I was walking through the mall, looking for signs that anyone might be hiring. Times were tough and most retail stores were letting people go, but I needed a job. Bills don't care what some stock market somewhere does. They demand to be paid. The mall was the one place where I could take a walk, see a help wanted sign and get a pretzel all at the same time.
The German themed bookstore was hiring, but just as I was about to walk in and ask for an application, I realized that I was dressed for the harsh winter outdoors. My parka, toque and Sorels were not the look I needed to land a job.
When I went home to change, I picked out a little black Jean Patou dress. It was casual enough to not look too formal for a bookstore and I knew it made me look better than all the slackers in t-shirts and jeans who would be applying for the same position. Whether the store manager was a man or a woman, that dress would help me stand out. Albeit for different reasons.
Back at the bookstore, I asked for an application. There were three people behind the counter. One was obviously a cashier. Her opinion was irrelevant. The man and woman standing a few paces back and away from the general public were clearly in management, but I couldn't tell who was the manager and who was the assistant manager. Maybe one of them was a district manager, but they looked like they did more work than that. Though clearly not as much as the cashier.
Before I could fill out the application, both the man and woman asked me to step outside for an interview. This was a small bookstore. The tiny backroom was big enough to hold a few cleaning supplies and boxes of stripped books, but nothing close to a break room. The interview took place at a table near the mall's food court.
Marlene introduced herself as the store manager. Josef was the assistant manager. What really struck me about the interview was their complete honesty.
“We want to hire you because you look right for the part,” Marlene told me. “You'll look good in the uniform.”
Oktobookfest was famous for two reasons. According to the corporate line, customers went for the discount prices on every single book they sold. Nothing went for the cover price. According to almost everyone else, the store was known for how its employees dressed. Every man wore lederhosen and white shirts. No hats, unfortunately. Every woman wore a short dirndl. One of the first things I noticed the first time I set foot in one of their stores was that none of the women seemed to be wearing bras. I wondered if that was a coincidence, until Marlene told me how to wear the uniform.
What I wore under the skirt was my own business, but bras were verboten. The only thing women were supposed to wear above the waist were a low cut white peasant blouse and a dark brown bodice that acted as a shelf bra. While the bodice as bra should have been my biggest complaint, it was the apron over the skirt that annoyed me the most. This was not a food service job, and I thought the white apron might be a bad idea while working around dusty books. In hindsight, I should have worried more about working with nothing more than a peasant blouse to cover my admirable breasts. Most of the male customers would turn out to be either middle aged men who were always on the lookout for a midlife crisis or socially awkward nerds who came to the bookstore for our large selection of science fiction and large breasted Verkäuferin.
Despite having shopped there from time to time, I never realized that Oktobookfest was the Hooters of bookstores until my first day on the job. At least at Hooters, you could flirt with customers for better tips. Flirt with customers at a bookstore and they will talk all day about that great novel they intend to write at some indeterminate point in the future.
I also realized on the first day that this would be the worst job I ever had. At least until the next one.
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