Balloons
School years and I wanted a Saturday job so I had enough money to buy cheap cider for camping trips on the Saturday nights (I was 14-ish). Applied to loads of jobs, but since I had no past experience, no-one was willing to take me on. Catch 22 really.

Eventually I get an interview for a new shop that's going to be opening that sells balloons, and various balloon related things (as I discovered in the interview). The shop was to be called Absolutely Fabulous Balloons, because they sell balloons. I'd been trying really hard to get a job at the music shop a few doors down from the place, but this balloon place was all I had to go on so I went for the interview and gave it my best pop.

One week later, I'm starting my new job, dressed in relatively smart clothing (as I was instructed) and quite nervous about what it's like to have a job. My first Saturday was spent carting things from their house to the new shop in a van with the manager and pretty much doing physical work all day. Boxes and boxes of balloons were transported to their new balloon home. By the end of the day I was shattered, my clothes were a mess (my shirt had even gotten a little rip, which had upset me) but I felt exhilarated and cool at my new found mature, employed outlook on the world.

The next week, I decided to turn up in more casual clothing as I didn't want to mess up my nice clothes like I had last week. As I arrived, I was asked why I was dressed so untidily after I'd been told to dress smartly. I tried to apologise and explain my logic but I was told to go home and change into something nicer for the customers. I was a bit upset at this reprimand considering the sound wardrobe logic I thought I was applying based on the work I was doing the week before, but apparently all the boxes had been transported now and it was time to sell balloons to customers. I didn't have the experience to question things in a workplace yet, so I apologised, nipped home quickly and put on my smart clothes again.

In the morning I was taught how to prepare balloons, make ribbons curly and all the tips on how to deal with balloon customers I could need/want. I wasn't a natural at the preparation of the balloons, but it wasn't the most complicated thing in the world and although I was slightly slower than my counterparts they eventually looked like they were supposed to.

The morning was slow as the shop had only recently opened, and only a handful of customers came in mostly to just look around, point at balloons and not actually buy anything. However, everything I was doing was being scrutinised by the manageress who was also watching the floor, as every mistake I made or thing left in the wrong place was instantly picked up on and more and more curtly each time as the lady was losing her patience each time she had to tell me something. "You say thank you and wish them a nice day as they leave, you shouldn't be rude to the customers". "Why are those balloons on the floor in the corner? It's your job to pick them up Steven, I shouldn't have to tell you that!".

Working at the shop that day was me, the manageress and this other girl slightly older than me who seemed to have an unnatural ability for tying balloons. Her thick South Wales valleys accent endlessly spewed incessant nattering that was all that I had to entertain me as the day dragged on. I was riveted by stories of her bastard boyfriend and his townie friends and how she "was not impressed" by most things that exist. By the end of a long day, I felt pretty shit about myself and was sure I was the worst employee anyone had ever had in any job ever.

The following Saturday was equally as slow (balloons were going through an uncharacteristic unfashionable phase, obviously) and not long into the day the nagging manageress had to leave for the afternoon, leaving her mother (who didn't like youngsters like me) to supervise the shop whilst she was away. The afternoon was broken up when some school friends of mine popped in who I'd told about my job in the hope that they would come and visit to stop me from dying of boredom. The customers were almost non-existent, so I chatted for about 10 minutes with one eye on the door to ensure I wasn't missing any customers that may need my expert assistance. After the friend left, I noticed a change in attitude from the manageress’s mother. It had changed from passive disdain to hostile anger as she took over where her daughter left off telling me how rubbish I was at everything. The slightly-older-than-me-girl (whose name I forget) was not impressed.

At the end of the day the manageress returned and her mother went off to the backroom to have a private chat with her. About ten minutes later, it was my turn for a chat with the manageress where I was given a speech as to how there isn't as much demand as they expected, and since I don't seem to be enjoying my position that they were going to have to let me go. After my third day of work. I remember feeling so humiliated, I might as well have shat my pants as a less embarrassing divert to the burning feeling that I was an absolute failure who couldn't even hold down a Saturday job. I went home feeling pretty low and upon arrival relayed the whole thing to my mother and auntie (who happened to be visiting at the time).

Up until this point, I hadn't really mentioned anything to anyone else about my job as I was a teen and it's what I did but on this occasion I let all my emotion out explaining what it had been like, still convinced that this was all my own fault and that I would never get a job because I was so awkward.

It was only after the relaying of events, that I gained reflection on events and realised how much I'd been shafted by a family who really didn't know what the hell they were doing.

For the next few years as I looked old enough to get into pubs in my local town, I would happily relieve myself over their shop on my way back from any night out. Whether through the letterbox or just in the doorway for good measure. As I was leaving a pub, I'd ensure I had a good payload stored for my oversized balloon urinal. My auntie took an alternative approach and stormed in there one day shouting about the way they treated her nephew and how they should be ashamed of themselves. It wasn't something I asked her to do, and is pretty embarrassing really, but her heart was in the right place.

All I have left to remember my time working at that place are the five pairs of comedy geek glasses (like these images.picturequest.com/common/detail/16/86/22418616.jpg) that I nicked on my way out the door since I thought it'd be cool if my band wore them at gigs.

We did and it didn't. I was not impressed.
( ma0sm, Thu 23 Feb 2006, 17:23, Reply)