When I was twelve, since I was a student at the local ballet school, I was hired by our town’s J.C. Penney department store to be Prince Charming. Okay, the job only lasted an afternoon, but still. Rewarded with a $20 gift certificate, I bought my first suit, in brown polyester. I had to show up in white tights, a pink tunic, and ballet …
When I was twelve, since I was a student at the local ballet school, I was hired by our town’s J.C. Penney department store to be Prince Charming. Okay, the job only lasted an afternoon, but still. Rewarded with a $20 gift certificate, I bought my first suit, in brown polyester. I had to show up in white tights, a pink tunic, and ballet slippers, and spend four hours kneeling in front of a white and pink plywood throne, as a never-ending line of girls took their turn sitting on the tasseled cushion and earnestly tried to maneuver their right foot into the long, narrow glass slipper I held out for them. If the slipper fit, they would be entered into the grand prize raffle, giving them a chance to win a dress or a supply of Cinderella perfume. The contest was a scam. No human girl’s foot would fit into a 10-inch by 2-inch glass shoe shaped like a canoe. But that didn’t excuse all the moms I saw cheating – dropping their daughter’s names into the grand prize box instead of the consolation prize box. That was disappointing. It was bad enough that I had to relax the definition of “the shoe fits” so that there were at least some names in the winning box. I felt that making the tough call of what fit and what didn't should have delegated to someone higher in the hierarchy. (Or lower, since I was the Prince, after all!)
Oh my! I remember those days of teen/tween fashion shows at department stores. I always wanted to be on a teen council or walk the runway in JC Penney clothes. Your Prince Charming job experience is so unique though. The humorous details and retail backstory are so charming too. The cheating moms. Contest scam. Cinderella perfume. "Shoe fits." The costume and payment. I want to know if there were more contests or if this was dreamed up by some eager Penney's employee. And if there's a picture of you holding out the shoe. :)
When I was twelve, since I was a student at the local ballet school, I was hired by our town’s J.C. Penney department store to be Prince Charming. Okay, the job only lasted an afternoon, but still. Rewarded with a $20 gift certificate, I bought my first suit, in brown polyester. I had to show up in white tights, a pink tunic, and ballet slippers, and spend four hours kneeling in front of a white and pink plywood throne, as a never-ending line of girls took their turn sitting on the tasseled cushion and earnestly tried to maneuver their right foot into the long, narrow glass slipper I held out for them. If the slipper fit, they would be entered into the grand prize raffle, giving them a chance to win a dress or a supply of Cinderella perfume. The contest was a scam. No human girl’s foot would fit into a 10-inch by 2-inch glass shoe shaped like a canoe. But that didn’t excuse all the moms I saw cheating – dropping their daughter’s names into the grand prize box instead of the consolation prize box. That was disappointing. It was bad enough that I had to relax the definition of “the shoe fits” so that there were at least some names in the winning box. I felt that making the tough call of what fit and what didn't should have delegated to someone higher in the hierarchy. (Or lower, since I was the Prince, after all!)
Oh my! I remember those days of teen/tween fashion shows at department stores. I always wanted to be on a teen council or walk the runway in JC Penney clothes. Your Prince Charming job experience is so unique though. The humorous details and retail backstory are so charming too. The cheating moms. Contest scam. Cinderella perfume. "Shoe fits." The costume and payment. I want to know if there were more contests or if this was dreamed up by some eager Penney's employee. And if there's a picture of you holding out the shoe. :)