Last night, as I was struggling to fall asleep, memories of my first job and the people I met there kept flooding my brain.
It was very much like grieving a family member instead of a corporate establishment.
I worked at King Soopers on Table Mesa for two years–an eternity for a high school student. Now when I go to my own neighborhood Kings (I still only shop at Kings, if I can #loyalty), I laugh on the inside when the kid bagging my groceries calls me “ma’am.”
I decided to write this blog of good and weird memories to help combat the sadness I feel about the ugliness that took place at the Table Mesa King Soopers yesterday.
So here goes.
The summer I was 15, my parents asked me to get a job. I applied several places, but was only asked to interview at King Soopers.
As I was a blossoming teenager without working experience, I didn’t own a single piece of interview clothing. My clothes were either way too casual or way too fancy.
I wore, and I shit you not, way-too-high strappy heels (I was already at least 5’8″ by then, so might’ve been 6-foot for the interview), a slinky black skirt with a slit up the side (all the rage in 1999), with a top and cardigan borrowed from my mother.
Oh, the good ol’ chunky heel of the late ’90s. For those of use who fall down easily.
The top of me screamed 40-something librarian, while the bottom of me screamed sexy party girl.
I must’ve been a sight walking through the store to the upstairs room where I’d be interviewed–all awkward and skinny and miss-matched and nervous. Very much like a newborn giraffe–in high heels.
The weirdest part about getting a job at your neighborhood grocery store is how you saw it before you worked there and how it evolved once you started.
For example, the stairs I climbed to go to the interview are the stairs I’d previously climbed to go to the bathroom. Until that moment, those stairs were only known to me as, “the bathroom stairs.”
Anyway, I’m sure by now you’ve figured out that they hired me, so further behind-the curtain experiences included:
The back room had been a mysterious place that customers weren’t allowed to go, so as an employee, I found myself going there a lot. It was also a great place to hang out with friends instead of doing my actual job.
I finally learned why some employees wore a yellow name tag and some wore a white name tag. Yellow is for underage so everyone knows they’re not allowed to sell booze or cigarettes.
I discovered a storage closet, which seemed very much like a junk drawer. It had all kinds of random shit in it. Including one-hour-photo prints that, I assume, were deemed too inappropriate to be handed back to their owners.
That’s right–I managed to find naked pictures in that room.
And furthermore, as a 15-year-old introduced to a variety of new experiences entering the workforce, as well as a teenager wanting pocket money, this was a very exciting time to be alive.
I mean, I had my first title: Courtesy Clerk. I had my first uniform: a maroon tie and apron.
I even found myself secretly loving being able to decline invitations after school and saying, “I can’t; I have to go to work.”
And King Soopers paid better than most jobs available to 15-year-olds. We even got Sunday and holiday pay. I was well on my way to making my millions.
On my very first day, I didn’t know jack shit about working. Or labor laws, apparently.
My manager had me watch the new hire videos and told me the basics: where to keep my crap (up the bathroom stairs in a break room locker) and what to do (stand at the end of a checkstand, bag people’s groceries, and ask if they want help out to their car).
It was a five hour shift.
What he didn’t tell me was that I got a 15 minute break at some point.
That’s right, I worked the entire five hours–terrified of doing anything wrong or looking new or offending anyone or God forbid, putting someone’s eggs at the bottom of the bag–and didn’t even think to ask for a break.
I looked very much like this guy for those five hours. Very diligent and focused. Aiming to be the Best Bagger Ever.
A week later, I was much more comfortable with authority and never missed a break again.
King Soopers is where I learned how to tie a tie. Back then, there was a dress code: white button-down shirt, khaki or black pants, and the King Soopers-supplied apron and tie. It was nothing like the structureless chaos employees are allowed to wear these days! Psh…jeans and t-shirts!? Where’s the discipline in that!
Anyway, the men’s ties were way more me than the women’s, so I wore the men’s, learned to tie it, then left it tied and would loosen it and tighten it at the beginning of each shift.
King Soopers is also where I learned how to fix toilets.
Maybe it was because I was a quick learner, maybe it was because I tended to have trouble with authority, or maybe it was just coincidence, but every time (often) one of the toilets in the women’s bathroom overflowed with shit, I got to go fix it.
I still think about that when I use that bathroom, now, 20 years later. I think, “I fixed you, you disgusting, overflowing, poop machine!”
King Soopers is the place I met my first love. He was a checker and I was a courtesy clerk. Each afternoon, I’d eagerly wait for him–all dimples, great hair, and great hats–to come through the doors, pushing his bike into the recycling center before his shift.
During our romance, which would continue on even after I quit at 17, we would take our breaks together and sneak off to all the outdoor crevasses around the store to smoke cigarettes and make out.
In fact, I decided to defiantly quit after being written-up for continuing to bag groceries beside him instead of at the end of the checkstand. I took my copy of the write-up–a yellow carbon copy piece of paper–wrote my two-weeks notice on the back of it, and crammed it into the box meant for requests for time off.
This is love, bitches.
Anyway, moving on.
King Soopers is where I learned the true frailty of the male ego.
Men reading this. Courtesy clerks are required (or used to be) to ask every customer–no matter how fit or frail–if they want help out to their car. We got in trouble if we didn’t.
So imagine most men of any age looking at me in horror after I’d asked if they wanted help their car.
A visual: I was, as I said, about 5’8″, but only about 120 lbs at the time. I was a twig. My best friend’s dad loved to tell me that I’d have to run around in circles to get wet in a rainstorm…or something like that.
Or maybe it was that I probably only weighed 120 lbs soaking wet.
This. This rail in the foreground (versus the rails in the background) is what I’m trying to describe. Picture this stick person asking if you want help lifting your heavy items into your car.
Anyway, most men (and some women), did not like the idea of a twiggy teenager making them feel frail by offering to take their groceries to their car.
And I hated asking. Damn this rule-following personality of mine!
King Soopers is where I fell in love with Marky Mark as an underwear model.
One of the checkers, a tiny, fun, and kind woman, had the hots for young juicy celebrities. Marky Mark was the only one of her celebrity crushes that I also found attractive, so she brought me some prints from his underwear modeling days.
I think of her every time I see him on TV.
Oh, here’s a fun one.
King Soopers is the first and only time I watched my mom threaten a manager with her bike pump.
I won’t say what she was mad about because it’s definitely illegal and he should’ve been fired, but here’s another visual.
This guy, very tall, and standing on the platform where the managers stood, looking down on my mom, a modest 5’7″ as she loudly berated him, while repeatedly hitting the palm of her left hand with the bike pump held in her right like a police baton…or a very small, very threatening baseball bat.
He didn’t get fired and he and I remained friends until Google+ decided to shut down a couple years ago. That said, he never did anything to cross my mom again.
Another fond memory from my Kings days involved my older brother.
My brother and his best friend lived in one of the apartments across the street. I’d been given an open-door policy, if I looked over and saw their door open, I knew I could pop in and hang out as long as I wanted.
Unsupervised bliss in an apartment where my older brother–the person I admired most in this world–spent his nights.
When I was 15, my 18-year-old brother was the coolest person I knew.
The. Coolest.
He had the most DVDs and CDs, a good-paying job, a cool guy truck with the coolest bumper stickers on it. He listened to the coolest music and had the coolest friends.
Just look. Definitely much, much cooler than I am.
And this was a time when he and his friends found me just cool enough to hang out with them.
That open apartment door is another thing I think about when I go to the King Soopers on Table Mesa. Even though Brother (still pretty cool, I guess) lives far away because he’s a boob.
Anyway, I feel this wrapping up. My time at King Soopers only lasted two years, but in those two years, I saved up my earnings and paid $250 cash for my first snowboard, I learned how to drive, I found love, I smoked many, many cigarettes, I got in trouble several times, I made lots of friends, and even more memories.
My heart hurts for the people I know who still work and shop there as well as those I don’t know.
If you’ve made it to the end of this, please join me in sending your strongest thoughts to those who were there…those who have a long road of healing ahead of them.
The Pickle Writer 