The Uniform

As awesome as being a bagger is not many girls will voluntarily do the kind of work I did. I was one girl among about eighteen guy baggers. Sexist? Perhaps. I'm pretty sure I was hired just so I could clean the girl's bathroom. Somewhat because girls are always frequenting all girl's bathrooms everywhere, but mostly because the guys just refused to even try to clean it.

Good idea of what my uniform was like, except with a red shirt.

I don't blame them, I didn't ever want to peep into the boys bathroom to see if the coast was clear and accidentally see something... horrible.

Anyways, this job was basically a boys job. Not the bagging part, but the grueling work of pulling carts in hour after hour. I have to say after a year of doing this I was starting to go insane. It's like the joke about mailmen going postal because the mail never stops. PEOPLE NEVER STOP SHOPPING!

During the summer because we had to push in freaking carts under the mother freaking rays of the radiant sun we were allowed one wardrobe change: shorts.


Now  there are two things you need to realize about this development, I was already self conscious about being the only girl bagger there and my uniform was already hideous without adding awkward length shorts to the huddle.

I was basically cross-dressing all summer long because girls shorts were too slutty to wear at work. My heck, it was not a fun experience. I looked ridiculous with those black baggy shorts, a long apron that flirted with the edge of the shorts, and my big clunky sketchers with gleaming white socks.

So wearing this mess of a uniform with a nasty polyester red button up shirt and pulled back ponies for most work days it didn't make me feel good when a customer called me sir.

I kid you not, I was called sir. Twice.

I'm sure the next day I doubled up on the eyeliner and mascara.

That nasty uniform really makes me cringe. It let no part of my curvy figure slip through for even an inch. With no female figure in sight I can perhaps see why someone might just think I'm some nasty boy--especially if it was after cart duty. Every ounce of beauty that I brought with me to work, which was not very much,  I lost in my pursuit of carts in the heat of the day, melting my beauty away.

A good gauge of my daily work appearance.

Just think about all this in a sort of point system:
points for wearing cute clothes: - 3 I wore a nasty uniform
points for cute hair: -1 it was always up, but props for always having bangs to help
points for smelling good: -5 carts. heat. enough said.
points for looking good: 1 only positive category, always wore makeup - however droopy or melty it might have looked at the end of the day
skin: -3 always had a red face
general appearance: -6 this was not a good look for me.
gender confusion: - 8 I never thought i would ever fall into this category

So all these points add up to: -25which puts me into like the hairy Troll category.

Basically all sense of dignity I had disappeared everyday I had to work. Only wearing my hair down or having it curly could even bring me up to a higher echelon like a chimpanzee's butt.

If you wanted to see a freak show, little did you know that an ogre worked at smiths.