working title

Job Number Three, Quick Stop

I already shared how I got job number three, at a convenience store and gas station we’ll call the Quik Stop. This was my first experience working at a family-owned store and it was the first time working with a family member. My great aunt, Cindy, worked at the store, too. In fact, we often worked together. It soon turned out that when we worked together, I spent all my time filling orders, waiting on customers, and preparing for the next shift while she sat and ate lunch or smoked cigarettes. This was my first example of being taken advantage of, and it had the special bonus of involving a family member!

This convenience store gas station had the added bonus of having a deli, too. It was great because we could slice fresh lunchmeat to make sandwiches for customers (I perfected my club sandwich here), but it also gave me my first of many experiences working in a deli. There are special annoyances of being a deli worker that I think are underappreciated by those who have never worked in one. The words “thin” “shaved” and “chipped” can make a deli worker shudder.

In my previous jobs, when you put in your allotted time, you got to go home. Say you were scheduled to work 10am to 3pm. At 3pm, you were promptly told to vacate the premises so your employers wouldn’t have to pay you for extra time. This job was different, though. One day, as my end shift time approached, I started getting ready to leave and my coworker, Aunt Cindy, asked what I was doing.

“It’s my time to leave,” I answered.

“Well, the lettuce isn’t cut for the next shift, and you have to prepare the tomatoes and onions for sandwiches.”

I was confused. It was my time to leave. Didn’t that mean I got to leave? And she was scheduled to work another hour. Didn’t that mean it was her turn to do some work? Apparently not.

“You’re not allowed to leave until all your work is done,” I was told. It didn’t matter that my ride had arrived and they would be forced to wait while I caught up on the work that needed to be done for the next shift. The work that could have been completed by my Aunt Cindy. I had to do it.

The job got old pretty quickly. Every day was the same thing. Wait on customers, clean, restock shelves. I did meet a few interesting people, like the guy who collected rare coins. We had a good conversation on a slow day. I also gave out directions to people who got lost often.

As Winter approached, I used excuses to call off work on the weekends. If I knew a snowstorm was approaching, I’d spend the night at my boyfriend’s house and then call work the next morning, explaining that I was stuck a few towns away and there was no way I could come in on the icy roads. It’s not like it was going to be busy when the roads were barely passable, right?

I continued with the job while I entered college, working every weekend and during breaks. I got really good at making sandwiches, or so my customers told me. Aunt Cindy told me customers complained that I put too much lettuce on their sandwiches, but I never heard a complaint. I think my coworker made it up to make herself look better…

The job worked well with my OCD, actually. To refill the soda coolers, I had to write down which sodas were low and needed to be restocked. Instead of guessing and bringing back too many cases, I would count exactly how many empty spaces there were and I’d bring exactly the amount of sodas I’d need. It took longer, sure, but then I didn’t waste any space in the cooler by bringing to much out. I thought it was more efficient, even if coworkers complained that I took too long. They also didn’t offer to do the job, so I was left to do it myself, and I enjoyed it.

Then something happened – I strained my sciatica lifting those soda cases. I’ve always had a weak back. When I was 17, I was diagnosed with scoliosis, meaning my spine was curved abnormally. It was only off by a few degrees (those with a more pronounced curve often need surgery or something corrective to help), so it didn’t bother me, until I started doing any kind of manual labor. I ended up going to a chiropractor three times per week while I was still in high school, and my back got much better, though it remained weak, which was my fault because I slacked off on the exercises the chiropractor gave me to strengthen my back.

Anyway, all I knew was that I worked on a Sunday and the next morning, after I was back at college, I could barely move when I woke up. I had a terrible pain on my right side at hip level and it radiated down my leg. I had a Biology final that morning and I left an hour early so I could hobble and limp my way across campus, I took the exam in excruciating pain, then I made my way to the health center. I thought I had a pulled muscle, but the nurse told me I strained my sciatica and gave me a prescription for a muscle relaxer.

My parents took me to my chiropractor who asked how many weeks I could take off school. That made me realize how bad it was. I only took a few days, though. I mean, really, who can take weeks off school without dropping out for that semester? After a few days, I felt much better, and after a few weeks, I was fine. That ended my career at the Quik Stop, though. I couldn’t lift soda cases anymore!