When I was 10, I worked at my parents' New Jersey grocery store Rosa Maria Food Center (named after my older sister). I worked as the cashier. Yes, I often manned the register on my own while my father was way in the back butchering, or doing whatever it is that butchers do. Cutting meat.
I was in 5th grade, hardly able to reach the Marlboro Lights and Parliaments stacked high on the shelves but I was able to sell them. I managed frequent customer's credits in a rinky dink 3 ring binder (not everyone could pay so my parent's gave customer's a tab allowing them to pay later...a very noble but very foolish gesture on my parents' part.) I bagged, I stocked, I served as loss prevention specialist and did 'busts' during busy after-school times. I did everything but cut the meat.
And this didn't phase most people. Adults treated me as an adult. A little 10 year old adult who could sell them smokes and who knew the characteristics of more odd vegetables than an average American male. I didn't really enjoy it, especially because I couldn't go out and play as much. But I hated it because of the teenagers.
I hated when the high school kids would come in. Yes, I'm ten fucking years old. And yes I work in a fucking grocery store. And of course I love getting fucking made fun of because of it. And remember the whole Give me five, but woah, I'm taking my hand out when you go give me five trick that was so fucking cool. Yeah, they liked to do that. This is when I would bitch to my parents and tell them I was going to call social services because forcing your underage kid to work in a damn grocery store was illegal. And then they would laugh at me finding it cute that I would threaten to call the cops.
I think my past grocery store clerk experience has established the dysfunctional path of all my future employment. Like there's something restless or rebellious in me that refuses to stay at one place too long. Since I had no choice as a child, I'm using my choice wildly and carelessly as an adult. Most people stick at their jobs even if they're unhappy until something 'better' comes along. At the first sign of unhappiness I get out.
Some of my glorious short-lived experience includes dry cleaners - I rubbed chemicals onto the yellowed underarms and necks of men's dress shirts. I lasted one afternoon. Accounting services in college, office assistant for psychologists- I hated the stupid receptionists I worked with so I cut my weekly hours from 20 to 6, computer lab monitor, weed-puller, bulk concert ticket buyer for company that would then sell them at twice the price to hardcore fans, ostrich-poop picker upper and highway garbage cleaner (enforced by the state of Massachusetts), Royal Caribbean cruise checking-in agent, horrendous server at gay steak and burger restaurant, data entry for Gap, Inc., assistant at the national headquarters for some big church establishment where I saw parishoner's kind donations going into extravagant meals and fancy hotels for the religious heads, Donna Karan financing department in which I misspelled Donna Karan in every fax I sent, receptionist at a construction site, marketing assistant at online dating site with asshole boss who would sexually harass the female interns, housekeeper for business convention dorms and for the special olympic atheletes, art director at an ad agency with too many unhappy people. Oh and I did have a lemonade stand once. I may have missed some but none lasted very long.
Now I'm interning at another ad agency as a creative assistant. I'm feeling restless.
