It feels bad today. Nasty customers. Lazy managers. Annoying coworkers. Crowds. Then endless crowds. Clothes on the floor. Dirty dressing rooms. Staying late. Retail work is exhausting. But if you make it through today, you can make it through tomorrow. Working retail taught me to persevere through uncontrolled chaos, and once I became a master in that confined space, no one could throw me off my game. Dealing with customers is easy because you’ll probably never see them again, but coworkers are always there. And one day, after going back and forth with a coworker, I decided to walk out on the job. I needed the money. I didn't have a plan, but I quit my retail job because I had to. Don’t quit unless you have to.
The Day I Freed Myself
I worked retail for 10 years up to that day. A new job every two years (The Career Two-Year Itch) to grow professionally, challenge my discomfort, and develop my identity and sense of purpose in new spaces. My first year in every job (and still to this day) is comfort-centered through becoming an information sponge. I build bonds with whoever has a similar professional value—leading with getting the job done and small/big talk in between workflow.
One my annual review hits, I take the feedback to heart and process:
- What do I need to improve on?
- Where am I showing strength?
- How much was my raise?
- How do they value my future here?
Year two, I show a bit of my personality, become more sociable, and create my own work system because I'm confident enough to not let anyone interfere with the role I've defined.
In 2013, I worked at ZARA in South Beach. After a 28-hour Amtrak ride, I was in South Beach, Miami, with $1,500 and no job lined up. I was unsure about what tomorrow would bring but reassured that my professional experience could guarantee my success within three months. Within 12 hours, I had a job paying $12/hr at the Pink Palm gift shop on Lincoln Rd. But I needed a second job if I wanted to change my life.
I work smart, not hard. Sometimes the two naturally align if the environment is right. ZARA wasn’t the right fit for me. After a scheduled weekend trip back home, I returned to work, and two hours into my shift, I looked around at the people I was working with, the argument I was having, and knew I was better than this.
A Broken Clock is Never Right
I was 27, working with teens who didn’t care about smart work, combined with my disinterest in validating people who think they’re cute, funny, charming, or that it’s no big deal. I’m not a likable person because I don’t think anyone is special.
I requested a weekend off to visit Brooklyn, three weeks ahead of time, and it was approved by the scheduling manager. While in Brooklyn, my cell phone lit up; it was a call from Miami. I ignored it. A manager left a voicemail asking where I was. I deleted the message. I’m not responsible for managerial miscommunication.
The following Tuesday I returned to work. My mansger asked me why I didn't show up on saturday. I called over the scheduling manager and she confirmed that I requested the day off.
I don't remember what started the argument, but this big-headed kid named Nico was telling me I act like a know-it-all, I didn't show up for work, and I made a mess of everything in the stockroom.
Before I left, I worked my ass off with the stock team, bringing in merchandise and organizing an overburdened stockroom. No matter how many products came in, we worked as a team to ensure everything fit and was easily accessible. I processed his claims within a few seconds and replied rightfully.
I work to make things easier for us and based off the rules management create with staff. I requested Saturday off and "X" admitted that she made a mistake.
But me making a mess? I couldn't understand so it was personal. Our manger came from the back and told us to chill out which allowed me to breathe. I paused and looked around at everyone staring at us.
Know Yourself
I was the fool. Not him. He was well-liked, sociable, and on his way to being promoted. I was the problem and thr scapegoat for the state of the stockroom when my back was turned. I finally understand who I was. After a second breath, I relased vocal vibrations. "Know what? I don't come to work to argue with people. I'm good." I grabbed my stuff.
The only other Black stock worker approached me and told me not to quit. I'm not sure what his thoughts were, but I confidently replied, "I'm ok."
As I walked back to my apartment, I thought about my rent. I spent a month working 70 hours a week between Zara and Pink Palm and having money stashed. I took in the salt-flled air of South Beach and I felt light. Free. I found a job in one day. A second job in a month. I'd be Ok.
Pink Palm was moving off Lincoln Road because rent was too high. I was already working 30+ hours on the strip because of my work ethic and now with my free time, I was splitting work between both stores and getting more hours.
Always Looking Forward
Even after getting my first job in South Beach, I searched Craigslist daily, sometimes during my lunch break. I knew two things. These jobs weren't guaranteed, and they weren't my end all. The two-year-itch might become a two-month itch.
Within two weeks, the foot traffic at the new Perfect Palm was abysmal. And within a week of my hours getting cut, I had a new job at the rooftop restaurant Juvia making $14/hr, 40 hours a week and with a set schedule.
I was working with a younger Haitian guy. A month into the job, he got fired. That's another story.
I'm still involved with retail, but only through ecommerce. The only egos I deal with are entitled owners. It's alwasy something.
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