By Debbie Boutlilier
I had a couple of non-glamorous jobs. The first was in high school when I worked for Towers in a food kiosk in the mall serving up sandwiches, hot dogs, coffee and pop to mall shoppers. I remember the lovely red and white polyester flammable uniforms we had to wear with the very sexy wedged heeled white nurses shoes. I didn’t mind the night shifts since, all we had to do was show up, count our till and head to whichever kiosk we were assigned too. Everything was in place and all we had to do was get through our shift and then do clean-up. It wasn’t too bad. I usually lucked out and was assigned at the end of the mall by IGA so I mostly catered to the staff there, except if I worked on Friday and Saturday nights when I often got the early patrons from the “Whale” who were coming down to use the bank machine around 9:30 and decided they had the munchies. The only bright side was that they usually tipped well and when you were making $2.40 an hour any tip was appreciated. The Saturday day shifts were what I hated as you had to go in early to do all the prep work for the food for the day. That meant boiling dozens of eggs, then having to peel them for egg salad, then there were the chicken salad sandwiches that had to be made and so on. Plus you had to work in the main restaurant portion with others. I much preferred to be queen of my castle in the kiosk. Needless to say I only lasted a year before I gave it up to focus on school.
The next non-glamorous job was the summer before university when I worked full time at Dairy Queen. I often worked during the day shift, which meant getting there early and having to scrub down the grill, clean out the fat fryers and filters, and do a double check on the soft ice cream machines. The other was slaving over the grill, as I often caught lunch duty there as oppose to serving at the counter. I recall having to go down to the creepy basement. I always hated to having to go down there as it was always dank and dark, and as the store backed onto railroad tracks, if a training was going by, the building shook. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. The only fun was getting to make the dilly bars, fudge bars and ice cream sandwiches. It didn’t pay well either but at least the brown shirts were not as scratch inducing as the Tower uniforms, although, no less sexy.
There is always the potential for a story to be weaved. Perhaps, the kiosk girl is a few year older, happens upon a mysterious repeat customer and they engage in a verbal exchange that slowly turns into a romance or the Dairy Queen store is overrun by imps from the basement and a dark handsome werewolf comes to the rescue.
Who knows, maybe something will pop-up in a future story with a little twist.