Notes from a messy desk…
Recently the news has contained reports of the Hudson’s Bay Company, in existence since 1670, closing up shop. Fur trade aside, “The Bay” grew to over 90 department stores across Canada, including one in Prince Albert during the 1970’s and 80’s. We also had the small store on River Street, eventually sold and re-named the Northwest Company. My personal experience involved The Bay at the South Hill Shoppers Mall.
For a shy teenager just out of high school, employment at a department store felt quite intimidating. What possessed me to apply there anyway? But I did, and – really? — they hired me on with zero experience! Yay! Visions of “What will I wear?” danced through my head alongside “How much money will I make?” $2.10 an hour, as it happened; a few cents above minimum wage. “Yippee! Spending money!” thought I.
My enthusiasm was dampened somewhat by my parents’ annoying expectation that since I still lived at home, I’d kick in for expenses. Seriously? Pay to live where I’d always lived? It just felt wrong. But how could I argue, when my older siblings had been subjected to the same deal? So $100 of my monthly wage would go to keeping a roof over my head and food in my mouth. I crunched some numbers: a place of my own would run almost triple that amount, never mind groceries, laundry, a television to watch, etc. etc. etc. Apparently my parents’ terms weren’t so unreasonable after all. Agreement made.
The next couple of years in retail prompted me to grow. Timid little me not only got better at math and handling cash, but at conversing with strange people (ie. the public – sometimes strange indeed). I learned how to take direction as well as responsibility, and not only survived, but thrived. Before all that could happen, though, I had to enter through those big glass doors on my very first day.
Naturally I felt nervous, but also excited. My green jumper and white blouse looked fashionable and businesslike. Beige platform shoes literally brought me up in the world. Maybelline mascara, a gold barrette in my hair, polished fingernails – I was ready.
The employee lockers, bathroom, and coffee room were upstairs at the north end of the store. I was assigned to work with a lady named Lena in the tobacco and candy department, near the mall entrance at the south end. She and I, enclosed in a rectangle of glass counters full of merchandise, with a gate-like door and our own cash register, were in charge of smokers’ supplies, bulk candy, watches, alarm clocks, electric shavers, assorted costume jewellery, and more.
On that first morning, it wasn’t long before the sickly sweet aroma of wine-dipped cigars and Skoal chewing tobacco at one end of the counter, and the sugary chocolate smell from bins of mint patties, Slowpoke clusters, and Petite Oh Henry bars at the other end, met me and my stomach in the middle.
I was going to barf and that’s all there was to it. Covering my mouth, I made a beeline through cosmetics, purses, housewares, fabrics and furnishings toward the stairs. Then up, two steps at a time, and into a bathroom stall. Just. In. Time.
My Hudson’s Bay career was in the toilet. Things could only get better from here.
And so they did. Amazingly, I became accustomed to the tobacco and candy smells. But I still have an aversion to mis-shapen chocolate blobs full of peanuts, and God willing, I’ll never see another can of Skoal chewing tobacco.
Lorna Blakeney is an avid writer who enjoys photography, history, travel, and genealogy. She was born and raised in Prince Albert, earned a B.A. from the University of Saskatchewan, likes to walk, and loves coffee shops. Her column appears the first Friday of every month.
