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“Bingo, skittle ball in the old pocket,” he whispered to me.
I had never heard the expression before. And Dad never used it again. But I never forgot it.
I decided to take on the job full-time during my summer vacation. It was hard work. I was on my feet most of the time, and I worked four- to eight-hour shifts. Halfway through the month of July, I experienced an epiphany. I was not going to do this for the rest of my life, putting up with cranky customers, flaky vendors, the whims of mechanical equipment, and fallen arches. I made a decision to go for an advanced educational degree. Though writing wasn’t in my sights at the time-I never had the audacity to dream I could get published-I was still a person with many options. I could be anything I wanted to be. What I wanted more than anything was to do interesting work while seated.
One morning right after the store opened, I went to the rest-room and realized, after a very startled reaction, that I had begun my menses. Enormously embarrassed, I didn’t know what to do. Sneaking off, I called my mother from a pay phone, and she came to pick me up. No stickum pads back then. We girls were inducted into the clumsy world of belts and napkins. After the problem had been secured, Mom took me back to work.
She must have said something to my dad. He came up to me with a perplexed look on his face.
“Are you okay?” he asked with the concern of those men who stayed clear of female things.
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“I think you have a customer.”
“Then I’d better go help her.”
After that moment there were no more references to female things. We were just two people trying to earn an honest buck.