I've been thinking about considering contemplating looking for a job. We would benefit from the extra money and I would benefit from doing something more productive with my days than being a formidable online presence. This appears to be the manifestation of my mid-life crisis. I don't know what I want to do with the second half. I mean - I REALLY don't know - I don't even have any ideas. I know I don't want to teach anymore. But beyond that? I don't know. Oh! And food service. I don't want to do anything that has anything to do with food service.
Of course that's where I started out. That's where most folks start out, no? When I was fifteen I started working at a sub shop. In retrospect, it wasn't such a bad gig. Sure, there was the time I had to work the afternoon of my junior prom and my relief didn't come on time and I only had half an hour to get ready and I couldn't get the smell of onions out of my hands for love or money. That day sucked. But overall, it was a pretty decent gig - especially considering how young I was.
Even when I taught, I had a part-time gig on the side more often than not. Teachers moonlight a lot. Go figure.
Once I had a part-time gig at a lingerie store. This was a hoot, and I could tell you stories for days based on that job alone. Stories like this one:
We catered to the lingerie needs of the general public, but we also did pretty regular business with the local strippers, both male and female. Most just came in, bought what they needed and left. We had the largest selection of tear-away underwear in the metropolitan area, so we were a pretty popular spot. This stuff was not built to last, so we had a lot of repeat customers. Novelty items like thongs resembling a tuxedo or Pinocchio were big sellers. It was a classy place.
One day when I was alone in the shop (it was a small shop, so this was almost always the case), a guy came in and spent a little while perusing our wide selection of stripper-wear for men. He picked up a few items and asked me if he could try them on. This was unusual, because male strippers tend to follow the same rule with their underpants as body builders do with their T-shirts: If it's too big they're flattered (and believe me - nothing we sold was too big...), and if it's too small they'll wear it anyway. But, ok, go ahead and try them on. But dude! (I reminded him) State law requires that you keep your underwear on while trying them on. He nodded to indicate that he'd heard me.
A few moments later, the door of the dressing room opened and he was standing there in a pair of burgundy briefs. You might have called it a banana sling, but that's just because you weren't regularly selling thongs that resembled actual bananas. With faces. Happy, happy faces. (I told you it was classy.) He said, "What do you think?"
He turned around. I nodded. I see you.
He went into the dressing room again and emerged just moments later wearing a yellow - let's call it a bikini, shall we? Again, "What do you think?" He ran his hands over his stomach. It was like I was getting a little audition or something. Maybe he was a new stripper and he was practicing. I didn't know.
"Very nice." I said, barely looking up.
He turned around and gave his tush a little shake. I rolled my eyes.
He went back into the dressing room. He only had one more item to try on, and I somehow knew I was gonna get flashed this time. His little exhibitions had gone a little further each time and I just knew... I also knew that the only reason he would do that would be to shock me. To get a reaction. To see if a rise out of him would yield a rise out of me. I knew I couldn't give him that. I couldn't let him win.
Predictably, he emerged from the dressing room wearing a red tear-away thong. "What do you think of this one?" he asked, posing.
"It's good. Red is a good color for you."
"And what do you think of THIS?" he said, proudly pulling back the velcro and standing in the middle of my store in all his glory. (That pride, for inquiring minds who might want to know, was not entirely misplaced. But that's neither here nor there.)
"I THINK", I said, without missing a beat and without letting a single expression cross my face, "that you're going to have to buy those, because you have clearly tried them on without underwear underneath, which is a violation of state law. As is exposing yourself in a public place."
His face, among other things, fell, and he returned to the dressing room. This time he came out fully dressed. He put all three items on the counter and paid for them without another word.
Come to think of it, maybe I don't want a job after all. I'm too old to deal with that shit.
What's the wildest thing that ever happened to you at work?