Like all other Mallrats-watching teenagers in the late nineties, Vivek Shraya desperately wanted to work at the mall. Anywhere at the mall. Except for maybe the only place that hired her. Here’s how the writer and artist’s Empire Records-esque fantasy played out in real life.
I haven’t thought about this in so long – that’s how boring this boring job was. Edmonton, where I’m from, is a city of many malls, but “mine” was Bonnie Doon Mall. My dad would bring me to pick up my mom from work, and if we were early, we’d stop at Bonnie Doon for some reason or no reason at all. When I started looking for a summer job, it just made sense that I handed résumés out there.
I think it was 1999, so peak mall culture. My two favourite things to do at the time were hanging out at HMV and eating at the food court’s TacoTime, which was a really cool place for a hot second. Most importantly, the mall was very close to my first girlfriend’s house. I had my licence, but I wasn’t a particularly great driver, and my mom didn’t let me use the car very often. Getting around Edmonton without a car is hard, so this was a great excuse to be at the mall all day and my girlfriend’s house every day after work.
She was this wonderful, surprising, strange lesbian whom I’d just met. She’d just come back from India and she had a shaved head, so she was like nobody else in Edmonton in 1999. I’d never even had my first kiss, but I knew she’d be it. She took me under her wing and said she’d teach me. But if I wanted my wild, coming-of-age, summer of queer love, I need to be around and nearby a lot.
Of course, the fantasy was the exact opposite of the actual job I got: an admin job at a dental office. When I handed in my résumé there – because I handed them just about everywhere – I remember thinking, “I’m going to get this job for sure.” Summer jobs felt like a miracle to get back then; you had to start looking in April. Nobody else at the mall even called me back, so when the clinic called and offered me the job, even though I didn’t want it, I was happy.
I didn’t have to clean teeth or anything; I was just an office assistant. It was a full-time job; I just had to sit there answering the phone and calling people to remind them to come to the dentist. The night before, I would print out the next day’s schedules and pull out the files for those patients. That was the highlight of my whole day. The days were so long. The job itself wasn’t enjoyable or memorable in any way.
As the receptionist, I didn’t have an office and was constantly on display. I was the first person people saw when they walked in, so I was always supposed to look a certain way. I had to wear dress pants and a dress shirt, tucked all the way in, like a total goody-goody. At 18, I was at that age where I thought a lot about what I was supposed to be all the time.
Despite what I looked like, I was at a really weird crossroads in my life. I’d been in the same religious institution my whole life, but it wasn’t fitting any more. I remember befriending the hygienist, who took me on the weekend to her church with her. While we sat there, she said, “I hope you know that girl you’re seeing is a bad influence.” It was so weird.
My girlfriend would come to pick me up after work, which they did not like at all. We were such a strange pairing to them. Based on how they pictured me and the box they’d put me into – and I suppose the box I’d put myself into – they wanted me to be a square nerd. I was, at first. But by the end of the summer, I was showing up with hickeys on my neck. In just a few months, I’d changed entirely, which I think was confusing for them, but I was finally starting to feel like me.
As told to Rosemary Counter