Nicole Cocuy is a senior communication studies major and co-editor-in-chief of The Current. In 2012, Cocuy worked as a seasonal cast member at The Disney Store.
Desperate for money and eager for work experience, I decided to beef up my resume through an entry-level job I thought I could excel in: retail.
At the time, I was a freshman and had no clue what I wanted to do with my life, but there were a few things I knew about myself: I knew how to shop, I knew how to fold clothes, and I tend to be a relatively friendly person. So when I accepted a position as a seasonal cast member at the Disney Store that fall, I assumed that the following months of employment would be a breeze. I mean, how difficult could it be to put on a smile, carefully organize plushes and wish everyone a magical day? Apparently, not as easy as I had initially thought.
I was one of 19 seasonal employees hired that fall, and because we were overstaffed, I only worked maybe one or two shifts before being thrown into the madness of Black Friday. But despite my extreme lack of experience and unfamiliarity with many of the procedures, I was optimistic. So after a brief nap and with a turkey-filled belly, I threw on my costume ― Disney-speak for uniform ― and my Mickey ears. I kissed my guests, who were still at my house at the time, goodbye and left my house at around 10:30 p.m. to make my 11:30 shift.
I felt pretty good about myself. I was put in charge of pajamas and plushes in the very back of the store ― familiar territory. But once the clock struck midnight, my confident smile faded away as a frenzied mob stampeded toward me like a pack of wildebeests. My beautifully organized rack of pajamas that I spent a full half-hour perfecting was torn apart within the minute as angry parents fought over Rapunzel nightgowns and matching Mickey Mouse loungewear.
Small children swarmed around me, tossing plushes across the store like footballs with their sticky hands ― plushes that I carefully arranged by movie, size and theme ― and screamed to their parents to buy them the giant Perry the Platypus. I was tugged in 20 different directions to search for sizes, reach unreachable items ad answer questions that I did not know the answer to. I was constantly cleaning, only to have my area destroyed over and over again.
The store was at its maximum capacity for about four hours, and unfortunately for me, pajamas were the hottest deal of the evening. Parents lugged their screaming, sleep-deprived toddlers around in strollers at 3 a.m. through the tightly-arranged aisles straight to the back of the room to yell at me whenever they couldn’t find their desired sizes. One mother made me get on a ladder, knock down every giant stuffed Minnie Mouse on display and make a massive mess just to prove to her that they all are same exact model as the Minnie Mouse she already had in her hands.
By the end of my shift, my eyelids were heavy, my legs were tired, my back was sore, and my patience, optimism and warm, friendly attitude were completely gone. I had begun lying to the customers, saying that we don’t have more of a particular item in the back, that I didn’t know the answer to their questions, but other poor, suffering employees did and even that the items on the top shelves aren’t for sale. I even had taller customers help me reach tall, hard to reach places. To this day, I don’t know why I wasn’t fired on the spot.
After seven hours on my feet helping out hordes of people with the nastiest of attitudes, I finally left “the happiest store on Earth,” embraced the sunshine and kissed the pavement below my feet. Freedom had never felt so good. A week later, I formally quit, picked up my final check and turned in my Mickey ears, never looking back at the large room filled with terrible memories.
While my Black Friday experience was pretty horrific, I still respect the Disney Store and everything it taught me. For one, it taught me that retail isn’t easy and to treat every employee, even the ones who are clearly terrible at their job, with respect because that was once me.
In addition, as a result of my experience, I’m passionately against how Black Friday is encroaching on Thanksgiving’s territory. It’s incredible how many people pray at the dinner table and give thanks for the non-materialistic things that truly matter, like family and health, and immediately transform into monsters enslaved by consumerism, willing to literally fight another human being in a store over a pair of half-priced pajamas. Meanwhile, others are forced to leave their families early on Thanksgiving and deal with these crazy, materialistic zombies just to make a living.
So this Black Friday, remember not to yell at the seemingly incompetent sales associate, who is likely inexperienced, overwhelmed, stressed-out, nervous and still recovering from a food coma. Remember to be humane, polite and civil, and don’t let consumerism get the best of you.
