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My First Job was in a Toy Store
Chink-chunk, I was in charge!
I worked summers in a toy store all through high school. When I took the job, I was so excited to be working, making my own money to spend any way I wanted to. I envisioned purchasing a real faux pearl necklace and the rag curlers recommended in Betty Cornell’s Teen-Age Popularity Guide. My mother pointed out that Grandma had already given me pearls and I didn’t need curlers to mess with my already too-kinky hair. But Mama was missing the point. I wanted to have everything Betty Cornett wrote about, so I could be “attractive and popular.” Attractive and popular and grown-up. With a job.
When I took the job, I imagined myself becoming an expert on toys. I would assist all the little children in the selection of a perfect teddy bear or acetate building set for a birthday or somebody’s very special day. Instead, I spent much of my eight-hour shifts jamming Mr. Potato Head arms and legs into last night’s baked potato — back then, you had to use a real potato — or climbing under the table at the front of the store to get all the Rig-a-Jig pieces — “boys and girls build anything their hearts desire” — back into their Training-Tray.
I also spent too much time digging Matchbox cars out of boys’ linty pockets and kewpie dolls out of girls’ greasy purses while delivering the standard lecture on…
