My first paying job was at an exclusive retail store in Southern California. I was hired to send notices to those clients who were late on their monthly payments and was given pre-written notices, envelopes and a pen. I was supposed to address them by hand.
At the end of the counter I saw a typewriter; I thought it would be easier to type the envelopes and it would look more professional and I was right. The office manager was pleased and asked me to help with other tasks; I obliged.
One summer afternoon, the general manager paid us a visit looking for a person to model the winter wardrobe just coming into fashion; I was designated as the model and was featured in the local newspapers, not because I was beautiful, but because I was available at the last minute. This was the beginning of my career as a floater in the store. When an employee called in sick, guess who was called to fill in? Soon, I was the expert on all the floors.
Bessie was the elevator operator and she took her job seriously. She never called in sick, she was never late and she loved her job, which she performed to perfection. I can still hear her say, first floor, sportswear; second floor, ladies wear; third floor, better dresses; fourth floor, children’s wear and toys; fifth floor, bargains. She knew everyone and everyone loved her.
This one day, she missed the bus and was late for work. In time, the store opened and the elevator needed a substitute; I was called to the task. I was delighted the management trusted me with the job.
My first attempt to level the elevator floor to the store floor was less than perfect. I stopped the elevator six inches below the floor level and no matter how many times I tried, was unable to completely level the elevator to the store floor. The elevator riders were not amused, complained to whoever would hear them and made a terrible fuss over the ups and downs I had forced them to endure. It was not my fault.
With time and until Bessie arrived to take her job back, I was able to learn how to do a passable job with the elevator wheel; it was not fun and I’m sure Bessie never forgave me for the mishap.
Being the time before wireless phones, I was often asked to work the switchboard; many times I connected the wrong wire to the wrong office and most other times I connected the wire to a busy line. It was a terrible thing to do, as many people were able to listen to private conversations between callers and I was blamed, needlessly.
A microphone dangled from the ceiling to mouth-level of the switchboard to make it easier for the receptionist to make announcements to the entire store. This one time, I forgot to turn the mike off and proceeded to announce there was a phone call for the store manager from his girlfriend. The manager was a married man. It didn’t get me fired, but I was no longer at the switchboard following that mishap.
My career as a model lasted only one season; photos were taken, newspaper ads featured the store apparel but it was never a job I liked very much. In summer, models wore winter garments and in winter, summer garments can be very uncomfortable. Either way, it wasn’t as much fun as people think.
And I never forgot how I spied so many movie stars shopping for items we assume someone else can buy for them. It was a time when young people were star-struck just at the mention of the stars names, and I was no exception. It was a good time to appreciate talent and beauty at the theatre and at a movie house.