I never worked retail; I suspect it might be outside my temperament, to the extent that it would have have almost certainly culminated in a multiple murder slash suicide on Christmas Eve. I worked in restaurants, where they could I did a brief turn as a busboy that did not go well, culminating in a night where I offered guests a soup I had made from a bag of mixed vegetables, white pepper, and non-dairy creamer.
Those were the only ingredients.
I was also a telemarketeer for a brief period, I’m not proud of it, and I wasn’t especially good at it. It culminated in a kind of theatrical emotional fiasco the mental echo of which still vibrates my optic nerve.
Things didn’t start making sense until I started working in tech. It’s literally what I would have been doing anyway, in fact it was more like what I wanted to do, because there were an unlimited number of problems and people were always bringing them to me. I generally did okay, even though I’m an acquired taste, because I don’t care if you acquire the taste and I’m not going to change. But at every turn I made myself just useful enough to be endured.
Before we were able to scratch together a Spokane rent out of Penny Arcade, Gabriel worked a succession of retail jobs after his position at a driving range, where he headed up their “get hit repeatedly by golf balls” department. Working somewhere dry no doubt seemed like an advantage.
When Gabe heard about Target’s “Black Thursday” shenaningans, he really lost his shit over on the couch. I don’t judge, I’m just telling you that shit was lost. He tells me that there are “like, three” days a retail employee can expect off, and this was one of them, and the future is one where every member of your family shoves in just enough food to survive their Thanksgiving shift, which now starts at noon the day before Thanksgiving. It is the Late-Capitalism version of The Last Supper, and everyone - including Jesus - is already dressed for work.