Whip it

When I drove home for lunch today, I heard Whip It by Devo on the radio. It reminded me of a nickname I earned based on that song. Here goes a pointless story that exists now on this blog for no reason other than to reminisce. (I have to admit, as I was typing that word, reminisce, I thought to myself that I've never written it before. I wondered if I was spelling it correctly. Firefox didn't underline it, so I'm guessing that I guessed correctly. Woot!)

When I was 20 years old, I got a job at Victoria's Secret so that I could have more spending money during college. Oddly, I have no idea what I really intended to spend that money on. Reality is that most of that paycheck went right back to the store I worked at. I had a thing for cotton pajamas. And lots of other stuff. Anyway, the idea of wearing black suits and standing on my feet every day wasn't so appealing, so I ended up opting for a job in the stockroom. I loved it.

My supervisor, at least at first, was a woman named Danna. She was a true Kentuckian. Take that to mean whatever you like, but beyond your preconceptions, know that she was funny, straightforward, and hardworking. At first, most of my time "in the back" was spent with Danna and LeVonya (until a year or so later when Big Al--who really wasn't big--and Boy--whose real name I can't recall for the life of me--were hired, breaking up the female stronghold). We also had a radio with--wait for it!--a single CD player. High tech. When the radio reception didn't want to come in, we resorted to CDs. One day Danna was in charge of the radio station, and Whip It came on. I immediately broke out and sang along with every lyric. Danna and LeVonya were amazed. From that day forward, I was known as Whipit. I think Danna actually wrote it as Whippet though.

It wasn't long before Danna bought a Devo CD so that we could listen, dance, and sing along to Whip It whenever we pleased, or whenever the craziness of the day forced us into taking an insanity break. (You have no idea how crazy a stockroom can get! Okay, it's not that bad, especially compared to my current situation at work, but still... I was 20. It felt crazy sometimes.)

I miss those days. I don't miss getting paid $5.50/hour, but I miss the bizarro fun we always had. Nobody has ever called me Whipit since I left that job. Alex, if you're reading this, that is *not* an invitation to call me Whipit. Same goes for everyone else, too.

That's all.