Maam?" The woman pokes her head nervously around the door, her middle-aged face weary from a full day of shopping. I need your help. Could you come and look at this?"
I quietly step into the small dressing room where the womans anxious face betrays her fear and confusion. She hesitantly explains the situation. Shes been shopping all day for a new bra, and after three stores and fifteen styles, she still can't choose a winner.
Maybe you can tell me what to do. Itit just isn't right."
Shes right. The cups gap open, and the band rides up on her back, giving minimal if any support.
Well," I reply, Id start by tightening the straps. If that doesn't work, go down a cup size."
Okay, so working at Victoria s Secret doesn't have quite the gripping intensity of brain surgery or forensic analysis. I walk around, ask people if they need help choosing a bra, monitor the fitting room, and straighten the panty tables almost incessantly.
When I first began working at what is arguably the best-known American lingerie retailer, I got a lot of questions from friends who saw my job as shrouded in some sort of glamorous, semi-sexual mystique. The girls wanted to know if shady-looking men with lingerie fetishes stalked me in the parking lot. The guys wanted to know what it was like to work with boobs for a living.
With tact and patience I responded to each question in turn. No, I am not followed throughout my day by crazy sex offenders. No, it isn't awkward to give bra fittings. No, I cannot hook you up with any of the Victoria s Secret models. No, we don't have to resemble those airbrushed Amazons in order to work there.
The truth is, my job is a lot like any other retail position. I spend long hours on my feet, field complaints about everything from the quality of our clothes to the stains on our carpet, and occasionally try to convince shoppers to sign up for our credit card. I spend most of my time cleaning up the store and gritting my teeth when little girls with no intention of buying anything come along and mess everything up again.
But although working at Victoria s Secret might not be as flashy as our million-dollar models make it seem, its not a bad little job. Sure, I get paid $7 an hour to put up with frustrated customersand trust me, you haven't seen angry until you see a woman who can't find a good brabut theres a fun side, too. The fitting room makes a great little hideout to swap scandalous stories, and the employee discount is a nice perk, too.
Hopefully someday I'll work my way up to something more than a part-time gig selling supportive undergarments, but I'm in no rush. If people want to believe my job is sexy and mysterious, they can go right on thinking that. I guess there are worse things in life than being identified with an international symbol of beauty and sex appeal.
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