As we circled the Christmas tree lot in my green Honda Civic looking for a parking spot, I surveyed the surroundings: Row upon row of Christmas trees; a few rough-looking men helping customers; families and couples milling the aisles; a gray, stormy sky. The day before, my cousin Michelle had seen the help-wanted sign posted on the lot’s fence and had inquired within. Given our current job situations (unemployed) and the fact that we could use some extra dough for Christmas shopping, six dollars per hour under the table sounded pretty good to us.
Working at a Christmas tree lot sounded fun, and I was excited about the idea. I pictured myself roaming down the pine-scented aisles, cheerfully helping happy families pick out just the right tree for their cozy homes. I would be the nice, accommodating young college coed they’d tip generously.
After parking the car, we entered the lot and found the fella who appeared to be in charge.