The one thing I wish 14 years of schooling had taught me, but hadn't.

And that's that in the real world it's all about quantity, not quality.

I started my second job in a retail department store when I was 15. I was doing about two to three shifts a week, in perfect sync with my school hours.

I was recommended by a friend who already worked there. I did a maths test as part of my interview and scored 100%. I figured that all the extra-curricular activities listed on my resume impressed them. After all, school said they would, and school would never teach anything that wasn't true.

I felt appreciated. I went from someone arranging the racks to a cashier, to someone training the newbies, handling the cash flow and lay-by (sometimes the latter three at the same time). I had been at the company for two years, and my 18th birthday was coming round the mountain.

And that's exactly the point where my shifts were suddenly reduced to a single four hour shift every two weeks. It was like a plague that affected all of the almost 18 year olds. We soon noticed a bunch of newbies strutting their stuff into the staff room. While they were trying to be our friends, all we were thinking was "What the hell are you doing here?". We were fighting for shifts enough as it was.

Then we were informed of a new rule where you could only swap shifts with people your own age - or younger so as not to mess up the manager's budget on salaries.

You know those awkward situations with friends where you suddenly realise that they never really ever liked you, and it's humiliating because you thought so highly of them? Well, it was like that. The sudden influx of new, noticeably younger staff was the company's way of saying "Thanks for everything but we don't need you anymore. You're just too expensive. And it's because of your experience that we'll let you hang around just long enough to train the new people before wiping your name off our records." I guess it's kind of like how women feel when their husbands leave them for a young, ditsy slut with big boobs.

I immediately went for a Christmas casual job at another retail store. It was a relief to find a store that didn't think I was already due for retirement. I was getting about four shifts a week, more than the other Christmas casuals, two of whom were my friends. So I figured I must have been doing something right. That was, until I got the chicken pox. By the time I got better I didn't get any shifts. Sure it was a Christmas casual job, but was it so hard for them to tell me that I wasn't needed anymore than have me come in every week to check the roster? Walking out of the store empty handed was like the walk of shame when contestants are booted off a show, except this time you didn't know whether you were out or not.

I'm currently at another retail job that isn't age-ist. But we're sent home early during quiet days - which I guess is kind of understandable if you live 5 minutes away, and frustrating when you live 45 minutes away by train, up to 2 hours if there's track work - and that's not including the 45 minutes walk to and/or from the train station, or the 40 minute wait for the next bus that goes to your area.

A friend of mine works at a place where the staff are treated like walking dollar signs - and not like actual human beings with feelings. The manager will assign manual jobs that I doubt even superman could finish within the time the staff are given. The manager will say "Good job keep it up!" to my friend's face - and "Fuck he's slow, as if he hasn't had long enough to do those tasks" to another coworker. My friend's manager will also shave as much hours, commissions and bonuses off his employees' time sheets without it being noticeable, unless they closely scrutinised it. This same manager will also yell at casuals over the phone when they can't come into work. "Do you know what it means to be a casual?" he will scream. For him, being a casual means waiting next to the phone every minute of the day for the rest of your life and not having anything worth living for than going to a workplace that won't include you in the roster.

If you're reading this and have stories of your own, remember: sharing is caring.

Love, Noeline.
xox