Lee Jackson Beauregard said:
Heinie,
I worked as a "courtesy clerk" (or common garden variety bag boy) when I was 16. I don't know how to put into words how much it sucked. Wound up quitting after six weeks and without notice, which I remember really infuriating my mother. I called to tell the manager I was a goner, and he said, "OK, you realize this will upset your references." Right. Like anyone in their proper freakin' mind would ever list having been a bag boy on a future job application.
Sounds familiar. I worked at KMart as a "runner," which was the modern term for low-paid jack of all trades and master of none, in the summer of 1990. Need someone to operate the cash register up front? Get the runner! Need someone to clean up a pile of puke in aisle six? Get the runner! Need someone to chase down the knife-wielding shoplifter? Get the runner! (somehow avoided that, though we all heard the horror story of the guy who caught a shoplifter and was bitten as the shoplifter yelled "I HAVE AIDS!!!")
It re-defined the suck in so many ways. 12:30-9:30 on Saturdays, 10-6 on Sundays, plus several weekday nights from 5-9:30. The manager had been there nine years, which was six years longer than she was supposed to be there, and for all I know the old windbag is still there. If you weren't on the lifetime plan, she had no use for you. I went away to a summer journalism convention one week and got home Saturday at like 3 pm. I had a message waiting for me from the manager: "WHERE ARE YOU?" Uhh, I'm off until Sunday, sunshine.
And the personnel manager was the same way, and with the worst teeth I've ever seen to boot. She was married to the guy who ran the auto section. Apparently, newspapers aren't the only incestous employers.
I wanted to quit in the worst way in the middle of the summer but my mother wouldn't let me. Mom told me if I quit I'd be completely on my own...no car, no spending money, no nothing all summer long. So that made it really satisfying come the first Saturday of September, when I told her I couldn't balance working at KMart along with running cross country and my senior year studies. (wink wink) She told me it was OK if I quit. I never drove to the store so fast in my life. The personnel manager tried telling me how much I'd regret this and I was like OK whatever I will never see you again.
I was determined to not only never work in retail full-time as an adult, I was determined that I'd never do that again, anywhere, and that the next gig I had would pay me to write. I was right.
I bought a couple CDs with my last check (Bad Company's Holy Water was one of them) and, instead of hating life at KMart for nine hours, dozed on the bed during a cloudless early fall day as the CD played all afternoon long. Man, that was as good as it got.