I can’t keep a normal job to save my life. By the time most people reach my age, they’ve amassed a resume of respectable retail and/or food-service positions: cashier at a clothing store, server at a national chain restaurant, barista, bank teller – the list goes on and on. Meanwhile, I’ve spent the bulk of my working life shilling products made popular by cheesy, late-night infomercials and taking care of other people’s children.
My first real job, beyond baby-sitting, was at a big-box store that shall remain nameless because I’m still embarrassed that I quit after a month. From there, I segued into the madcap world of selling “As Seen on TV” products at a store in Glendale. Ped Eggs, Kinoki Foot Pads, Zorbeez (like the ShamWow!, except not effective), Moving Men, Forearm Forklifts and Buxton bags were my bread and butter. I sold all of this (And more! So much more!) while wearing khakis and a red T-shirt with Billy Mays emblazoned on the front. If I had a dime for every time someone offered to buy my work shirt, I would have enough money to buy at least a dozen Bumpits (not including shipping and handling).
My illustrious career selling Hollywood Purse Hooks and Shed Pals ended when my store went out of business. The end had been nigh for months as our stock dwindled and customers went from saying, “I can’t believe anybody buys this crap,” to “So when are you having your going-out-of-business sale?”
I’ll always look back on that job fondly, and I still get the occasional twinge of nostalgia when I see Debbie Meyer Green Bags or Hercules Hooks (my personal favorite product) at Target. Billy Mays’ death felt like a personal blow, and I’m still not ready to bring my old uniform out of storage. Too soon, too soon.
Since then, I’ve made a living – or at least attempted to – as a nanny. I love kids, so it’s a perfect fit, and I’ve been with the same family for nearly four years. It’s not an eccentric job, by any means, but it’s a far cry from working in a mall and then going out with co-workers for happy hour after work. If I did that with my nanny gig, I’d get arrested.
I also worked at Borders (my dream “normal” retail job) for a spell before it, too, closed. I’m beginning to think I’m bad luck for businesses. If there are any companies you’d like to see fail, drop me a line and maybe I’ll apply there.
Now I have another kooky place of work to add to my oeuvre: Halloween store. I never thought I’d work in a place that has life-size, animatronic figures of Michael Myers, Pinhead and a demonic scarecrow across from a replica of a scene from “Scream,” complete with Ghostface screaming “Sidney!” while wielding a fake bloody dagger. But that is my new reality. My 5-year-old self, the little girl who shrieked at the sight of anything remotely scary and who thought Halloween was a time for pretty dress-up outfits, would be appalled (and, let’s be honest, would need to hold her mother’s hand to walk through the store).
Then there are the costumes. I never thought that the words, “Have you seen Officer Bombshell? Is she next to Robyn Da Hood or closer to Battle Babe and Julius Pleaser?” would leave my mouth, let alone with a straight face. My store has hundreds of costumes for all ages and taste levels, from an adorable Smurf costume for infants to a priest with a prosthetic phallus titled “Keeping the Faith” for adult males. I wish I was kidding.
Every shift is an adventure because I don’t know what kind of customer or situation I’ll encounter that day. There could be a couple looking for matching sailor costumes to wear to a party, a group of excitable teen girls trying on risqué costumes their parents would never let them buy, a family trying to piece together costumes to dress up as the Scooby-Doo gang or people just walking around and marveling at all of the creepy, crawly, sparkly and outrageously over-the-top wares.
A few weeks ago, a group of college girls came in with their boyfriends in search of sexy, scanty costumes to wear to a party. One girl came out of the dressing room in a sexy nurse costume that she’d unzipped to expose her bra and that barely covered her bum.
“I just don’t know if it’s slutty enough,” she said. “I mean, I know that sounds bad, but, like, you know what I mean?” Not really, but let me help you find something that is “slutty” enough, miss. Have you seen our corset and ruffled panties combo?
It is weird having a job that you know has an expiration date. After Halloween, we’ll pack everything up and move on. I’m on the lookout for my next job. I’m aiming for something traditional, but I’ll probably end up finding something else weird.
There’s always the chance that I’ll return for more Halloween store fun next year. After all, where else can you buy fake blood, fishnet tights, a zombie baby and a Harry Potter wand?
Contact the reporter at llemoine@asu.edu
