First time I heard Third Eye Blind, there I am, standing in the Abilene Mall, strategically positioned next to a clothing rack in the BUCKLE, a new salesman waiting to rush on the next hapless juvenile entrusted with Mom and Dad's credit card. The BUCKLE was the only time in MY LIFE where I walked out on a job.
Initially, I thought it would be a good deal for a twenty year old single guy: high dollar clothes, cool looking store, salespeople with an uber-high cool-factor, a lot of cute female co-workers, and a huge employee discount. The assistant manager took my application and set up an appointment for me to interview with the manager. She gave me a heads up on some things. First, a BUCKLE salesperson may only wear BUCKLE clothes, so dress like an Abercrombie and Fitch commercial. Second, the manager is a super-bitch- "Don't be too assertive with her" she cautioned. "She had her first baby a couple months ago, and she hasn't been able to loose the extra pounds. Don't judge her, she used to be really skinny." Then, she reassured me that I passed the appearance test, and when I looked confused, she explained BUCKLE employees had to be clean-cut, good at least to amazing looking people. I looked at her- "Okaayyy... well thanks for telling me I didn't break the mirror." Internally, I was wondering, "What the hell is this place??...".
Holly the manager had a pinched mouth, hard eyes, and didn't smile. I was a mildly interesting farm animal with reasonably good teeth. She glanced over my application, told me I was hired, and warned me that my hours were dependent on my selling ability. My salary was primarily based on my commission. I accepted my name tag and joined the sales floor.
When you work at the BUCKLE, or at least that BUCKLE, you discover in a commission-only sales environment, no one is your friend. You have to corner a customer, and then sell your soul to the gods of Abercrombie&Fitch, Lucky jeans, Billabong and compatriots to pester nineteen year kids to buy two shirts to go with their jeans, and while they change in the dressing room, invade their privacy by laying accessories over the curtain, "How about this belt that Usher wore in his last music video? Or this graphic tee shirt?".
Seriously. If you didn't, Holly would materialize from behind a clothing rack and scold you with a long red-painted claw. When I protested that people didn't want all a that extra stuff, I was informed it was BUCKLE policy. I wound up using reverse psychology, 'Man, I don't want to, but I have to show you this other shirt or that scary looking lady over there is going to lecture me for thirty minutes on my sales technique. Can you pretend to look at this for a second?" Actually, several people bought the accessories- although I couldn't figure out if they felt sorry for me or were they actually that species of "consumer sheep" who ate whatever mercantile carrot was dangled in front of them.
Anyway, it didn't matter. By the end of the day, I had lost most of my dignity. I trudged to my car in the wide parking lot in a state of dejected degradation. By day seven, my sales percentage had dropped, and Holly batted eyelids matted with mascara, reminding me in an icy voice that I needed to "Show her the Money". (That was when Tom Cruise was still cool). The other male salesmen laughed nervously and distanced themselves from me, smoothing their AmbercrombieFitch haircuts and smiling for no good reason. Proto-type metrosexuals. They definitely did not have my back.
I was standing there in the late morning, hiding from Holly, watching the old men and women power walk in the mall. The song JUMPER from Third Eye Blind came on. I thought to myself, "This is a Damn good song." I stood there jammin' to the song, nodding my head, especially in the part with the guitar solo and the guy says "yeah, yeah- YEAH!".
Of course, at that moment, Holly decides to ambush me. "I don't pay you to stand here and listen to music. You have to move around and generate movement in the store."
I guess my look to her said, "Screw you"... but what I said was, "Well, considering you don't pay me a lot anyway, this is pretty reasonable." She made some other remark I don't remember exactly but something to the effect I was paid what I deserved. Whatever it was, it was the last straw.
"You know Holly, I quit." I turned around, walked out of the store and never went back- not even for my meager 52 dollar check.
I never regretted that decision. Or the frozen look of affronted disbelief on her face.
Guess the song kind of helped me out, although I totally jumped off the ledge and it felt great.
I think she understood. I just wish I had added the caveat, "Go to hell!".
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