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Just
For the Taste of It
©2001 Karen Finlay
My first job wasn't a job, really
and it certainly wasn't a career it lasted for just
one day the summer before my sophomore year in high school.
My friend at the time, Adrienne Jones, was in my PE class, and
we became friends through the mutual humiliation of being bad
athletes. Her birthday was in December, and she had a slumber
party. I went to a lot of slumber parties back then, but hers
stands out for two reasons; she thought it was a good idea to
sleep outside in sleeping bags (it wasn't a good idea at all
it was freezing), and it was the first time I ever drank
Diet Coke.
Adrienne's dad was a bigwig at Coca-Cola, and at that time, Diet
Coke hadn't been released on the market. That night, he brought
home the prototype of what would become a mainstay of the modern
world for a bunch of fourteen year-olds to sample. We thought
we were so special, tasting this new drink. At the time I thought
it was gross I hated diet drinks and didn't have to worry
about calories, but now it's all I drink.
That summer, I hung out with Adrienne a lot. We saw "Flashdance"
and cut out the necks of our sweatshirts, we went to the mall
and bought glittery earrings for our newly pierced ears, and
did all the other geeky things that gawky teenagers do. Diet
Coke was being launched at the same time to the body-conscious
consumers of the eighties, and one day Mr. Jones approached us
with an "opportunity".
He asked us if we would go to some "target" grocery
stores and hand out samples. We would make $50 for one day's
work, but the catch was we had to do it alone we would
goof off too much if we had to do it together, and we had to
be serious professionals representing Diet Coke. The thought
of going to a strange grocery store in a strange town was daunting,
but fifty whole dollars was a lot of money. So I readily agreed
to do it one Sunday in August.
The Saturday before, I had been invited to go to Stinson Beach
with some kids from my church and I brought my friend Tammy along.
Tammy was what you could call "boy crazy", and she
knew how to flirt and make the boys chase after her. She was
blonde and pretty with a ton of self-confidence, despite a fairly
severe case of psoriasis on her legs and arms.
In the car on the way to the beach, it became obvious what the
day was going to be like. The older kids from Youth Group were
pretty much paired up, and the two boys our age were under Tammy's
spell. I felt shy and awkward and lonely, and Tammy, being fifteen
and hormonal, never noticed how uncomfortable I was and immediately
went off with her new "fans." Being that I was trying
to be a good sport, I took off my tee-shirt and shorts and sat
around in my bathing suit, but I was too shy to ask anybody to
rub sunscreen on my back and the other places I couldn't reach.
I also naively thought that maybe, just maybe, I would get a
tan for the first time in my life and finally look pretty and
healthy instead of a blindingly pale and freckly outcast. If
I got a tan, maybe a boy would like me, too.
I spent the day sitting with our totally uncool Youth Group leader
who tried (unsuccessfully) to get me to sing songs like "Kum
By Ya" while the other kids frolicked in the surf. Needless
to say, it wasn't a lot of fun. On the way home, Tammy kept hissing,
"What's wrong? Are you mad at me?" between getting
hickeys from Jeff Delmon in the back seat. Sure I was mad
I was jealous that I didn't have any boys wanting to kiss me
and that I had been stuck with the world's most boring adult
all day. But worst of all, I could feel a third degree sunburn
start blistering my nose and back.
By the time I got home, I was nauseous. My mother actually gasped
and ran for the Noxzema. I spent the rest of the night shivering
and crying. It was the most miserable sunburn I had ever had
in my life, and I had survived many.
I had been wearing sunglasses, and my skin had burned around
my glasses, making me look like a sunscorched raccoon. My scalp
had also burned, so my part matched my red hair perfectly. My
back, hands, legs, and feet were starting to blister, and it
was painful to walk, much less lay down. I slept fitfully for
a few hours, but at seven a.m., my mom came into my room to wake
me up I had to go to work!
Although she was very sympathetic, she was not letting me shirk
my responsibilities. I groaned and begged her to call Mr. Jones
and tell him that I couldn't make it, but she refused. She said
that I had made a promise and people were counting on me, and
at the end of the day, I would have fifty dollars of my very
own.
Since I was so sunburned, there was no way I could take a shower,
so I had to skip it. I hate skipping showers I always feel
disgusting but on that day it was especially bad. I was
gritty from sand and greasy from Noxzema and I felt like a dirty
bonfire. But what was worse was what I had to wear. As a Diet
Coke representative, I had to wear all white. My white jeans
were too tight and painful to put on, so I had to wear a pair
of my mother's old, white polyester pants. In 1983, the thought
of even touching polyester was so uncool it made me cringe. That
horror added to my misery, and I was sure the polyester would
melt from the heat of my skin. When I looked in the mirror, I
cried. I looked uglier than I ever could have imagined, and I
looked like I hurt. I could not believe that I had to smile for
nine hours and hand out samples of gross, brown liquid to try
to boost Diet Coke. If I saw me with a little white Dixie cup,
I would run in the other direction, terrified of the giant lobster
in polyester.
We had gotten the Diet Coke and the rest of the props a few days
before, so my parents drove me straight to an Alpha Beta supermarket
in San Mateo. I was wholly unfamiliar with the Peninsula, so
I felt as if I was going to a foreign country. We got to the
store a little after eight, and my mom and dad helped me set
up my "booth." I was supposed to stand all day, but
my mom felt sorry for me and brought along a little folding chair.
We got ice for the cooler, set up the card table, and hung up
the "TRY NEW DIET COKE!" banner. "At least you
match the logo," my Dad joked.
"Da-a-a-a-d!" I whined.
And then they were gone, promising to be back before five. I
was alone, my first day at "work". I don't remember
too much about it, except feeling hot, sick, and foolish. Most
people took the little cup samples, and I bravely smiled at everyone.
A lot of women gasped at me and said, "You poor thing!"
But a lot of people scurried past, hoping they wouldn't catch
what I had. One woman lectured me that soda pop was very bad
and could kill you, which made me feel even worse. The day dragged
on and on, and when I saw my parents coming toward me, I could
barely contain myself, but I stayed in check until we got everything
loaded in the car. Once in the backseat, I whimpered a little.
"We're proud of you, you know," my Dad said, but I
was too tired to talk, and I slept the whole way home.
I never got to do it again, because obviously Diet Coke was a
huge success and didn't need sunburned teenagers to peddle it
to the American public. I was disappointed because I really liked
earning that fifty dollars and if I hadn't been blistering and
on fire, I would have enjoyed it a lot more. And I guess I learned
a few lessons I have always used sunscreen, I have become
very good at retail, and I have never, ever worn white polyester
pants again.
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Fall 2001