Toys R Us

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• December 10, 2017

For two months I worked in a Toys R Us for the months of November and December for just above minimum wage.  I had already graduated from college, an honors student.  This was after I worked in the nursing home.  The nursing home job remains one of the highest paying jobs I’ve ever had.  I was strongly encouraged by family and friends alike not to quit that job.  But after four years, I was well passed my breaking point, and I couldn’t go there any more.  While I feel I grew a lot as a person working in a nursing home, and it shaped my philosophy of life, it was also entirely depressing and emotionally exhausting.

Almost spontaneously, I quit and decided to work for my Dad’s cousin in real estate.  I had no desire or interest in the field but I was already a stand-up comic with my heart set on pursuing that life.  I thought, maybe, since real estate was flexible, it would be a good way to manage my passion while making a decent income, and not working with people who were dying all the time.

Alas, I am a terrible sales person (this is proving to be a major set back in comedy as well).  I can’t sell anything.  I can’t fake it or lie.  If I was selling water in the desert, I’d be like, “if you walk a mile that way, the water is colder and cheaper, you’d just be wasting your money with me.”

Even when I started doing real estate people were more surprised than they were when I started doing stand-up.  “But you hate talking to people, and you’re a terrible sales person,” my friends and family reminded me.  Headstrong as ever, I wasn’t determined to prove them wrong as much as I was determined to prove myself wrong.  Surely I can do this.  I am smart.  But intellect isn’t the only thing one needs sometimes.

After months, I was making next to no money.  I did sell a house and some rentals but I basically just covered the fees and broke even.  I didn’t miss the nursing home, and refused to go back (I had frequent nightmares about working there again, and I still do sometimes).  But I did miss the money.  I had made strides in nearly paying off all my student loan debt which I was determined to do so before I moved out, but now I was barely making enough money to fill my gas tank.

Loser.  Failure.  Pathetic.  Piece of shit.

Those were my first thoughts in the morning.  And my last thoughts at night.

Loser.  Failure.  Pathetic.  Piece of shit.

The year was coming to an end, so I figured I could pick up a temporary job in retail for the holidays.  So I did.  At a Toys R Us.  Making significantly less money than the nursing home.  I didn’t tell my parents.  I didn’t tell anyone.

Loser.  Failure.  Pathetic.  Piece of shit.

It was hard keeping it from my parents.  And I didn’t want them to know.  I was already dependent on them for shelter and food.  Of course, that isn’t such a bad thing when you’re in your early 20’s and a recent college graduate.  I graduated college during the recession.  Everyone I knew lived with their parents and for the most part none of us had really good jobs yet.

More than anything, I wanted to be psychologically independent.  Although, I didn’t know how to get there, or even, I didn’t know what it meant.  Surely, I was financially dependent on my parents like every young person, but I figured the first step of being psychologically independent was being financially independent.  I also thought being psychologically independent meant shutting people out, which I was already good at, though I would later find out I was wrong about this.

Still, I didn’t want my parents to know that their daughter with such a promising future was actually a loser, failure, pathetic piece of shit.

So I worked in a pop up Toys R Us in a mall.  It was a small satellite store with few employees.  I was sorely overqualified.  Most people thought I was still in high school because I was so young looking.  I let them believe that.  If I were still in high school I wouldn’t be such a loser, failure, pathetic piece of shit.

My boss was a dry, wisecracking, sarcastic woman with crooked teeth and gut.  She sorely didn’t give a shit about what anyone thought about anything.  She was often frustrated with the other employees because they either weren’t smart or they were lazy or both.  To be honest, she was hilarious.  She made the job tolerable, if not sometimes enjoyable.  She was sarcastic to the point of being rude at times and she cracked me up.

It took a mere day or two to learn the ropes.  It’s an easy job.  Cash register and stocking shelves.  I much preferred stocking because then I didn’t have to talk to anyone.  Christmas time is a weird time.  It brings out the best and worst in people.  Some people smiled, thankful for the upcoming holiday season, while others were vicious and often cruel.  Let’s just say for the two months I worked there it didn’t help my already strong disdain for humanity.

We’re all losers.  Failures.  Pathetic.  Pieces of shit.

All employees were supposed to encourage customers to sign up for the Toys R Us credit card and/or rewards program.  I refused to.  I told my boss.  “I will not do that.”  “But you’re supposed to.”  “But I’m not going to.”  She conceded.  After all, I was holiday hands, and she already liked me because I picked up the job in two days.  Plus, I was as sarcastic as she was.

The other employees so frequently messed up, our bosses catch phrase was, “geez, are you high?”  She said that all the time.  I’m pretty sure I was the only one who was high all the time though.

My favorite days were the unloading the truck days.  This was mostly manual labor.  A giant truck pulls up to the back with boxes and boxes of toys.  We had to unload the truck then put all the boxes on dolly carts and bring them into the store, and sort them by category.  I always liked manual labor.  If it wasn’t for my deep hatred for the cold, I don’t think I would mind doing construction work.  It feels like exercise, and you don’t have to talk to people.  Even in my previous jobs at the nursing home or when I worked in catering, I was the first to be carrying tables, wheeling heavy carts, or transporting dolly carts with cargo that could crush me if it fell.  Perhaps it’s the tomboy in me that hated the gender roles of jobs.  Just because I’m small doesn’t mean I can’t do it.  The ant is small but mighty.  I refused help just because I’m a girl (though one time, when I worked in catering, I really hurt myself getting crushed by a stack of chairs that I was transporting).

The problem with unloading the trucks, however, is you had to be there at 5am.  This was tricky for me because I lived with my parents and my part time job at Toys R Us was something no one knew.

Loser.  Failure.  Pathetic.  Piece of shit.

As mentioned, I am a terrible liar.  When leaving my house at 4:30am, I told my parents I was picking someone up at the airport.  I think they were suspicious but believed me because what else would I be doing at 4:30 in the morning?

I made the mistake of telling someone I worked with that I did stand-up comedy.  They couldn’t believe it.  I barely spoke at all and when I did people often told me to speak up or stop mumbling.  They also couldn’t believe I was a college graduate.  “What are you doing working here?”

I’m a loser.  Failure.  Pathetic.  Piece of shit.

I was making just enough side money to fill my tank, buy some Christmas presents, and go the movies, and pay to do open mics (yes, you often have to pay to do open mics when you’re starting out in comedy).  My last day was December 23rd.  I refused to work Christmas Eve.  What were they going to do?  Fire me?  I quit.

My boss offered me a position to stay.  It wasn’t up to her to give raises, but she said she would ask her boss if she could if I wanted to stay.  I politely declined.  She thanked me for my help and wished me luck in stand-up, even though that still shocked her.

In the new year I would get another job on top of doing real estate (which I would soon quit) and comedy.  I am pretty notorious for quitting jobs and picking up new ones.  My parents did find out months later that I worked at Toys R Us.  My sister does my taxes and when she got my paper work, she said, “when did you work at a Toys R Us?”  I told her.  At that point I had to.  I asked her not to tell mom and dad.  But she did.  I’ve always kind of been “the favorite” child out of us three, and my sister likes throwing me under the bus when she can.

Though, even my parents were confused as to why I didn’t tell them.  I didn’t want them to help me out more than they already were.  I was too old to be dependent on them for everything.  Already, I felt like I leaned on them too much.  I didn’t want them to think their daughter was a loser, failure, pathetic piece of shit.

They didn’t, of course.  They admired that I went out and got another job, albeit, a shitty one.  They were a little hurt that I didn’t tell them.  After all, I was pretty honest about everything else to the point where they would tell me to refrain from being so honest at times.  Admittedly, if someone else were in my shoes and got a seasonal job in retail because they needed it, I would admire them too.  You do what you have to do.  Take care of yourself.  There’s no shame in that at all.  However, I’ve always been especially hard on myself and don’t hold other people to my own standards.

I did get a better job.  I did move out about a year and a half later.  And I paid off my student loans before doing so.  It makes me sad when I think about how lowly I thought of myself at that time.  On the line between adolescence and adulthood, trying to figure out how and what it meant to psychologically independent, opened the flood gates to negative thoughts.

Now, having grown as a person, still broke though quite independent, the process of chasing a dream sometimes sends me down the same chute:  Loser.  Failure.  Pathetic.  Piece of shit.

But no matter where I go, or who I meet… from college students to lawyers, doctors to baristas, nurses to financial advisors, my family to people from my past: They are all impressed.  “Wow, that takes balls,” they say.  “You’re really doing it, most people don’t follow their dreams.”  “Brave and admirable.”

I want to be all those things. And maybe one is just for trying.  After all, there are few people I admire more than stand-up comics.  But I still find myself walking home from the subway, kicking rocks down the sidewalk:  Loser.  Failure.  Pathetic.  Piece of shit.

After a gig one night, a really fun crowd, I’m standing at the bar saying goodnight to smiling patrons.  I hate doing that.  I hate saying goodnight.  But the club likes it when you do.  And the people do as well.  They shake your hand and compliment, “thanks for the laughs.”

Someone comes up to me.

“Lori! Do you remember me?”

I don’t.  I hate when people do this.  I’m trying to place his face.  Fuck, who is this person?

“I used to work at Toys R Us.”

I laughed.

“You’re so funny!  That’s amazing, I  can’t believe it.  I’m so happy I got to see you.”

“Thanks,” I say, half embarrassed for some reason.

“That job was such a joke,” he said, “but we missed you when you were gone.  She [our boss] used to talk about you a lot.  Anyway, great to see you and keep killing it!”

I would hardly say I’m “killing it.”  But maybe not being a winner doesn’t mean you’re a loser.  Maybe you’re not a failure if you don’t quit.  Maybe you’re not so pathetic if you still have love in your heart.  Maybe you’re not such a piece of shit if you make people happy.