‘Despite the lows, my memories of Toys R Us are extremely fond.’ Composite: Maggie Zhou/Guardian Design View image in fullscreen ‘Despite the lows, my memories of Toys R Us are extremely fond.’ Composite: Maggie Zhou/Guardian Design A job that changed me Australian lifestyle A job that changed me: Working at a toy store was my teen feminist awakening I loved the business of selling toys – it felt like I was selling joy. But my least favourite part was the gendered language
Prefer the Guardian on Google I was 15 when I landed my job at Toys R Us. Before that, my first job was a one-month stint at the local fish and chip shop, where I was paid in $20 bills slotted into Chiko roll packets. After a burn on my forearm (I still have it), I left the gig. That was the end of my hospitality career.
This was 2014. I knew my strengths and weaknesses; I was no good with deep-fry baskets or carrying more than one thing in each hand. I wanted to work in the hallowed halls of retail.
Lucky for me, there was an excess of Christmas casual jobs specifically looking for the youngest workers they could legally pay the least. So I became one of Toys R Us’s checkout chicks, dressed in a blue polo shirt, black pants, a lanyard and my school shoes. I processed transactions, pointed customers in the right direction, counted the end-of-day tills and cleaned up the store once the doors shut. To decompress, I’d play a few rounds of Bop It! in the board games aisle.
I loved being in the business of selling toys. It felt like I was selling joy. As with any job involving children, there were ugly bits. Vomit and urine in aisles weren’t uncommon sights – though it was the floor staff’s job to deal with the clean-up. We also had its subsidiary, Babies R Us, in the store. I found it amusing that 17-year-olds were allowed to advise expectant parents on breast pumps.
Read more As a burgeoning feminist, my least favourite part of the job was the gendered language entrenched in the industry. I took great pleasure in playing dumb – head cocked to one side, brows furrowed – when customers asked where the “girls” or “boys” toys were. If forced to adopt such language, I’d pair it with exaggerated air quotes.
A woman once called to place an order for balloons for her grandson’s birthday. We took down the typical details – how many balloons? When could she pick them up? – but when it came down to the colour, we touched a nerve. “The boy colour!,” she insisted. She arrived and we handed her a bunch of blue balloons. She recoiled. She wanted red. Obviously.
I saw hyper-consumerism on overdrive. I worked an overnight shift during Chadstone Shopping Centre’s 34-hour Christmas trade period , watching on as frantic shoppers raced to purchase plastic that would end up in landfills by the next festive season. I came to understand that retailers employ harsh lighting in windowless stores so shoppers are unaware of the time.
I met dozens of adults hardcore into collectibles, getting us to bring out boxes of Hot Wheels from the backrooms so they could rifle through stock before it hit the shelves. I learned that we’d play Justin Timberlake’s Can’t Stop The Feeling! on the hour, every hour, the year the Trolls movie came out. I knew which toy was hot one month, and which would be the next big thing the month after. It was a short course in capitalism.
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