An Alternate Resume: MJ Designs

My memories of my second job are fragmented.

Hired: The summer before I headed off to college, I saw a “Going Out of Business” sign at my favorite craft store. Accompanying this announcement, was an ad for summer workers. I could earn a little money, get a discount on crafts, and I wouldn’t even have to justify my departure at summer’s end.

First Day: On my first day, I received a brief tutorial on how to run the cash register. The machines were old and the labels on the buttons were peeling off. We didn’t have scanners, so item codes and prices had to be entered manually. I learned to load the register paper and noted that when a pink line appeared it was time to put in a new roll.

Old Cash Register (Photo by Radek Homola on Unsplash)

Break Time: When it was time to clock in or out, I used the time clock on the wall in the breakroom. I remember the satisfaction of punching my timecard and watching the minutes and hours accumulate. Most of the time, I brought my lunch. I’d sit on the sidewalk or in my car in the parking lot. This was before smart phones, so I spent my break people watching. Sometimes I’d eat at the Jack in the Box across the parking lot and read a book, but I stopped doing so after one of the employees was a little over friendly.

Liquidation: Customers often came up with items that had no price tag. Because of the nature of the store closing, the goal was to get rid of everything. I would apply massive discounts, no approval needed. And yet, if I wanted to purchase something, I always went through another cashier’s line. A few weeks before the end of the summer, I asked my manager whether I could have a discount on a particular item. I don’t even remember what it was. I just remember that the price was a little higher than I could afford. To my surprise, she said, “Take it,” and advised me that all the other employees had been taking merchandise all summer. It turned out that most of the managers had been employed at MJ Designs before the bankruptcy and held a grudge against the liquidators who were now telling them how to do their jobs. I remember feeling simultaneously disgusted at the lack of integrity and jealous that I hadn’t been invited to participate earlier.

Everything Must Go (Photo by the blowup on Unsplash)

Butterflies: The one thing I let myself take was the broken pieces of butterfly clips. We had a giant bin of the cheap hair clips, which were in style that summer. As the days progressed, I collected the broken pieces of the plastic clips—single butterflies separated from their other halves. Like the punches on the timecard, the broken pieces became evidence of the hours I worked. As they piled up on my dresser at home, the store grew more and more empty and my departure for college more eminent.

Bruised: At the end of the summer, I got my wisdom teeth out. The new teeth were growing in under my other ones, and the surgeon had to chisel them apart to get them out. My face was bruised and swollen for days, but I went back to work as soon as I could. When I walked in the front door, my boss immediately suggested: “Maybe you could work in the back today?” I remember the frustration with her attempt to hide me away. I think she was probably trying to protect me from customers who would misinterpret the bruises, but I wondered how many women with blackened eyes had been forced out of sight and into harm’s way.

College: I don’t remember my last day of work, but it must have come quickly after my wisdom teeth extraction. I remember the leftover tooth fragments making their way through my infected gums as I settled into my dorm room and began attending classes. I shifted my focus from broken cash registers and butterfly clips to chemistry and psychology and explored the downfall of my previous employer in a report for my industrial and organization psychology class. Soon, like the contents of the store, my meager earnings from the summer dwindled to nothing, and I began searching for my next job.