My First Job Could Have Been My Last
I was a teenage telemarketer
I was a teenaged telemarketer. It was my first actual job.
In my senior year of high school, I got an after-school job in downtown Pittsburgh. I’d looked through the Sunday paper and found an ad for phone sales. Went to the address, filled out the paperwork, and was hired. Pay would be a weekly check.
On my first day, I was given a script (magazines!) and walked through the calls. After a while, I did the calls on my own. Took the bus home. Easy-Peasy.
Two days later I was back. I jumped right into things: purse in the coat closet. Sat at my station and took in the tools I was given: blue cards were folks that had just had baby boys and pink was for baby girls. Green were new homeowners. Each color went with a script I was to use in order to pitch them magazine subscriptions.
Keep in mind that there was no internet then, people read newspapers, magazines, and books to learn and be informed. Just me and two other callers, and the supervisor. I was working my way through the calls and when I got to the end of the cards the other callers were gone. It was time to leave.
I wrote my time on the call sheet and left it on the desk. I didn’t see the supervisor. I remembered him from my interview, he was a friend of the manager. They’d mentioned knowing each other since Viet Nam.
(This was in the mid-’70s, kids.)
As I turned around from the closet after getting my purse, I walked right into the guy. He had been behind me, standing very close. He said something about it being late, and that he’d better walk me outside. Did I have someone waiting for me? I lied and said yes. I wasn’t comfortable although I didn’t know why, exactly. I was 17.
I thought you said you took the bus, he said.
Then he slid his hands up my arms, to my shoulders, stepping closer, pushing me back against the closet door.
I was scared. I ducked under his arm and out the front door. We were a suite of offices in a big multi-story building, several floors up. I heard him call after me, saying to stop.
I ran down the hall, turned the corner to the restrooms. Past the restroom, I pushed the elevator button down. (I could hear him yell. If I didn’t come back I was fired.) I turned and ran to the restroom and slammed the door.
Then I went to the stairs and carefully closed them behind me. I went up the stairs, running as quietly as I could to the next-to-the-top floor. I huddled against the wall, covered my mouth with my hands, and cried.
I don’t know how long I was there. I heard him open the doors and head down the stairs. He kept calling me, saying he just wanted to talk. Everything would be OK. No one would be mad at me.
I held my purse to my chest, cried, and waited. When I thought he was gone I crept down the stairs and got on the first bus I saw. I had to transfer twice to get home. My mom was irritated that I was late.
On the buses, I realized I’d left a school book in the closet. I’d need to pay for it. (I got in trouble for that.)
My father scolded me for quitting. I must not have been cut out for sales, he said(which is, now, funny, as I’ve been selling my whole life, it seems).
Didn’t I have any discipline? Was I aware you couldn’t go through life a quitter? (The guy was the bosses friend. I didn’t tell.) I needed to do some growing up! Life wasn’t going to just be handed to me! I needed to learn to keep my commitments!
My paycheck was mailed to me the next week. Under $20.00.
It bounced.
My father had an opinion about that, too. They were jokers. Mustn’t have been a legit business, anyways. Not a real job. You had to be careful. I should go back down there, he said, and get my money.
I never told them why I didn’t go back.
After I graduated I got another job downtown. About 4 blocks away from that first-job-building. I used to watch for his face when I waited for the bus. I never felt totally safe. And that was true for over six years. For as long as I worked downtown.
I’ve thought about this over the days, months, and years since that time, since that first job, since that first lesson that has informed so much in my life. A man deciding he could just reach out and take, just because.
- Because I was a pretty little thing.
- Because he was bigger.
- Because he was in charge.
- Because he knew the boss.
- Because he could.
- Because he made it sound that it was my fault when he called to me.
I know now:
It wasn’t my fault. I was underage, he was my supervisor, he had no right.
I was right to trust my instincts and run. I wasn’t powerless, I was as calm as I possibly could have been and I instinctively did the right thing. The today-me is proud of that girl who knew she needed to get a job, found it herself, and made the best decisions she could.
I should have told. If the shame of the situation hadn’t poisoned me I should have told to spare another girl that same attack. To get my money for that first job. To wash away the surety I felt that I deserved it, that it was my fault.
It was my first job. It was also the incident that filled me with fear and uncertainty that followed me for years.
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About the Creator
Judey Kalchik
It's my time to find and use my voice.
Poetry, short stories, memories, and a lot of things I think and wish I'd known a long time ago.
You can also find me on Medium
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Comments (3)
Judey, I can imagine what you must have gone through. Something a little similar happened to me, except that the guy (a regular employee) wanted to beat the crap out of me. He bothered me for months after that. (It was back in 2008.) As women, we go through so much. Many don't realize that. Thank you for sharing your story with us. You should indeed be proud of your decision. You made the right one.
This stuck with me when I first read it. Such a scary situation!
The “Today Me” is proud of you too. How awful that that was your introduction to work.