'The Job That Never Was' by Jan Lloyd

In hindsight I was a mere child when, aged fifteen and three-quarters, I walked into the Labour Exchange to obtain my first job. I was interviewed by a very austere lady called Mrs. Boyle who sat behind a large wooden desk in a very dark and gloomy office.
"Where would you like to work," she asked unenthusiastically.
"I want to be a fashion designer," I replied optimistically.
Mrs Boyle could barely cover up the tired, roll of her eyes, at my naive suggestion. She flicked through the box of cards as I looked on, waiting for the magic card that would transport me from this sleepy backwater onto the Kings Road, in London, to begin my dream career. Mrs. Boyle snatched out a card and said she'd got the perfect job for me. My excitement grew until she announced the job was for a trainee shop assistant at Modelias on the High Street. Without consulting me she telephoned the manager and arranged an interview for 3pm later that afternoon. I walked out of the office where my Mum was waiting for me. She was thrilled I'd got an interview in the very posh, ladies outfitters. I was dazed and confused!
"If you get the job, I'll buy you a new coat", my mum said, hoping this would encourage me.
We walked home where I got changed into the smartest clothes I could find and returned into town on the bus for 3'o'clock.
I felt sick as I approached Modelias. What was I meant to say? I had no experience of shop work and felt bewildered as I walked nervously through the door. I asked an assistant for Mr. Daniels, the manager. She ushered me upstairs and told me to sit and wait outside a large, brown door with a brass handle. My heart nearly burst through my chest when Mr. Daniels called me into his imposing office. He began by asking my name and address and I found myself leaning awkwardly onto his desk so I could prop my head up with my arm to control my shaking. He then asked why I wanted to work for Modelias. I didn't, so I couldn't really think what to reply other than I wanted to be a fashion designer. He smiled in a kindly manner and said reassuringly that working for Modelias would provide me with the necessary experience to be a fashion designer. I wanted to be reassured by this, but somehow this seemed a long way off from the pictures I had seen in Vogue as I looked up at the photographs of ladies dressed in fashion from the dark ages dotted around the room. This was the swinging sixties and I felt a distinct lack of swing from Mr. Daniels. I was brought back to reality when I heard him saying to me that I could start the following Monday at nine o’ clock.
It was with mixed emotions that I stepped off the bus with my new camel coat on and anxiously walked towards the High Street. This was my first job and at the end of the week I would be paid my first wage packet; but all I felt was disappointment. I had to report to Miss Stokes, the manageress, and she spent the first morning going through the strict regime and protocol of the store. I had to observe the "proper" way to deal with the loyal and mostly elderly ladies that shopped there. All the shop assistants were dressed in black and as I was shown around the store they looked me up and down, aghast at my choice of outfit, a mini skirt. The ground floor housed the separates, jumpers, underwear and hosiery. Upstairs, where I was to work, was coats, hats, dresses and evening wear.
After the first few days of observing Miss Stokes I had to work in the stock room with Mr. Daniels. This was a very stuffy and confined space and I was extremely apprehensive as he started explaining the procedures. He had a long list of numbers in his hand which had to be cross checked against the long rails of clothing before me. He started calling out the numbers whilst I was meant to tick each item off. I was feeling hot and confused and was desperately trying to look efficient. The day dragged on endlessly until the last item was crossed off. I emerged from the stock room feeling tired and frustrated, I realised that this was not a popular job amongst the other staff and it was given to me as the junior member.
Friday afternoon arrived and I was told to collect my wages from Mr. Daniel's office. He handed me a brown envelope and I went into the little kitchenette to reveal the contents. I counted out £4. 19. 11d, my first wage packet. This gave me a thrill and the difficulties of the first week were pushed to the back of my mind as I proudly placed the money in my purse.
I was only to receive one more wage packet from my employment at Modelias as the following week I was severely told off for serving Mrs. Prendergast, a regular customer who, by all accounts, was only ever served by Miss Stokes. I had broken the golden rule and actually sold a coat and hat and completed the whole transaction, wrapping up the items and taking the money. Miss Stokes was in fact in Mr. Daniels office at the time so I felt it was appropriate to use my initiative. Mrs. Prendergast left the shop looking very pleased with her purchases. Miss Stokes, on her return to the shop floor, when she discovered the misdemeanor, was not very pleased at all. Mrs. Tams, the assistant manageress took Miss Stokes aside and I overheard hushed voices from behind the curtains of the changing room and wondered what was afoot. I soon found out that I had overstepped my position and was notified of this in Mr. Daniels office.
I never returned to Modelias after collecting my second week's wages, instead I started as a junior clerk at the Shrewsbury Chronicle the following week. My aspirations of being a fashion designer were dashed and my youthful fantasies of working alongside Mary Quant and Twiggy unfortunately remained locked away in my head.