What I’m Best At: Doing It For The Vine

Written by Annie Ertle

Sometimes I find myself applying the social media battle cry of “do it for the Vine” to my own life. The phrase is supposed to encourage people to abandon their insecurities for the benefit of a six second video, but following such advice means I often find myself in situations where I can only shrug and say, “At least it will make a good story.”

It was this mentality that found me searching for any summer job.

I saw that my local supermarket was hiring. The official title was “grocery clerk,” a position that entailed stocking shelves and not much else. Don’t underestimate the physical prowess necessary for grocery clerking, though — in the phone interview I was asked if I could “bend, stand, reach, jump, squat, and lift 50 pounds.” Now let me break out the Crayola watercolors and paint a picture for you: I am small. I have the upper body strength of a weak hamster. I find it very difficult to lift 50 pounds, but like my rodent sisters on stationary wheels, I am resilient. I am woman! So I said yes. I got the job.

On day one I was handed an androgynous (read: men’s) polo and then was escorted to the back of the store. I met my coworkers (all men, all wearing men’s polos), and then my boss gestured towards the carts that were teetering with packaged foods. “I guess we’ll get you started.”

I later found myself standing in Aisle 3 with canned peaches in one hand. I was staring at a wall of food, searching for where my piece fit into the puzzle. The store security guard walked past me, clapped his hand on my shoulder and said with a chuckle, “You look lost!” He was not wrong.

I continued my shift, then I went home and cried.

But like artisan bread, I rise, so I went back to work the next day, and the day after that. Eventually I got the hang of things. I developed muscles and picked up heavy dog food and heaved it like I was the Brawny paper towel guy (Aisle 12). I learned the store layout, even the exotic contents of the world cuisine aisle (Ghee? On your right, bottom shelf).

To pay my dues, I spent a lot of time in pet food. Grocery clerks will tell you that cat food is the bane of their existence because of the tiny cans and the disgusting flavors (savory shredded tuna and cheese, anyone?) but this environment is where I flourished.

My nimble fingers were efficient and quick, and I could have a whole shelf up in record time.

At my final shift, a coworker told me that when he first saw me, he didn’t think I would last a day. But of course I did.

I am the best cat food stocker in the world.

Photo shot by Ally Lindsay