Holiday Affective Disorder (part 1)

(this is a series of posts i had up a few years ago. i'm re-writing it, re-posting it for the holidays. my favorite, favorite time of the year.)

I.

My first job was at a toy store. It's a unique setting: happy customers, outgoing staff, a pleasant atmosphere.

I got fired from that job.

The great thing is that it's not even a long story. Managers like to giver orders. I like to...patiently, calmly...ask managers to explain the logic behind their orders. So they fired me for "insubordination". Fun stuff. (Personally, I thought I asked great questions, but they were never received with enthusiasm. Which I both recognized and understood at the time; I would have fired my ass way before they did).

That happened in September of 1996. I was about to begin my junior year of college.

II.

In October of that year, I began looking for a new job. The plan was to work weekends at first and then load up on hours during the holiday break from classes. This place, Service Merchandise, seemed fine. The store was divided into two areas: exercise equipment and a large toy section on one side...electronics and a jewelry counter on the other side.

I'm a creature of habit. On the application, I listed my prior experience with toys and specified a preference to work in that section. And as a reference, I just listed a friend's number. I didn't want my dark, dark past as one of The Insubordinates coming to light. I didn't think the friend trick would work but, with no other job experience to list, I didn't have much of a choice.

It worked. They called me in for an interview.

(Mid-post...randomly...I'm switching to the present-tense. Because...I said so.)

III.

The interview: straightforward. The store mangager asks interview questions. I give interview answers. He seems bored, barely looks up from his sheet of questions. I glance up a lot and pretend that the ceiling tiles are giant crackers.

Halfway through the interview, George comes in. George: bearded, heavy-set, energetic. He collapses into a seat and says, "All right! Sorry I'm late! I'm ready!" The Store Manager explains: "This is George, our manager for the jewelry section. The managers take turns sitting in on these. George? All set?"

George rubs his hands together, replies "All set".

The interview continues. More questions, more answers, more ceiling tile crackers.

After looking at my application for a bit, George says, "You know, it's strange. You want the toy section. We've had 25 to 30 applicants this week...and every single person requests the jewelry counter."

I don't say anything. George continues.

"The holidays are coming up. And employees on the jewelry counter make a percentage of their sales. So...I don't know. That's everyone's first choice."

He waits. I know that I am jewelry counter averse. With toys, you just answer questions from customers...and you pretty much know in advance what people will ask. It's mentally low-maintenance. With jewelry...you have to sell. And be personable. Sounds like a nightmare.

I tell them, "I'm already familiar with the toys people will be asking about, so I think with that section I'm just prepared to start. I can integrate pretty quickly there. And the whole toy area, it just smells really intense...that whole box and plastic thing, it's overwhelming, so that's something I won't have to adjust to. I'm pre-acclimated to the toy-scent."

Both managers stare. I mentally cringe. But George...he just cracks up. He looks at the other guy and says, "Hey, I like it. He's pre-acclimated."

Somehow I get the job.

IV.

I start, initially working weekends. I roam around the toy section, listening to questions, almost always giving the same answer. Which can be summarized in terms that apply to any given Christmas season: "No...the over-hyped, arbitrarily popular item you want is not available. It's out of stock because 4 billion TV-addled, obedient consumers simultaneously want the same piece of shit toy."

I really win people over with my holiday spirit.

I see George every shift. He makes it a point to walk over, small-talk, ask how I'm doing. If other people are around, his favorite thing is to walk up and- in a stern voice- say "M. Walk with me. Quickly, please." As if I'm in trouble. He then goes to the breakroom...where, each time, he proceeds to buy cheetos for both of us and chat about random topics: the weather, weird customers, anything. He concludes each conversation with the same phrase. "Well...I'd better get back, pretend to be a manager."

I'm slow to warm up to people, but I decide George is okay. It's particularly surprising since I usually have a hard time with chatty personalities.

V.

One day...the store is filled with customers. It's hectic, noisy, frantic. Then the intercom dings, signalling an announcement. People pause. It's quite for a second. And all over the store, you hear George laughing over the intercom. Then he clears his throat and says, "Wait, wait. We need...M? M to the principles office. M. To the principles office immediately."

I go to the main office. The store manager and George are there. George is smiling and rubbing his hands together. He says, "M! I've been pushing this and pushing this since day one and I've finally gotten permission: we're moving you to the jewelry counter!"

Nope. Not good. I say, "No, no. I don't think that would be fair to the store. I'm not salesperson material, George."

He's not having it. "It's done! Set in stone! I promise, you're going to love it. The money is better. Way, way better. Lotta people are wanting that spot, M, but you're my guy."

Sales. I try not to look overly mortified.

The store manager says, "We're wanting to try something new this year. We'd like for all of our jewelry people to dress for the season. Not sure what you have, but we're looking for reds and greens...or holiday patterns...that sort of thing."

I go ahead and look overly mortified. George tells the other manager, "He's golden, this one. Can't wait."

[Next post...me on the jewelry counter. During the holiday rush. Spoiler Alert: I am not, in fact, golden.]