhone 8 in the other. I instantly felt uncomfortable in my jeans and quirky yellow cardigan, glasses sitting askew on the end of my nose - perhaps not very style guru-esque.
Still, I stayed put and smiled nervously at each of them, ever eager to make a good impression. This, of course, backfired too as not one of them looked up from their little screens to even return my glance. I stayed persistent however and when the managers entered I regarded each of them with a warm smile. Although they at least met my smile with one in return, I was not set at ease.
There were five of them, two men and three women, each intimidating in their own right. The taller of the two men was very buff, clearly a gym lad, and was showy about it too, wearing an extremely tight roll neck sweater in a sickly tan colour. I could smell his aftershave from the back of the room; an overbearing scent of tar, beer and wood: ‘Man’ scent. The other Man was a small weedy Man with a triangular face and tiny designer spectacles resting on the end of his long triangular nose to which he seemed to take great satisfaction looking down, though god knows at what considering his small stature. Two of the women looked almost exactly the same; platinum blonde curls clipped back into perfectly messy buns, bright red smiles painted from ear to ear and matching burgundy dress and skirt combos. They were like cheerful pinups for the brand, there to advertise it as the ‘perfect’ working environment - essentially that working here would turn me into Marilyn Monroe-Yeah, right. The last woman was probably the most approachable of the five. She was teeny tiny, shorter than even myself (someone who struggles to keep their head above the water in the 5ft section at the swimming pool) and bore a tight grimace as though her ponytail was pulling perhaps just a little too tightly at her temples.
“We are so stoked to have you guys here, it’s so, like, amazing!” the two blondes gushed simultaneously while giggling. I watched as the others nodded enthusiastically around me. The five introduced themselves, each name less memorable than the last. After their own little get-up came to a grateful end, our own gruelling began.
Everyone else introduced themselves in a flurry. It was unbearably cringey - as if I had walked into some kind of fashion self-help group. “Hi guys! My name is Becky and I love pink and shopping!”
“Hey everyone! I’m Sarah and I love going to the gym and hanging out with my besties!”
“Hey, name’s Joe and I love nothing more than cracking open a cold one with the lads”.
I knew right away I would not fit in. When it came to my turn I made up some guff about being fashion forward and some more nonsense about individuality and quickly passed the baton to yet another Becky (I swear there were at least three Beckys in our small group of eight). As the afternoon progressed, with every ‘team building’ and ‘super fun ice-breaker’ activity we began to split into groups; the ‘Beckys’, those who had worked in retail before, and myself and a German man who I doubt could speak very much English (if not his silence was slightly unnerving, but nonetheless his presence was comforting). We were an odd bunch it must be said, but regardless of names and pastimes we were all there for one common purpose: employment. The interview drew to a close and in the final five minutes we all spat out our final thoughts, a last ditch attempt to grab the job from the other candidates. And all of a sudden it was over.
It was over. Thank God. I was able to return to the safety of the nearby coffee shop, book in hand, and within minutes I was squished up against the back wall with something warm and cinnamon in one hand and Frankenstein in the other, surrounded by my notebook and the sound of cool, coffee shop jazz. This is where I belonged. I happily spent my afternoon there, expecting to be left in peace for the remainder of the day, ah, blissful ignorance.
In the middle of one particular good scene in my book, just as I was scraping the sweet cinnamon foam from the bottom of my latte cup, I was interrupted by a phone call. It was the company. Despite my distaste for this particular field of work a sickly feeling grew inside of me as the sweet cinnamon turned sour in my mouth. I just knew that I hadn’t got the job. I should’ve known - they could see right through my act, of course they could! But oh contraire, I felt as though my ears were deceiving me, they were offering me a second interview?
A week later I was back in the room from my first interview. I felt as though I had gotten away with something sneaky, crawled in under the radar, the misshapen reject in disguise. But there I was, and despite my reserves I had every intention of passing this interview too. As I sat on the shiny plastic stool with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs, I began to wonder why a job in retail required two interviews. I really did not understand why it was portrayed to be such an arduous challenge? I mean it’s all folding and pricing and “Would you like a bag today?”- anyone could do it. That said, I still felt way in over my head.
This time I was just met by a single manager for a one on one interview. I thanked my lucky stars it was the short woman, this time surrounded in an aggressive shroud of rosy perfume. Her perfume seemed to give her a new powers of intimidation and I felt myself crawling back inside of myself, waiting to be swallowed by my too new, too yellow turtleneck which was at that moment growing ever tighter around my neck. The questions this time were excessively personal; I felt as though I’d wandered onto the set of some old Woody Allen movie by mistake. Everything was questioned. I was asked about what I was wearing, my interests now, my interests as a kid, my plans for the future, even what kind of music I liked. As a lost teen this was a lot to get my head around. I didn’t even know what I wanted for dinner that night, let alone where I saw myself in five years’ time! As for the music question, I would normally rush at any opportunity to talk about music, gushing over all my favourite bands. But here, under pressure, I felt as though they were testing me. I tried to play it cool, squeaking out something about all sorts before immediately wanting to smack myself in the face. She started to scribble down some more notes. “Nice one,” I thought, “Now she knows I have no clue what I’m doing here”. After that she very quickly wrapped up the interview and I knew, I knew it was game over. Shaking her perfectly pink manicured hand with my own very clammy one, I rushed home in a flurry, not even stopping for a coffee to go.
I’m sure you can tell where this is going. I was once again very mistaken. The next day I received a phone call from the manager saying that they wanted me. I was in shock. Of course I accepted, anything for a bit of extra cash, right? I only had a few hours to prepare myself for what was to come, my first shift being the following day. I was so nervous, I’ve never seen myself working in retail - fashion, or even shopping, has never been on my radar. Then again it was simply retail, how hard could it really be?
As it turns out, very. My first day was a blur of bright patterned t-shirts scattered in muddled piles, a flood of angry customers who couldn’t possibly understand the meaning of patience even if handed a dictionary with it open at the definition (highlighted, naturally), and stock-checks. So. Many. Stock-checks. By the time I left the shop after only a four hour shift my back felt as though I had just carried a fifty kilogram rock on each shoulder and my shoes pooled with the blood of a thousand burst blisters. I felt as though I was Sisyphus, sentenced to a life of labour. Needless to say I slept the entire train ride home, collapsing in a heap when I finally made it to the warm hug of my bed.
I still work in retail to this day and while each day still ends much the same as the first I must admit, I do actually enjoy my job. My previous views about those who work in retail could not have been farther from the truth. Retail allows you to interact with such a diverse selection of people that you will without a doubt slot in with a few people somewhere along the line. Within a week of working there I already was consolidating an amicable friendship with my colleague Martin, a tall boy with bright blue hair and the kind of personality you might imagine a cartoon sun would have. I still continue to be surprised each day in my job, every shift presenting a new challenge which I will be less than eager to tackle (though the sense of accomplishment you get after folding two hundred t-shirts is strangely addictive). However, what I have found to be the most rewarding aspect of my job is just the sheer volume of people I speak to each day. Being quiet, reserved and a little bit quirky, I spend quite a lot of time drifting off into my own mind rather than speaking to those around me. Now that it is my job to talk to people I’ve completely come out of my shell and it’s turned my life right-side up. What I have discovered is that people are utterly magnificent and unique and fascinating and weird and so many kinds of wonderful. It is as though I’ve cleaned my glasses and everything is so much clearer. There is beauty everywhere and it is in each of us, yes even your younger sibling sitting over there picking their nose - they’re beautiful too. My job has opened my eyes to the world. Pop off your eye mask and join me. It’s gorgeous out here.
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