Rise Up

I am, by nature, a humble person. Despite all the posts, blogs, and videos I send out, I really am just a quiet and sometimes shy kid. The stage, pen and paper allow me to open up and be loud, and then just go back to being in my comfort zone. That's not to say performing or writing is out of my comfort zone - I'm just trying to say that I'm not always "on," since I have outlets to express myself creatively. Being in a business where you have to constantly market and promote yourself can be difficult. I feel like I'm always selling.
A. B. C. - Always Be Closing.
I could never do sales. By the way, I have a show tonight at in the DeMaat Theatre at Second City tonight, and the next two Fridays, at 9pm, Aim Low, Sweet Patriot, http://www.secondcity.com/training/chicago/performances/detail/1515/ .
Back in college, I did a 3 month tour of duty at a semi-high-end clothing and outdoorsman store.
Jobs back in high school and college were easy to obtain. Times were good, and all you had to do was lap around the mall to stack up some job applications. The hardest part was then taking the 5-7 minutes for EACH ONE, mind you, to fill them out (in contrast, when I was scouring the earth for teaching jobs, one online application was so unique, it took 90 minutes to complete). Once the apps were completed, you did another lap with hands still sticky from Cinnabon, slapped those babies down on the glass counter of their home store, and wait for the clam shell to ring.
After my 20 minute interview and mock costumer sale, I was now a sales associate for E. Bauer (to be discreet). I worked about 25 hours a week telling people that our denim was special and that puffy down jackets are, and always will be, a fashionable necessity. I slung backpacks like a Caribbean kid slings candy to tourists. It was miserable. Over those 3 months, I ran ragged quickly. Not the job itself, but those in charge. They made straightening clearance items as stressful as bomb squad detail - having to touch every item in the store by time trial. While the managers would pretend it would take them 45 minutes to count money from a drawer, we wiped sweat from our eyes and carefully cut wires, combed for landmines, and re-hung flannels.
One day, however, I was the one that went off.
It was "Corporate Day," a day where the Alec Baldwins of EB would come in and judge everything you're doing, tell you to move around the whole store while they sipped coffee and hollered motivational acronyms, only to come back 3 months later and tell us we didn't win the car. Or the knives. And to move everything back to the way it was.
We reported to the store 2 hours before opening. I knew we'd be hauling denim towers and camisole bundles around, so I didn't bother to tuck in my shirt. This guy came to work.
As I was carrying a 30 lb stack of boot-cuts, Alec waved me over. "Hey Buddy. Hi, I'm Alec," as he extended his baby-so-soft hand out to shake mine. I clumsily maneuvered the Sherpa-load in my arms. "Oh..hello...I'm...struggling...I'm Dave."
"Hey Buddy, listen. We have really high standards here. That's why we hire people like you. I KNOW it's busy, and that we're ALL working right now, but could you please tuck your shirt in? You can even leave your stack with me so you can go use a mirror in back."
My mouth sounded like one of those big machines that grates up concrete. "Sure. I'll be right back."
When I came back, the jeans I had been slugging around were left on a table right where we had been talking. After a few breathes, I got back to work.
Just minutes later, as Alec and Billy were walking around with a clipboard of pictures describing how they wanted us to build their pyramids, the Baldwin approached me again as I was shuffling up some flannel.
"Hey, Bud."
Bud? Are we at this step in our incredibly professional relationship yet?
"Hey Alec. What's up?"
"Hey. I know we're moving the merch around and we don't open for another hour, but can you do me a favor? We have high standards here, and that's why we hire people like you. Would you mind just going ahead and slapping on that name tag for us?"
Someone fired up that machine again.
"Sure. No problem."
This guy was setting me off. I slumped back to my familiar friend the mirror, and put on my magnetic name tag. In the mirror, I imagined "Dave" read as "8473".
As we finally finished up, The Baldwins were looking over their creation in the store, even making those frames with their fingers to look through, like art appreciators surveying their wing of the museum. Even though it was just shy of 10, we raised the gate and as a couple of the competitive mall walkers were getting in their laps they hustled through, ignoring our cat-calls about "everything from here back being 30% off."
Alec approached. Since we were done with the remodel and the store was basically open, I was half-expecting a "Thanks!" or even a half-witted smile. I didn't get either.
"Hey Buddy."
"Dave."
"Hey, do you know where you guys keep a ladder?" 
"Oh sure, it's just in the back storage area. By the dressing rooms."
"Oh, great! Super. Thanks."
Awkward pause and stare-down.
"Would...would you like me to get it for you, Alec?" My skin began to sweat with sarcasm.
"Oh that'd be great! Look, we open in 5 minutes, and we just decided to swap locations of the polos and the tees. If you can get it done in 3 minutes, we'll give you an extra 15 minute break today!"
"Oh. Oh gosh! Really?" the words drooled vitriol as they leaked from my mouth. "That'd be awesome! I'll get to it right now!" My eyes turned black.
I went to the storage area I told Alec the ladder would be. I knew before walking in that's not where we kept it. I shuddered for a few breaths as I was catching it. This guy set me off. And it wasn't even 10am yet. Something had to be done. I had to do it. Not just for me, but for the proletariat that made the store hum.
I approached Alec with that ladder in hand. "Here's your ladder, BUD!" I said, uppercutting him with 9 feet of steel. He flew through the belts and wallets display, right into the storage room. "Now, YOU'RE on break!" I say as coolly as Stallone.
I laugh. I look up. Nope. Still in the storage room searching for an exit. I have to go out in fashion - like our 100% leather, fleece insulated gloves, now 70% off.
I was content with just walking out. I peered out through the door, noticed a few more stragglers being yelled at about 30% off by the nervous and already exhausted workers; saw Alec oozing with false charm as he was trying so desperately to smug some luggage off on a guy completely disinterested; I saw the exit. I took my chance.
I nervously and slowly made my way to the front of the store. In my head, an old lady approached me asking about hiking boots. "Sorry, Old Lady! Not today!" I pushed her forehead and she flew back still clutching her walker, taking out the sunglasses stand. She exploded on impact, creating a bad ass smoke plume for me to walk through in slow motion. I caught a pair of the hurdling sunglasses, put them on casually and walked out.
I came out of my daydream. I was so close to the exit. I plucked my magnetic name tag off my shirt, and put both fists in the air as I neared freedom. Sort of a double-fisted Judd Nelson. My voice, barely above my normal inside voice, confidently stated, "Later, bitches!" My fists slowly unclenched and became middle fingers. I placed my name tag onto the metallic opening of the door archway. I was free. I looked back casually, saw someone that looked like the Baldwin refolding a pair of Chinos, and brought my pace to a brisk walk. I caught up to the peloton of exercise walkers, blended in with their brightly colored nylon tracksuits, and made my exit.