One week later: “Sweetie, first of all, what do you do? Yeah, let me see your feet. Oh my God, amazing arches, with normal pronation—you’re a lucky woman. And the good thing about that is you’re protecting yourself from future shin splints. Let me get a shoe for you. It’s got a nice EVA midsole for a softer run, plus a padded sock liner for extra comfort. With those beautiful feet of yours, it’ll be like walking on air.”
I thought I had done well when I was making it up. But now that I was starting to understand the merchandise and learn the differences between supinate and overpronate, compression molding and injection molding, ethylene-vinyl acetate and polyurethane foam, I was unstoppable.
It turned out that personality plus knowledge equaled success.
The store paid us hourly and only gave us a commission after we surpassed a certain number of sales. When I finally got that first commission check, I was hooked. I kept asking for more hours at the store. I was willing to work as much as they were willing to let me and to cover anyone’s shift. I wanted to see how big I could get those checks to grow.
Thanks to my mom’s training in keeping busy, working double shifts came naturally to me, even with the forty-minute commute each way. And this was better than all my past activities: Not only did I get a check for it, but the better I got at it, the more I was paid. It was instant gratification.
One of my supervisors was a woman named Alice. She was in her late twenties, with a close-cropped haircut like mine, and always dressed casually in sweatpants, a T-shirt, and whatever new sneaker was out that season.
She was the first out-of-the-closet lesbian I’d known, and one of the coolest people I’d ever met. During the quiet night shifts, we’d sit together and she’d break down the way the world worked. I’d listen eagerly as she told me, in her easygoing way, about rent and bills, politics and culture, and other things I’d never learned in school.
She was also the first older woman I’d met who, like me, was a people person. She loved meeting everyone, and everyone loved meeting her. It wasn’t an act either. She had an accept-me-for-who-I-am-or-don’t-accept-me-at-all personality. And I thought, You’re so dope. The fact that this is who you are, and you embrace it without tiptoeing around it—I love it.
I realized through her that we move through life, especially in our first twenty-five years, as sponges, slowly soaking up information from different people, environments, and experiences—and this becomes us. Some people fill up early and get stuck in their ways, and others keep absorbing their whole lives. From Alice, I soaked up the idea that I can be me and be loved regardless of what others may say or think.
Not going to college, not taking the safe route, and not doing the by-the-book thing was tough. I doubted myself a lot, especially when I saw so many friends from high school and swim team moving into adulthood in a traditional way. But here was Alice: She hadn’t gone to college or followed a traditional path either, yet she’d become a store manager and was working her way up to the corporate level. She was smart, confident, and happy just as she was, and she never complained or envied anyone. She had her life together. I was in awe of her, and it helped me see that even though I was different from the high-achievers on swim team, I could make something of myself as well.
As the weeks continued to pass, the enjoyment I experienced from letting my personality shine and convincing people to buy sneakers intensified. City Sports became my world. After work, I’d hang out with Alice, her girlfriend, a security guard named James, a manager named Jay, Jay’s girlfriend, and half a dozen other store employees. They became a second family. Most of them were older than me, and I started to mature just through being with them and trying to keep up with their conversations. It was my first time in the adult world, and I was hearing about real problems with real consequences:
“My check for this week hasn’t cleared yet, and I can’t pay my bills.”
“I hear you. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep living in my place. The landlord is trying to evict me.”
“Well, look, let me check my balance and see if I can help you, but then you gotta pay it back by the end of the month because I got a car payment to make.”
I just sat there listening, thinking, Damn, I’m living at home with Mom, using my paycheck to buy the latest pair of Jordans. I need to grow up.
When I came home after work most nights, my mom would grill me like a police detective. She was sure I was on a street corner somewhere selling drugs. Otherwise, it didn’t make sense to her that I was working so hard without any lectures or discipline from her.
Eventually, she decided to come to City Sports and find out what was really going on. She walked through the entire store, examining everything. She watched me work and deal with customers. She even spoke with my coworkers. She would have made a great parole officer.
When I got home that night, she barraged me with more questions: “What are you getting paid? How much of that is commission? How often do you get a check? Are you looking to get promoted there or to work somewhere else?” And then came the real question, the one behind them all: “What are your plans for your life?”
I took a deep breath and told her that I was ready to take the next step: “I want to save up enough money to find my own place. This way, you won’t have to take care of me anymore.”
I waited for her reaction. She thought about it for a moment and then said, approvingly, “At least you’re starting to think ahead.”
27
* * *
ALL HAIL GENERAL HART
There was a Nike rep who used to come by the store with the latest sneakers and apparel. He was sharp, and his sales skills put me to shame. All I had was personality and entry-level knowledge, but he had the hookup, he had true expertise and authority, and he had a rare attribute that’s hard to learn: taste.
Whenever he came to the store, he made sure all our Nike products were placed and displayed to the company’s liking. If they weren’t, he’d rearrange them himself and explain why this way was better. Then he’d tell us about the products we were going to get in the next shipment, what was cool about each new item, and why we should be excited about them.
I never knew that this could be a career: just traveling to different stores and representing cool shit. He had what seemed like a high-level position with a prestigious brand, and he was apparently trusted to hustle alone, without a manager or supervisor breathing down his neck.
One night, after his third visit to the store while I was there, I came home and told my mom: “I got it figured out—I have a real plan now. I want to work for Nike, Mom!”