Sales Associate at the Dress Barn is not an ideal job. It's not even an ideal summer part-time job, though it fights comfortably in the weight class of "fine." This was made all the more evident to me when, during my 20th hour at the 'Barn in three days, I found myself excited to realize that there was one more rack of shirts that I had yet to organize by sleeve length, and as a result I had one more dangling carrot of activity to distract me from the boredom.
Working with and for a whole bunch of middle aged women does have its perks, though. Being old enough to have officially eliminated any illusion of adults being Big Scary And Omniscient, the 'Barn allows me to get more than a glimpse into the middle aged, middle class suburban lifestyle that more likely than not awaits me, providing me with ample material to make a list of Traits I Will Not Have When I Do Eventually Achieve This Role. For example:
- I will not be unaware of my age. Specifically, having longer-than-shoulder-length hair tends to invoke the Laura Ingalls syndrome in people.
- I will not bring my husband shopping, an activity which I'm convinced will never be healthy for him, since usually the attitudes of the men trailing their wives in the store remind me of Old Yeller being brought back behind the shed.
- I will not be oblivious to the length, necessity of detail, and (lack of) plot arc to stories that I tell.
- I will not work at Dress Barn.
See? I'm growing already.
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