My very first “real” job, when I was fourteen was at Northland Mall, mentioned in my fictional story The Boy and The Bear. The title refers to a famous Marshall Fredericks statue that was instantly identifiable with the place.
I’m sure thousands of kids from the north side of Detroit and the southern part of Oakland County had their first employment experience in that mall.
While the story isn’t about the mall itself, writing the story reached in and just yanked out bucketfuls of emotions and memories I didn’t expect.
I worked at Dairy Nut House, a soft serve ice cream joint with a large assortment of nuts by the ounce or lb or whatever weight you wanted.
I understood the importance of being employed. I’m from Detroit, for fucks sake, it was almost like childhood was the waiting room before the UAW.
What I didn’t understand was how little minimum wage was after taxes.
Once I was at work, I was at work in the eyes of my mom and stepdad, and I would call for a ride or catch a ride to come home.
On slow days the Nut House would cut me early and I’d just wander the mall rather than go home.
Hudson’s was the flagship store, and they sold a variety of popular clothes.
Another mall employee/classmate who I got to know taught me (among a few other criminal enterprises), a technique for shoplifting Polo shirts, which we would then resell at 100% profit.
The tags on garments that set off anti-theft alarms are in direct response to the kind of things we used to do before that technology was implemented.
We had a good racket going, then I was fired from my job at Dairy Nut House and accused of stealing. It was ironic and infuriating. I stole regularly from three stores at the mall and my place of employment wasn’t one of them.
I was so upset I cried. The assistant manager chased me down the main walkway of the mall and pressed 60 bucks in my hand, saying simply “I did it. I know you won’t narc.”
I didn’t cry over losing the job,I hated the job. I cried over my anticipation of my stepfather’s reaction and from the lost opportunity to hang at the mall and rip off stuff far more lucrative than sprinkling almond bits on swirl cones.
I seem to remember lying that I was going to apply at other stores in the mall, just for the opportunity to go back and steal Polos and even Roots shoes (I apologize to the entire country of Canada).
When that ruse was discovered, and by now sporting a shaved head as the snotty little punk rock kid I was, my friend and I moved on to cars.
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