How I Lost My First Job

A Personal Essay

I got my first real job at 18. I had been begging for a while to be allowed to work and my parents finally relented after I graduated high school. My Dad was able to land me an interview in a big box store in the mall that we’ll call Dacy’s for now. He had helped the store manager get her start and she was eager to repay his kindness. Therefore, the interview served as a formality and I started my job as a sales associate making $7.35 soon after. Before every shift, I would throw on my black dress clothes and get a ride to the mall, preferring to get there early so I could hang out. I was thrilled to have my own money and I spent a lot of those first few checks on Auntie Anne’s pretzels and S’mores Frappuccinos.

Contrary to popular belief, working as a sales associate is not easy. For a big box store like Dacy’s, there's a steep learning curve. Each customer comes with unique requests and you need to know how to fulfill them all and quickly too, lest they throw down their items and leave the store without buying anything. You also have to help customers while keeping an eye on your entire section so that you can notify loss prevention of any theft or property damage. On one particular afternoon, I was cleaning out the fitting rooms in the Children’s department and found a pair of adult jeans with at least 10 garment security tags stuffed into one of the pockets. I barely had enough time to contact anyone before the line at my register grew to about 5. In the times I wasn’t running around helping customers or maintaining my section, I was bored beyond belief. Finding a way to stay occupied became a challenge onto itself. It was during these times, that I opted to chat with the women around me and learn about their lives.

When I think of the women I worked with, the first that comes to mind is Bailey (not her real name). Bailey was a short woman in her late 60’s and was, by far, the funniest person in the store. She always had a joke or witty remark waiting when she saw you. I always looked forward to them on the days we worked together. She usually worked her shifts in Intimates and since I always ended up in either Shoes or Handbags, it was a short walk across the isle to her section. One day she went on her lunch break and didn’t come back for two hours. We were starting to get worried when she came in and said she’d fallen asleep out back after her post-lunch cigarette. That provided enough laughs to last the rest of the week.

Then there was Mary. Mary was very soft-spoken and customers gravitated to her. She was in her 40's and had three children that she talked about nonstop. You could really tell they were the most important thing in her life. She was one of the high-earners in the store and was placed in Handbags as a result. I hated working Handbags. Seriously, I would feel immense dread before those shifts. That's where the most difficult customers flocked to. But Mary knew how to handle them and went out of her way to look out for me if I ever took over for her. She even gave me advice on getting people to sign up for Dacy’s credit cards and I got my first sign up right there in Handbags. More than anyone else, Mary always encouraged me to stay in school.

Cindy and Clarice were the most senior employees of the store. They had spent a combined 35+ years there and were really good at what they did. Cindy had a daughter that was the year below me and went to my high school. She was in the same program as me so I was familiar with her. In the last few weeks before I went off to college, Cindy would ask me questions about my application process. Mostly, how I was paying for school. She worked exclusively in the Women’s section so I didn’t see her as much as Mary or Bailey, but when we spoke she was always kind and quick to help where she could. Clarice was eccentric and fun. She had a really distinct laugh that you could hear throughout the store. You knew it would be a good day if you were scheduled together. She was also a high-earner, running the Intimates section like the navy. One day I watched her sign up 5 different women for credit cards. I still don’t know how she managed it.

All of these women had so much energy and enthusiasm despite being stuck in a store listening to late 90s, early 2000s top 40 hits all day (to this day I can't listen to Emotion by Mariah Carey). Through rude customers and terrible assignments (getting placed in Men’s was an immediate day-ruiner for us all) they never got too down on themselves, opting instead to find joy in their work. So for the next year and a half I’d come home from breaks at UMD, learn from their example, and be better off for it. I even got a few raises and was making $8.50 by Spring of 2015. I thought I’d spend all of college like this but in March of 2016, my time at Dacy’s came to a devastating and abrupt end.

The brown carpets are a crime unto itself

I remember it was a Wednesday. I was home for Spring break and it was my first day back in the store since the holidays. I was working Handbags that day from open to 3:30 so I had mentally prepared to deal with some degree of nonsense. Our store started the day with a huddle in the front so I came in, locked my stuff up, then went to stand with my coworkers. Mary was working that day but they had scheduled her in Shoes. She joked that I had to deal with all of the crazy today. Cindy and Clarice were there, intently discussing the new line of spring dresses from a brand that Dacy’s carried. Clarice was lamenting the overuse of ruffles when our vice manager interrupted to make an announcement.

Denny, our vice manager, was usually a very measured man but today he was anxious and uncomfortable. Then, he took a deep sigh and announced that our location would be closing. A stunned silence fell over the huddle. He continued on to state that as of now we were in liquidation, meaning that a company was coming in to take over our systems and adjust our prices. Everything would be labeled final sale. We could no longer sign people up for credit cards. Furthermore, the final day of operation would be one month from today.

We had heard that Dacy’s was making cuts, they had announced as much months prior. However, our manager had assured us that our store would be safe. We were one of the more profitable locations as we were one of a handful that owned the property itself. The last few months of high sales all but confirmed to us that we would be safe. Yet, here we were on a random Wednesday learning that the headquarters had decided to close our location and sell the property off as a way to make a quick buck.

I loved a breakroom selfie

Once the initial shock wore off, the tears began. First was Clarice. She had been working at that location for her entire adult life. It was the only job she had ever had. She asked our manager what she was supposed to do through tears, her voice cracking from the effort. Our manager also teared up, saying that we were all extremely capable women and that she had no doubt that we could bounce back from this. She also thanked us for so many wonderful years and promised to write recommendations for anyone who needed them. Clarice began to sob uncontrollably. An undoubtedly pissed Cindy comforted her. Mary had gone still, then asked what how we were supposed to find new jobs in a month. The economy in my town was completely stagnant. New jobs within the city were always hard to come by. The surrounding prisons were your best bet but the competition for those jobs was really stiff. No one could give her an answer and tears began to roll down her face. As everyone started to cry, I felt a few years run down my own face.

For me, this job was mainly a way for me to keep some of the loans at bay. But for these women it was their entire lives. This store is how they fed their families, received healthcare, made friends- and a boardroom of strangers had decided the profit from selling the property was worth destroying all of their lives. The rage that started bubbling inside me was unlike any I had experienced before. This can’t just be it? I looked around at all the distraught faces and thought, “Surely we’ll be given some time to process this before we open the store at least.” To my disappointment, Denny asked us to pull ourselves together and opened the store at exactly 9. I watched helplessly as my heartbroken coworkers shuffled off to their sections, listening as their cries echoed throughout the store.

The rest of that day was truly horrendous. Handbags was central so depending on where I was in the section, I could see pretty well throughout the store. I peered over into women’s and could see Cindy slamming things in frustration. Every other word was a curse word. At some point, she started making calls to her friends and family at the register, something she told me expressly not to do. I walked around to look for Clarice in Intimates. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her crying coming from the fitting room. She cried for almost my entire shift. In Shoes, Mary sat on a try-on bench with her head in her hands. Customers went ungreeted. Noticing the gloomy atmosphere, a few of them came to me to ask what was going on so I had to break the news to them. A lot of them were elderly women who were regulars. They were just as crushed as we were. In smaller, forgotten cities like these, a place like Dacy’s becomes a third space. They weren't just losing a place to shop, they were losing their refuge. One of these customers upon hearing the news, immediately ran to women’s to look for Cindy. I watched them hug and Cindy finally began to cry. I have no idea how I held it together.

When the end of my shift approached, I checked to see who was taking over for me. It was Bailey. My heart sank. Bailey loved her job and was grateful for it. She told me once that without this job she couldn’t help out with her grandkids. When she got there, she came right up to me and asked me if it was true. Someone had called her to let her know about the closing but she refused to believe it. All I could do was nod. She threw her bag down and started to cry. I gave her a hug. On my way out, I went to look for Mary but she had left early without saying goodbye. I don’t blame her. My Dad picked me up and I cried the whole way home.

I find myself thinking of those women more and more the older I get. It’s always bothered me that I don’t have anyway of checking in on them. For most of them, I didn’t even know their last names. I know Cindy found a job at the other box store in the mall, but I heard a few years ago that that store closed as well. My next job was at a grocery store across town, and I had ran into Mary there during a shift. In the 8 months since I last saw her, she hadn’t been able to find another job. She told me her accent and her citizenship status made it hard for her to land anything. She asked me to put in a good word for her. I did but I doubt my store followed up. That year, the annual Thanksgiving Dacy’s parade went on as scheduled. I suppose there’s always money for advertising. There’s also always money for CEO pay it seems, as the CEO made over 11 million the year our store closed, an increase from the year prior.

The day they announced the closing of our store, my views on our country shifted. When speaking to my father he expressed that this is the way it is. You can lose your job at any moment if the corporation deems it necessary and there’s very little you can do about it. I decided that any country that could allow that kind of suffering to unfold everyday is one with deep flaws. The idea that at any time, people could be sobbing onto their workstations like that, made me genuinely sick. There is no reason that the loss of your job should mean the loss of your healthcare, too. To me, that seems like a punishment towards the unemployed. Why are we punishing people for falling on hard times? Why are there no safeguards for everyday people just trying to live their lives? Why are the people who could provide those safeguards withholding them? These questions shaped me then and have expanded as I experienced more of the cruelty we’ve built for ourselves. After years of questioning, protesting, donating, and writing my representatives, nothing has informed my politics quite like that Wednesday. No book or scholarly essay can effectively communicate what working retail can.

That’s why I believe the current hyper-capitalist system we live in today was one built without our greater humanity in mind. One we have to look beyond if we want to imagine a better future for ourselves.

---

I’m someone who identifies as a leftist. Those beliefs are based entirely on my personal experiences and interactions with others. While this is the core experience that informs my beliefs, there are many others that have continued to shape me into who I am today. I believe we all have experiences that inform our activism or just our views (I’m guessing my readers are lefties too?? Yes??). I’d love to hear yours! Leave a comment and we’ll chat about it!