so, after about an 11 year hiatus to raise the babies, i have re-entered the work force. of course, my impending lifestyle change will require it, but even before that whole mess started, i had planned to return to paying endeavors this year -now that both kids were in school for full day, i was terribly b o r e d. an empty house for most of the day does not require as much housework and such anymore; and i was longing for a life of more than coming up with excuses to not go to the gym & having lunch with my bitches every day (no offense beyatches – you know i love nothing more than carb bashing among friends while eating a good salad, but sometimes a girl just needs more).
after marriage, but pre-preggers, i had gone back to school and received a AA in interior design from FIT and i dabbled in the field before the rug rats invaded. now, i really wanted to make of a go of it – problem was, my previous experience (and i use the term loosely) was not all that impressive or much. so, i went to staples, laid out a benjamin for some proper resume paper, stamps, envelopes, & ink. i then went home with my supplies and spent countless hours “updating” my resume. i tried to fill in the 11 year employment gap by making my personal home improvement projects & consulting (read: helped friends decorate their homes) seem like design experience (even i had a hard time buying it). i mailed off at least 189 resumes to every designer in the tri-state area. i didn’t stop there when the calls didn’t start pouring in. oh no. i mailed a resume to anybody even remotely connected to interior design – the guy who did my window treatments, the chick i bought overpriced “accessories” from, every furniture store i ever shopped in, the tile store, the granite place, the designer working with my friend on her new house, and called in every other name-dropping favor i could pull out of my ass. i would have fucked handy manny for a job if he was hiring – but that little bitch kelly with the hardware store has her hooks into him pretty deep…
i followed up on my leads diligently, but after 3 months, all i got was ONE call for an interview. it was from a Major Home Improvement Retailer that had a Decor Department. i was thrilled! i plead my case to get back onto the field to the store manager, wowed him with my supreme bullshitting abilities to sell anything including the fact that he should give me a job despite my total lack of experience, and was awarded with a position in the paint department (because,”we have martha stewart paint now and that’s designer.“). since i was clear about my desired career path, i was promised that i could eventually make 17 lateral moves over to hardware, then to window & wall treatments, flooring, and finally to the Coveted Kitchen Department to be a Real Deal Kitchen Designer. i am not sure how many years of grovelling, ass kissing, & reminding him of this promise it will take, but i have time (hopefully my projected advancement occurs before the current store manager gets promoted himself & leaves). the pay is less than my babysitter’s hourly weekend rate (my first paycheck after taxes was $8.80 – my lunch cost more) and there is NO employee discount (which really sticks in my craw), but the deal sealer is that part timers are eligible for health benefits after 90 days. this was all i needed to hear, because of all the things i worried about regarding post divorce life (should an actual end be realized before The Rapture), the most anxiety causing thing was how i was going to maintain health insurance for myself. and since my pee was as fresh as an irish spring, i was hired. suddenly, i felt a supreme feeling of empowerment as i was on my way to a new life (albeit a messy paint splattered life, but a new life nonetheless).
before i could start, i had to attend an orientation where i learned all kinds of neat stuff like: the air here is flammable. umm, come again? flammable as in ignitable by flame? yes, it’s full of fine flammable dust particles. so, never light a cigarette inside the store and whatever you do, do not consider for one minute that the air you are breathing every day for 8 hours is most likely detrimental to your lungs, the very organs you need for minor bodily functions such as breathing. also, there are cameras all over the store to prevent shoplifting. definitely not to watch you. so don’t feel like it’s big brother or anything though we do know everything you are doing at any given time. but really don’t feel the least bit paranoid. we are a family here (doesn’t the mob say that too?). and the dress code is fabulous! what other job doesn’t suggest, but insists you wear your old beat up jeans, dirty sneakers and gives you a pocket knife, a tape measure and your very own apron? and the Code Of The Apron is taken very seriously – while you can wear it to the lav, you can not under any circumstances leave the store in it. you just absolutely can not wear it to your second job as, say, a pole dancer. it is strictly verboten, no matter how handy those pockets are for stashing singles. i was assured that in addition to all the handy stuff i learned that day, i would have my very own “coach” and receive tons of wonderful training before being thrown to the werewolves of Home Improvement.
i was really excited to be back in the high powered world of retail. i had my $200 paige jeans on and my $110 sneakers. but, by god, i was rocking that dress code and i looked hot in an apron. i gladly traded in my old appellation of “suburban princess” for my new title of “paint babe.” i was roaring and ready to shake those gallons of paint but, my special pal called out my first day, which meant the dude who was there for a mere 3 weeks before me had to fill in as my O-fficial trainer. apparently no one trained him in not being a jackass because it took him 4 hours to tell me that i had red paint all over my face. doosh-tacular. anyway, it’s not rocket science. paint is mixed by them fancy computers these days (the Vortex 8800), so i quickly mastered that task. the rest of the time i worked on learning the “merch” as well call it in the biz. i have been acquainting myself with the 87 varieties of caulk, 35 types of glue, 64 different kinds of brushes, and 397 flavors of paint, among hundreds of other paint related items. very often, the customers know more than me, but i am not ashamed. i just point to my spanky new, “i’m in training” pin and they don’t mind. plus being somewhat cute helps…
now most of my gfs immediately imagined what a dating wonderland this job would be – “oh, you will be one of the few women working there with all those guys,” (translation: fresh prime cut of beef) and “oh, the hot contractors you will meet.” “strong, burly men to fix stuff for you in your new place.” umm, yah it’s fucking raining men if you’re into guys from the cast of jersey shore with 8th grade educations at best who make $9.00 an hour at the high end; and who’s idea of an impressive night out involves a bloomin’ onion. then, yes it’s a veritable buffet of eligible bachelors in the form of stoned dudes, guys sweating out their 6 pack lunch, and cheating husbands. but i admit, my ego thoroughly basks in all that glory that is the stereotypical mating behavior of these cretins from land of the apes:
cretin:”where is the glue?”
me: “this way, sir. after you.”
cretin: “no after you, the view is better.”
me: “you do realize you said that out loud right?”
cretin: “yup”
me: “okay. just checking. so, do you want crazy or super?”
i would be lying if i told you (despite the feminist i claim to be), that i didn’t enjoy it a tiny bit. okay a lot bit…
unlike when i was a snot nosed 16 year old cracking my gum while folding clothes at the gap who worked because my daddy said i had to, i now work because i want to. so, i am happy to be there, and as a result my attitude is great. the messy shelves appeal to my anal side and i can’t wait to get there to organize to my heart’s content . i don’t even mind working on the weekends .and although there are many potential annoying situations & customers, nothing really bothers me. the only thing i don’t like is when it gets slow and there isn’t much to do. looking busy takes far more effort than actually being so. i dig the socializing and chatting with peeps while i am learning tons of valuable info in my “field.” to me the sky is the limit and i am all about climbing up the corporate retail ladder (literally). everything i do there is a goldmine of resume fodder. the weirdest thing is how a place goes from being strange & new to being a second home.
but, what i get the biggest kick out of is thinking how much it would amuse my dad that i have this job. we called him butt-crack bob, because he was our personal handyman. my dad took great pride in maintaining his home and teaching his daughters to do the same & be independent -we don’t need no stinking contractors. during his employ as mr. fix-it he frequented the home improvement retail establishments. he regularly referred to the sales associates as schmendricks and proclaimed they were useless and “dead from the neck up.” well pops, i am now one of those schmucks. oh, how i wish you could come into my department for some door & window silcone II…
you need a stirrer?
