I was standing in a long line at Starbucks, and sort of staring at the strange hippie who was grabbing a hot cup of Tazo Tea, when I began to think about my next move. I watched her leave as the ribbons that were tied to the halo of flowers around her head fluttered about in the rush of the warm air that was promptly wafting in from outside. No matter how weird the city of Los Angeles was to me, I realized that the giant collection of—interesting people would give me more opportunities than heading back to the Central Valley.
The more upbeat life, where unprotected turning lanes littered the city and spending an extra half hour on the freeway was completely normal, was obviously going to have more job prospects as far as writing, editing and publishing went, but the cost of living was definitely higher. Granted I was in line at Starbucks, not for myself but for the people back in the office at my first internship, but I was seriously considering moving here permanently and stay where the action was. Continue reading “The Hollywood Intern: Part 9- Glendale”→
After watching this video the other day I’ve realized something about the readers of this blog and me. For some reason we all love it when I exaggerate (for the most part). I literally do nothing during the day except for going to work, or school and then I go home and hang out with friends. Most of the rest of my time is spent writing all about the mundane things that I do and then posting it on the internet.
I’ve written a post about watching cat videos for Pete’s sake, and people still enjoy coming back to visit my blog. It’s entertaining at times to read all of my posts about nothing, but I worry now that it affects my relationships IRL (in real life) as well. Everything with me is “life or death,” “do this now or the world will end,” and “my situation is the worst situation in the world and I’m going to die right now.” Nothing is ever just moderately normal or just boring with me, and I’m not sure if that’s because I’m within that twenty to twenty-five-year-old last bit of brain developing stage or because that’s just me.
One the second day of my second internship I left the office early to go to my job at the department store that I had way across town. I had to leave about an hour and half or so before my shift began to get there on time and so I raced out of the office, paid for my insanely expensive parking spot and drove like a bat out of hell to work.
It was hot, and I was sweaty because I couldn’t really afford to tack on air conditioning prices on to my already crazy high weekly gas bill, and all I had was the toasty shift of wind that whipped my face with the stench of highway pollution.
When I got to work, I rushed through the back doors and clocked into my scheduled shift. I threw my badge on and walked to the section of the store where I was assigned to. We did our start of the shift meeting and I started grabbing go-backs to squeeze on the clothing racks.
“Hey you guys, what’s up?” I said to the girls when our shift manager walked away.
“I’m going to need you to start working on all of these go-backs over here while I get these,” said one of my coworkers who believes she’s in charge of everything I do.
“And I don’t want you to do anything else okay? I’m working on these. Ask me if you need any help.”
“Alright.” She kept rambling on and telling me what to do, and so I decided to just walk away while she was expelling her diarrhea-of-the-mouth all over my already stressed out mood. I hid in the clothes racks and goofed off for a while thinking to myself how I really never liked this job. Continue reading “The Hollywood Intern: Part 3- The Gas Bill”→
I was sitting at my very uncomfortable chair inside my nice freezing refrigerator-of-an-office at one of my two internships when I thought to myself, ‘what am I doing here?’ It just hit me like a ton of bricks. I mean yes, I had applied to the position and added on another intense internship, along with my job at a department store, but I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why I would make a schedule so ridiculous and soul-sucking for myself. Was I secretly some masochistic office-space-loving intern that wanted to die by extreme stress and exhaustion, or I did I really think that this would help me get a real job later on and further my career?
I couldn’t tell you. My mind was foggy from working nonstop, and I could have sworn that my limbs were going numb in response to the near frostbite that my toes were developing. I sat there thinking about how I had gotten to this very spot and why I should actually stay here. My mind drifted outside to the warm rays of sunshine gently dusting the sidewalks just outside the office, and I thought about just packing up my things and getting into my car. Continue reading “The Hollywood Intern: Part 1: Into the Oblivion of Space”→
“Aw man. You’re really leaving us? You weren’t even here that long.” The scary vampire coworker and I were shopping in the clearance for a good deal while we “re-sizing the merchandise.”
“Yeah, I was only supposed to be here for the summer, but hopefully I can get another position at the store near my college.” I picked up a tank top that was $1.97 and stuffed it into my pants pocket to purchase later.
“And we just started to talk too. This sucks.”
“Well hey. If I end up back in this town next summer, maybe I’ll try and get my job back.”
To be honest, I had fun in this small amount of time that I worked at this particular department store. I had met really interesting people, have gotten to know the ends and outs of running a large department store, I’ve been put in the most awkward situations, and I kind of secretly wanted to do it longer than the what I actually did, not for the money—well yeah—really only for the money, but my experiences weren’t really all that bad.
I picked up my pay check the next day and waved goodbye to a few of the associates that I happened to walk by. It was weird walking in to the store for the last time as an employee. It’s like a veil has been uplifted from your eyes only to be shut again. I could never (or at least for a while) just waltz in and hide in coat racks instead of doing work without looking absolutely mental.
I stopped by the break room to grab my locker stuff.
“Hey kid. I hear ya leavin?” An employee, who was only about a year older than me and who still referred to me as “the kid,” looked a little sad to see me go.
“Yeah, I’m going back to school for the year. This was just a summer thing.” I started to walk out towards the front doors.
“Well good luck out there kid. We’ll miss ya here I guess.” The employee turned around and began eating her crunchy Frito filled sandwich again.
And with that send-off, I left for the last time out through the front doors securely clutching my paycheck (I didn’t want to get mugged being in a ghetto area and all). I guess I would kind of miss that place too.
For the commercial part of America, and every department store circling the globe, the holiday season starts in September. During this time the store is stocked with ridiculous sweaters, fugly fur coats, and more overly-priced jeans. This also means that it’s the time for Christmas themed gift cards and charity.
“Okay teams, we needs to start asking these customers about our charities program. Asks them to donate theirs changes to the store insteads. Okay everyones?” The foreign supervisor gave out little buttons mentioning the charity helping underprivileged children for the associates to put on their badges. We then broke up the morning meeting and went to our cash registers.
It was about a few hours into my shift when I decided to step out from my hiding place in the stock room and start ringing up customers.
“Hello sir, did you find everything okay today?” I started scanning and bagging his dress pants and shirts.
“Umm, yeah. You didn’t want the purse right babe?” The customer turned to his girlfriend who was rummaging through the nasty raspberry chocolates. The woman just ignored him and threw the candy on the counter.
I just looked to the computer and totaled their purchase. “Okay, that will be $34.94. Would you like to round up your purchase to the nearest dollar and donate the change to the children’s chari-“
“-F#ck the children.”
I just smiled to keep back from my inevitable and gradually uncontrollable laughter. “Excuse me sir?” I turned around and looked to the customer rummaging through his wallet.
“Honey, that is so rude. How are you going to say ‘f#ck the children like that?” The woman was stuffing the candy into her face as she scolded her boyfriend.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”
I couldn’t help it anymore and just started cracking up at the register.
“Ugh, I can’t take you anywhere. You’re so rude.”
“I’m sorry babe.”
“Hahaha, it’s totally okay.” I took his money and gave him back the change that was robbing all the poor children in the area of food that Christmas and watched the couple walk out of the store past the bushes where kids pee before the girlfriend hit her boyfriend upside the back of his head.
I laughed so loud that all the customers in the area looked up from their usual dumping-all-of-the-clothes-on-the-floor routine to look at me doubling over in hysterical laughter. “Hahahahahahahaha!”
I don’t know why I haven’t gotten fired from this job yet.
Things change when the sun goes down. Serial killers break into homes, vampires wake up from their naps and department stores close while locking some of their employees inside. No joke.
When the last customer finally decides to leave the messy store, department store employees, like me, are locked inside of an empty store so that they can fold and reorganize all of the merchandise. It’s sort of young kid’s dream come true, being able to stay inside of a department store after everyone goes home. You get to see the store as you have never seen it before, and that goes the same for the employees as well.
“Ladies, whys is yous guys not folding up the clothes?” The foreign supervisor had caught a bunch of the employees hiding in clothing racks and playing hide-and-go-seek by the fitting rooms.
“Umm, we were organizing the clothes over here.” I said as I sort of stumbled from behind a rack of ugly prom dresses on clearance.
“Well yous gus need to fold the shirts and tank tops on the tables over heres.” She started pointing to the massive pile of clothes that hundreds of customers just picked up and thrown on the ground. “Come on. Get to its!”
The small group of girls found themselves slowly sliding their feet over to the piles of clothes strewn everywhere. I picked my poison over by the tank tops and just stared blankly off into space while I robotically folded bright neon tops.
“So, did you ever get finished with that book I lent you?” A Goth looking girl was talking to one of the other girls folding a large pile of jeans.
“Uh, not yet, but I’ll get around to it.” I was suddenly snapped out of my trance. Books—did someone mention books? I turned my attention to the Goth chick I had originally perceived as mean and cold hearted. “Wait, what types of books do you normally read?” I asked the Goth girl folding the t-shirts on the floor.
That single question lead me to find out that the scary Goth-looking girl and I practically led the same life as book-loving nerds who also loved to write for the fun of it. I never would have guessed that the evil vampire who gave me the creeps was in reality the sweetest and most kind-hearted girl ever.
It’s as if you fall into another dimension when the store’s doors are locked and the lights are dimmed. Without the customers giving you great ideas for weekly blog posts you really get to know the people who you work with. It just comes to prove that sometimes it takes being held against your will to get to know someone—that—and the mention of literature.
There’s something about a good sale that drives people crazy. The store at the time was offering 10 dollars off of every purchase totaling 25 dollars or more and we were instructed to only give the discount to people who actually brought the coupon in. People were lining up around the corner to use their brightly colored ads while others tried the whole, “I left mine at home, do you have any behind the counter” routine.
“Ma’am, you only spent $24.99 on this purchase. Did you want to purchase something else so you can use the coupon?” I started putting the small pile of school clothes into a plastic bag.
The lady at the counter became annoyed with me as if I was the one who owned the company and had made up these rules. She stood next to her quiet husband and gently slapped the face of one of her three hyper kids. “I don’t understand. Why can’t you just give me the discount?”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry but I can’t give you the discount. We have some cheep candy right here that you can buy in order to use the coupon though.” I pointed to a small rack of chocolate covered raspberry snacks next to the cash register.
All of the sudden, the three children running around the counter stopped in their tracks and started chanting in unison. “Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy….”
They sounded like a choir of undead zombies in search of human brains to feast on. “No,you can’t have the damn candy,” the woman said.
“Oh, umm, sorry about that.” I just turned the rack of candy around in the hope that the children would just shut up, but it obviously didn’t help.
“Ugh, if I’m going to pay money for candy I rather it be the good kind. I’ll be right back. I’m going to pick up a shirt for my husband to wear.” The lady left her husband with her zombified children and went to the men’s department.
The kids kept tugging on the pants of the extremely timid husband. “Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy….”
“We’ll go get candy later when your mom goes to work.”
“Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy….” The kids obviously wanted the candy right then and there.
The mother finally came back with a lime green polo from the Big and Tall section and threw it at my scanner. “Okay, now I can use the coupon.” I managed to bag the blindingly neon shirt and slide off into the stock room before I heard the faint sounds of the zombie chanting again.
Try describing the color blue to someone who has never seen the color before in their life—go ahead—I dare you. Tough isn’t it? Well, at least I thought so.
It had to have been a coupon day with the amount of people storming into the store that morning. Children were screaming bloody murder, and impatient adults were rolling their eyes in line and tapping their fingers on the unstable racks next to the line that they were standing in as if it would make me ring up everyone’s purchases even faster than the speed that I was already working at. The store was a mess and I had no patience for the people who woke up that morning and decided to be assholes.
“Excuse me young lady. Can you tell me the price of this please?” An older woman had walked up to the counter holding a stack of random bathing suits underneath her arm. She laid a dark blue suit with an attached skort at the bottom.
I picked up the suit and scanned the tag. “It’s ten dollars and 40 cents.”
“Okay, now how about this one?” She laid an olive green suit down on the counter.
I looked at the clearly marked tag. “It says that it’s twelve dollars and 30 cents ma’am.”
“Okay. Can you tell me how this cost?” The woman laid another bathing suit on the counter. At this point the line of customers behind her had gotten so long that people had to start wrapping around the entire register counter and down the long walkway into the men’s department. I gave out an audible sigh and told her the price.
“Okay, so can you describe to me the color of the first one?” The woman lifted up the dark blue bathing suit and it was then, after I looked into her clouded hazel eyes, that I realized what was going on.
“Oh. Umm, well it a dark blue color closer to black and darker than the other bathing suits here.” I placed the suit into the woman’s hands and let her feel the bottom of the suit.
“Oh it’s a skort. Will it match these flip flops that I grabbed?” She lifted up a pair of dark green flip flops and held them in front of my face.
I gently pushed them away from my nose and let her know that they matched the other green suit that had shorts attached to it and put those in her hands.
“Oh, okay. Thank you so much. I only asked you because I’m actually legally blind and I wanted to look cute for the pool.” We both laughed.
“Yeah, no problem,” I said as I rang up her selected purchase. She smiled and thanked me again. Another woman walked up and asked her if she found what she was looking for.
“Yes, this nice lady helped me pick something out.” The other woman then guided the blind lady out of the store and turned around quickly to flash me a thankful smile. I smiled back, almost a little guiltily, because before I realized that the customer I was helping was blind I was actually annoyed with her just as I have with all of the other customers that day. I had judged the people who were standing impatiently in line—and yes they really could have been assholes—but I didn’t know the whole story or what they had gone through to get to where they were that day. I guess I was the one who really couldn’t see that day.
I’ve seen a lot of really random things at this point in my time while working in retail. I’ve held strange conversations with older people about what they had for breakfast while opening the store, seen angry customers yelling and throwing temper tantrums just to get a ten percent discount on a pair of socks, and witnessed mentally unstable thieves steal dresses off of clearance and bolt out the front doors and into a get-a-way car. But one thing that I’ve seen the most is terrible unattended small children getting lost and messing with things.
I don’t know how many times frantic parents had our associates call a Code Adam because they lost their children, and to be honest, I’m surprised that we don’t have to call it more.
“Mommy I need to go potty!” A little boy of preschool age was doing the potty dance by his mother while holding his crotch. “Mommy I gots to go now!”
“The restroom is right ov—“ I started to point to the back of the store where are restrooms were for the woman at the counter paying for jeggings and a yellow neon colored top, but was cut off when she told her son to go outside and pee in the bushes.
“Honey, go outside around the corner and find a bush. Mommy’s gettin’ her clothes.” I stared at the woman standing in front of me for a second and then continued to ring her purchase.
The little boy had begun to unzip his pants as he ran outside to go pee in front of our store’s major entrances. And after I was done stuffing the mother’s ugly clubbing attire into a plastic bag, the boy came running back to tell his mother what he had just done.
“Mommy! I peed far!” The little kid’s eyes lit up as he gestured the distance of how far his unsanitary stream of urine shot out from his body in front of random strangers on the street.
“That’s nice. Let’s go home okay?” The mom grabbed her bag off of the counter and didn’t even turn around to see if her three children were following behind her.
I began thinking about all of the other kids that were climbing on top of the pile of clothes that I had just folded, the ones playing tag in between the clothes racks, and the children who were left by the register while their parents were shopping in the hopes that the cashiers could double as babysitters in the time being. I came to the realization that there are a lot of terrible parents out there who should not be allowed to have children.