It'll Never Show On Camera
The Disk Jockey Who Hated Women's Underwear
 was really good with children's clothes. I had a second, evening job at Robert Hall where they carried a modest line of kiddy wear. You could give me a kindly grandmother looking for a snowsuit for
her latest little nipper and I was a terror. Of course there was no commission
for moving that stuff. But
I was a big hit with the grannies.
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For a while it was the extra paycheck I needed to feed a family that was growing at an alarming pace. Actually it was a tiny brown
envelope with a few greenbacks, a handful of coins and a handwritten notation on
the outside about the deductions and a blank (for me) to note any fiscal
complements from Apparelmeister Hall. Eventually it dawned on me that this, too,
was not the road to riches. I suppose it became particularly apparent when I
noticed that I had spent most of my meager earnings on a couple of Robert Hall
suits of my own (albeit without "linings hand stitched by Italians" or, in fact, by anyone else)
and was reaching my peak at pitching darling little playsuits to sincere elderly ladies. |
I was sick of being on my feet from 6 to 9PM every night after spending
eight or ten fun filled hours scheduling commercials and arguing with salesmen at my day job
at the TV station.
Recognizing that this career phase had rapidly matured for me, I was ready to say farewell to the stimulating world of retail sales and fifty buck suits and began to look for something a little more like show biz as a second job. Or something where I could sit down from 6 to 9PM, whichever I found first. Both opportunities were not far away. |
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next night job was at Shopper's Paradise. The
Paradise was generally distinguishable from your average industrial grade
warehouse by its clever - and large, very large - red neon signs proclaiming it
to be the home of BEST BUYS FOR THE ENTIRE FAMILY and really distinctive
attention grabbers like SALE TO-DAY! If you've ever been in an older K-Mart store you've got the general idea although
you're still thinking a bit upscale. |
| I have absolutely no recollection as to how I found my part-time job there at Shopper's Paradise but it seemed that there was a sort of show biz connection. For I was going to be a genuine Disk Jockey! Sure, sure. Every cut-rate, off-the-rack discount store has a disk jockey. Well this one was about to and I was going to be it. |
it came to pass that on a blustery evening early one Spring in the long
ago mists of the early sixties that I trekked from my tiny shared office at the
tiny TV station over to Shopper's Paradise instead of across town to my old second job at Robert Hall.
Or to home which would have been my first choice if I could have afforded it. Mr. Puglowski (everyone else called him Ernie, he called me Hey You) showed me
to my stool tucked away behind the credit desk near the front of the store.
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Someone at Shopper's Paradise had wired up a microphone and 45rpm turntable - you
remember, the kind with the fat spindle for little bitty records - and had connected
them both to the store's general public address system:
"Shopper's Paradise customers. Unbreakable plastic bowls are only three for I NEED A PRICE CHECK! ELASTIC TOP PANTIES! REGISTER FOUR!" Did Dick Clark start this way? Well, maybe it was time for some music. "And now for your listening and shopping pleasure we present that singing rage Miss Patty Page asking the musical question STOCK CHECK! WE GOT ANY MORE OF THE STRAPLESS POLYESTER BRAS? CHECK FOR A 38C IN BLACK FOR REGISTER SIX! CUSTOMER WAITING!" And so went the first evening. DON'T PLAY SO MUCH MUSIC! SPEAK UP! And the second. DID YOU READ THE NEWSPAPER ADS TO THEM YET? WHY ARE YOU TALKING WHEN THE GIRLS ARE TRYING TO USE THE P.A.? And the third, fourth and yea, even the fifth. SHE WANTS THE NO-SEAM SLENDERAMA GIRDLE WITH THE MAGIC TONER FINGERS. OK, OK, HAVE HER GO OVER TO AISLE ONE BUT WE'RE PROBABLY OUT OF SIXTEENS UNTIL NEXT WEEK! |
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have long suspected that my latent feelings about women's underthings can be
directly traced to the trauma of those few sordid evenings. However I'm pleased
to report that with a great deal of caring therapy and some creative field trips
I eventually got over the fear and loathing I had developed about that whole
topic and ultimately came to accept that bras and panties are just fine on or
near their proper places.
But there are still some aisles in the personal apparel sections of large, cement block discount stores that frighten me a little whenever I find myself there alone. |