“Kendra Temples, Tanning Consultant”— time to print out the business cards and update the resume everyone, it’s official.
I make minimum wage plus a measly commission on any products I sell. Smile! Have energy! Educate the customer! Mention their dry looking skin!
Steve’s Dad watches me on the cameras to make sure I’m smiling enough. My face hurts and I swear I’m already getting wrinkles.
The company shirt is a bit lower than I’m used to and I’m not sure if it’s for the benefit of the customers or Steve’s Dad. He’s never actually said anything creepy but… I can feel his eyes on me.
Most of the customers are normal and friendly but there are a few gems:
- The lady who brought in her 14 year old son (I’m pretty sure that’s illegal here.)
- The juiced-up asshole who tried to neg me— “You know, you’d actually be kind of cute if you tanned.”
- The woman who tried on literally every swimsuit and asked my opinion about each one— “Wow, it looks great! Wow, THIS one is even better! Actually, this one is the best of all! You should buy it… please… buy it… for christ sake just buy it…”— She didn’t buy any of them.
All in all, I’ve had worse jobs. Much worse. And money is money, I can finally start paying Steve the back rent. I just hope one day I can make money doing something I enjoy. I haven’t tried the tanning beds yet, they kind of freak me out!