Once upon a time I was a naive teenager. I lived in a kingdom called Midwest suburbia and the summer before I left for college, I worked at an illegal massage parlor outside Chicago for a day. Instead, I grew up with dreams of flying without wings and telepathic communication with my best friends. After I graduated high school, when I realized those dreams would never be achieved and that I desperately needed a summer job, I headed to the treasure trove of employment for unqualified minors: Craigslist.
But when you have no choice, last choice starts to look pretty good. I sent an email to Jason, the man who would become my boss. He scheduled an interview for the following week and I stopped looking at Craigslist in the meantime.
On the outside, the windows were decorated with plastic decals of palm trees and seashells. From the inside, cheap plastic blinds covered the storefront, blocking out sunlight and suspecting eyes. Once we got to the back office, Jason asked me a few questions. I was surprised when he recognized the small east coast university I was planning on attending.
What an odd question, I thought. Do my parents want me to be an independent individual that attempts to earn my own living? Jason schedules me to work from 12 p. I wear a forest green dress with short sleeves and a scoop neck. He teaches me how to turn the tanning beds on and off and how to answer the phone. As he leaves for the afternoon, I proverbially pat myself on the back. I am being paid to sit in a chair and press buttons, I think to myself. One of the Asian ladies brings in her two young children and their dog.
They speak to each other in Mandarin. A woman comes in to tan. When I was in high school, the Bravo series Real Housewives of β¦ was not a thing yet. But that is how I would describe her. She sports a maroon velour tracksuit. I give her goggles and press buttons like a pro as she enters one of the tanning rooms. Fifteen minutes later, she leaves the premises looking like Valentino.
