I spent two years at McDonald’s at the register back when they used Styrofoam and the happy meal toys were awesome. This was in a mall, and we had a great number of repeat customers. I had nicknames for them, like Mom with retarded kids or Creepy Guy from Sam Goody. Fat Guy always came in in the afternoon for an icecream cone. He would wave, I would smile and make him his cone.
One afternoon while I was waiting for the paneled station wagon to come pick me up, Fat Guy approached me and said “You can make change in your head and you smile a lot. What do they pay you at McDonald’s?” I don’t remember the particulars, but he offered me a job that was an entire dollar an hour more than McDonald’s.
It would raise my earnings to over 6 dollars and hour. I was rich.
Mom saw the sixteen year old me talking to a middle aged fat guy so she pulled up and got out of the car. When she realized he offered me a job in a clean retail environment, she was so proud of me. On the way home she let me listen to Winger in the car. It was awesome.
I tend to stay at crappy jobs, much like McDonald’s for far longer than I really should. It’s probably a combination of apathy and suffering from misplaced loyalty.
The first time they had me dress up at the sporting goods store, it was just some football jersey over my uniform. Then I wore a Shaq sized jersey that hung to my knees. Helen the assistant manager insisted it was cute. It was kind of fun.
Then one day, Helen decided the other female cashier and I needed to wear matching tennis outfits. This was awkward, mostly because it was cold, and I stood at a register right in front of the store. Christy, my fellow teenaged cashier, thought this was “Like, absolutely the best ever.” She was an airhead.
One afternoon while I was waiting for the paneled station wagon to come pick me up, Fat Guy approached me and said “You can make change in your head and you smile a lot. What do they pay you at McDonald’s?” I don’t remember the particulars, but he offered me a job that was an entire dollar an hour more than McDonald’s.
It would raise my earnings to over 6 dollars and hour. I was rich.
Mom saw the sixteen year old me talking to a middle aged fat guy so she pulled up and got out of the car. When she realized he offered me a job in a clean retail environment, she was so proud of me. On the way home she let me listen to Winger in the car. It was awesome.
I tend to stay at crappy jobs, much like McDonald’s for far longer than I really should. It’s probably a combination of apathy and suffering from misplaced loyalty.
The first time they had me dress up at the sporting goods store, it was just some football jersey over my uniform. Then I wore a Shaq sized jersey that hung to my knees. Helen the assistant manager insisted it was cute. It was kind of fun.
Then one day, Helen decided the other female cashier and I needed to wear matching tennis outfits. This was awkward, mostly because it was cold, and I stood at a register right in front of the store. Christy, my fellow teenaged cashier, thought this was “Like, absolutely the best ever.” She was an airhead.
I didn’t really have a choice. So there I was in this little tennis outfit, pissed off at myself for not speaking up. Fat Guy, came over and said, “Oh this is terrific!” He loved it, and his approval somehow made things less awkward. We spent the remainder of the summer dressing up for different sports, my favorite moment was dressing like a hockey goalie complete with face mask. On that day, I roamed the mall during my break in full costume for the hell of it.
Then Helen bought us actual costumes, she thought it would be adorable if we were dressed like elves for the entirety of the Christmas shopping season which apparently started on November first. This would have been all right with me if for example everyone was dressed like an elf, but no, it was just for Christy and I.
I begrudgingly dressed like an elf every Saturday and Sunday for two full months. My outfit consisted of green tights, a green leotard, a red skirt with bells and a jaunty little green elf hat. My parents thought it was darling. “You look so cute! You should dress like this everyday!” The white high-top Reeboks I wore with it somehow made it even more awful. My resentment of the outfit grew a little stronger with each jingle of it’s many bells.
When I arrived to work, Helen sat us down and did our makeup, this meant she put blue eyeshadow, lipstick, glitter and blush on us so we looked “cuter.” Instead we looked like junior elf-hookers, perhaps little elf hookers in training. When I took my break I would head up to the coffee shop where my friends would tease me mercilessly as we drank espresso and chain smoked.
Sometimes I would hear “Look it’s the elf from the sporting goods store!” when I roamed the mall. I avoided McDolnald’s out of shame. One day, Rosie who made the salads, saw me waiting for my ride and had everyone come out to look. Their giggles and questions about my new job fueled a rage about my elfdom that no other snide remark ever had. I was bitter. I had worked a long hard christmas week at the mall. I wanted to disappear. Fortunately the station wagon came and took me away.
Soon enough the holidays were over and Christy quit. I wore my regular uniform again and the days of outfits seemed to be all but over. For almost a year everything was cool. Then around Halloween, Helen said it “Girls, it’s almost elf-time are you ready?”
What? Fuck this.
There were now three teen age girl cashiers, and she expected all of us to dress like elves. She already bought us costumes. She went on and on about how much fun it would be. I stood there, seventeen, just exploring my nascent bitchiness.
“I’ll do it if every cashier does it.”
She stood there, and said “No, girls, we need you to dress like elves.” She showed us the new costumes, which were just the same as last year, but with glitter.
I sniped back “Isn’t that discrimination?”
“That makes me sad.” She looked disappointed and said “You know I write the schedule.”
I needed the money for college, I took it as a threat, so once again I was going to be an elf. I retaliated in the only way I could, I wore thick black eyeliner. I wore blue lipstick with my elf outfit and refused to let her put blush or glitter on me like the year before. I was a bad ass elf this time around and I wasn’t going to take shit from anyone. I came in with black nail polish and green lipstick. I tore a hole in one of the tights.
No one laughed or smirked this time. When I drank espressos and chain smoked there was no teasing. The holiday season went faster somehow. Soon enough it was back to normal, but with different hats everyday. Funny hats was far easier to handle than dressing like an elf. I stayed until I left for college.
As Christmas break approached Mom called me. The sporting goods store wanted to know if I could work over break. I was so happy they called. I needed the money, even if I was going to be an elf again. The same day I came home from college I popped in to find out when they needed me to work. Helen was in the office, smiling and holding up the costume.
I clocked in and put on the costume. But this time, it was a little too small in the top and shorter in the skirt. It had a deep v-neck. It wasn’t cute, it was more full grown hooker elf than mall elf. I saw myself in the mirror and stood there for a moment. I needed money, but not this money.
I dressed back in my street clothes. I handed Helen back the outfit, and said “It's too revealing.” She was confused "You're 18 now, don't you want to look sexy?"
Then Helen bought us actual costumes, she thought it would be adorable if we were dressed like elves for the entirety of the Christmas shopping season which apparently started on November first. This would have been all right with me if for example everyone was dressed like an elf, but no, it was just for Christy and I.
I begrudgingly dressed like an elf every Saturday and Sunday for two full months. My outfit consisted of green tights, a green leotard, a red skirt with bells and a jaunty little green elf hat. My parents thought it was darling. “You look so cute! You should dress like this everyday!” The white high-top Reeboks I wore with it somehow made it even more awful. My resentment of the outfit grew a little stronger with each jingle of it’s many bells.
When I arrived to work, Helen sat us down and did our makeup, this meant she put blue eyeshadow, lipstick, glitter and blush on us so we looked “cuter.” Instead we looked like junior elf-hookers, perhaps little elf hookers in training. When I took my break I would head up to the coffee shop where my friends would tease me mercilessly as we drank espresso and chain smoked.
Sometimes I would hear “Look it’s the elf from the sporting goods store!” when I roamed the mall. I avoided McDolnald’s out of shame. One day, Rosie who made the salads, saw me waiting for my ride and had everyone come out to look. Their giggles and questions about my new job fueled a rage about my elfdom that no other snide remark ever had. I was bitter. I had worked a long hard christmas week at the mall. I wanted to disappear. Fortunately the station wagon came and took me away.
Soon enough the holidays were over and Christy quit. I wore my regular uniform again and the days of outfits seemed to be all but over. For almost a year everything was cool. Then around Halloween, Helen said it “Girls, it’s almost elf-time are you ready?”
What? Fuck this.
There were now three teen age girl cashiers, and she expected all of us to dress like elves. She already bought us costumes. She went on and on about how much fun it would be. I stood there, seventeen, just exploring my nascent bitchiness.
“I’ll do it if every cashier does it.”
She stood there, and said “No, girls, we need you to dress like elves.” She showed us the new costumes, which were just the same as last year, but with glitter.
I sniped back “Isn’t that discrimination?”
“That makes me sad.” She looked disappointed and said “You know I write the schedule.”
I needed the money for college, I took it as a threat, so once again I was going to be an elf. I retaliated in the only way I could, I wore thick black eyeliner. I wore blue lipstick with my elf outfit and refused to let her put blush or glitter on me like the year before. I was a bad ass elf this time around and I wasn’t going to take shit from anyone. I came in with black nail polish and green lipstick. I tore a hole in one of the tights.
No one laughed or smirked this time. When I drank espressos and chain smoked there was no teasing. The holiday season went faster somehow. Soon enough it was back to normal, but with different hats everyday. Funny hats was far easier to handle than dressing like an elf. I stayed until I left for college.
As Christmas break approached Mom called me. The sporting goods store wanted to know if I could work over break. I was so happy they called. I needed the money, even if I was going to be an elf again. The same day I came home from college I popped in to find out when they needed me to work. Helen was in the office, smiling and holding up the costume.
I clocked in and put on the costume. But this time, it was a little too small in the top and shorter in the skirt. It had a deep v-neck. It wasn’t cute, it was more full grown hooker elf than mall elf. I saw myself in the mirror and stood there for a moment. I needed money, but not this money.
I dressed back in my street clothes. I handed Helen back the outfit, and said “It's too revealing.” She was confused "You're 18 now, don't you want to look sexy?"
"No." She explained she already had me scheduled 35 hours and she needed me to work right away. I kept saying no. No to the costume. No to working there again. As I left I thanked Fat Man for the opportunity, and kept walking.
I went directly to the coffee shop and asked them if I could help out for a few weeks during break. I explained I could make change in my head, and was happy to dress like a belligerent elf. The manager quickly said yes, she had known me for years and she gave me 20 hours a week. That afternoon I was making cappuccinos and cutting cakes.
Helen called to fire me a few days later. Apparently I should have been more descriptive about where she and her costume could go.
I went directly to the coffee shop and asked them if I could help out for a few weeks during break. I explained I could make change in my head, and was happy to dress like a belligerent elf. The manager quickly said yes, she had known me for years and she gave me 20 hours a week. That afternoon I was making cappuccinos and cutting cakes.
Helen called to fire me a few days later. Apparently I should have been more descriptive about where she and her costume could go.
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Comments
I lost my shit when I read this:
"On the way home she let me listen to Winger in the car. It was awesome."
rated to all holy, change makin, elf suit wearin hell.
Okay, this made me smile, especially because it was discrimination. Way to keep your wits about you!
Well done, Sue!
(R)ated for making Santa's heart beat.
And “Their giggles and questions about my new job fueled a rage about my elfdom that no other snide remark ever had” is hands-down my favourite sentence of this week.