It's 2021!
Here we are, in a full-blown Covid crisis. Honestly, I can barely look. Time to deploy some Memoir Nostalgia, as a distraction. Let me tell you about my first ever job.
I was a Saturday assistant in an island shop. Can I help you, Madam? I was way too shy for that kind of chat, but here is my tentative 80's grin.
It was a shop of lovely things, for locals and tourists. We sold Wrangler jeans, Lopi jumpers, silver jewellery, chunky pottery - painted with puffins, books and cards; waxed green jackets and carved walking sticks (bring your own Labradors).
The shop smelled of new books and clean wool. The door made a ding. Postcards poked from a revolving rack. (Photos of our island, looking almost tropical). There were big windows to stare out of, and a secret kitchen at the back, full of shoe boxes and coffee mugs.
My early tasks included making Camomile tea with honey (for the boss) and arranging the Hallmark greeting cards, via price codes. I was only 14; nervous about getting things wrong.
On the first day, I gave someone too much change. An extra pound note from a fiver! I was shaking, as if I'd accidently killed someone's dog.
The other shop assistant was called Janet, or at least, I'm going to call her that - in case she is embarrassed at me celebrating her, years on. That's the thing about memoir - maybe people don't want a cameo role.
Anyway, 'Janet' reassured me that my incorrect-change-catastrophe wasn't a handcuff situation. I think she dipped into her own purse, to make the numbers add up. Aww, Janet.
Of course, I looked up to Janet. She had long curly hair, a curvy figure and she oozed capability and kindness. She twirled her curls in her fingertips, and gave wonderful throaty laughs. She wore a diamond ring that clicked on the counter top. She was great at helping all the customers.
I was the opposite. My number one goal was to avoid 'pestering' customers. I stood at the side of the shopfloor, trying to look available, but not pressurising. A key distinction in my 14 year old mind. I hid under my 'Lady Di' fringe.
Beside shelves of denim (of every size), there was a small changing room. Inside, a window looked out, far over Loch Indaal. The window had no curtain. Seals and seagulls would blush.
One time, a local scuba-diver guy was back from the oil rigs. He was famous for owning a speed boat. Janet was doing brilliantly, trying to help him choose a present for his girlfriend, or his 'fiancé'.
'Money's no matter!' he announced, as Janet offered him an array of jumper and jewellery options.
Money's no matter! He repeated, waving his generous arms about the shop.
Money was a matter for me. I got paid £5 per Saturday, and it felt like a fortune at the time. My mum encouraged me to save, so I stashed the cash in my Bank of Scotland hippo.
After a few months, Janet mentioned that I'd be expected to work right through the school summer holidays. What? I was practically winded. Give up childhood summer to work 6 days a week? Indoors?
Call me spoiled, call me a work-shy fop, but at fourteen, no amount of money was going to be worth the sacrifice.
'You'd better tell him,' said Janet.
The boss seemed surprised. Frustrated. 'I've trained you, you have responsibilities,' he said.
I don't know where my Jane-Eyre audacity came from, but I replied plainly -
'I'm too young to have responsibilities.'
Today, I can see both sides. It was a privilege to be offered a job, so young, in this shop of lovely things; to have the chance to learn; to watch Janet in action and have her watch over me.
'Which boys do you like?' she'd ask me, as we stared out the window at cars driving up and down Main Street. I'd confide. She'd concur, 'Oh, he's a nice boy. And he's lovely too.' It was sisterhood.
There was a dress in the shop that I used to adore. It was displayed prominently, on a spotlit hanger. Black satin with a red sash around the waist. Imagine Lady Di at a Gala ball. Madonna in a Material World.
I knew I would never own it. It was £60. Twelve weeks wages! But I loved projecting myself into it. A secret Cinderalla dream. How blessed I would feel. Surely it was made for me?
Or maybe, it was made to teach me patience, when things I longed for, were just outside my reach.
I don't rememember the day that I left the shop for summer, I just remember that I had to. I won't forget the joy of summers on the island, on those postcard beaches, string bikinis and 80's slogan T shirts. Ce'st L'ete! Joe Cool. Choose Life.
But I won't forget working in the shop either. Tea break and biscuits in the tiny, yellow kitchen. Christmas shoppers blown in from the blustery cold. The glass revolving jewellery case, the tartan carpet. Growing up slowly, in hush of the upstairs fashion floor. Wide windowsills to watch the world from. A gift shop, it certainly was.
So, after lockdown, if you're lucky enough to be on Islay, pop in to the gift shop for a few postcards. Or maybe a new dress: glorious in the spotlight, the perfect fit, waiting for you... still.
