Two years ago, I found myself at the end of a four-year enlistment in the United States Air Force and on my way home for good. I had no idea what I wanted to do with myself, but I was glad to be out of that mess. On a whim, I decided to go into retail, working as a salesperson at a national electronics chain which shall remain nameless. I was hired, and pleased to find out that I had unknowingly been accepted into the ranks of the elite, as far as the retail electronics community was concerned. I was also expecting a much easier life. No more three-day exercises in which I plodded around in full chem warfare gear. No more "Oh, by the way, you're leaving for [insert tiny Middle Eastern nation and name for yet another "babysit Saddam" mission here] in three days, you might want to call the cable company and warn 'em." No more living in a dorm room the size of a cigar box. No more white-glove room inspections. No more coming home from work reeking of jet fuel and praying my ditzy roommate didn't light a cigarette within two miles of me before I had a chance to shower and wash my uniform.

In recent days, I have seriously considered reenlisting to get away from the stress of a retail career.

Still, it has its perks. A nifty employee discount, for one. Which I have taken full and possibly unfair advantage of. The opportunity to meet lots of interesting people, for another. And the pay could be worse.

However, I feel it necessary to inform folks exactly what to expect when they sign on into such a job.

Weird hours. You will work weekends and most holidays save for Easter, Christmas, and Thanksgiving. Some poor folks even have to work on Thanksgiving. Your day will start at any time from the crack of dawn to the middle of the afternoon, and last from the middle of the afternoon to the dead of night--and quite possibly back to the crack of dawn again. No, your job is not done when they flip the sign to the "closed" side. There is a process we call "recovery" that takes place after the store closes. It basically involves taking down the dead price tags, putting up new ones, vacuuming up the Doritos someone's ghastly child trampled into the carpet in front of the Playstation display, and the nightly pencil-whipping of the closing checklist that seems to get longer and longer every night. The hours you work will be dictated by the flow of foot traffic into the store. That means nights and weekends. It is easier to draw blood from a turnip than it is to get a Saturday off for any reason other than a wedding (yours), an illness (yours), or a funeral (yours).

Management. A good manager can make your job a joy. A bad one can make it forty-five to sixty hours a week of pure screaming hell. After a certain point, you will find yourself doing the manager's job and still getting a salesperson's pay, because you are supposedly too valuable to be taken out of sales and officially given the cool red jacket.

Assholes. Assholes fall into two categories: those you wait on, and those you work with. You can't do much of anything with either of them except hope that they manage to find each other before they find you.

Inventory. The word alone is enough to strike fear into the heart of even the most seasoned veteran. "Inventory" usually happens once or twice a year, and it involves counting every single swinging piece of merchandise in the store. Of course, one can't do this while the customers are playing with the merchandise and their children are rearranging it for you while you're not looking. What does that mean? That means you have to do it after the store closes. It also means you will be there until the wee hours of the morning. Some managers are kind enough to spring for a few pizzas to feed you with. Most expect you to forage for yourselves beforehand.

Higher-Level Management. Once a month or so, some corporate dingleberr--uh, dignitaries will visit your store and give it a white-glove inspection. At least that's what they're supposed to do. In practice, the store's employees spend two days running around like an ant colony spit-polishing everything in it only to have a suit or two pop in, glance around, smile, nod, and leave. In and out in twenty minutes, usually less. The dignitaries in question range from lowly district managers to multi-state division VP's to El Queso Grande himself. Occasionally, by some stroke of plain dumb luck, the visit will be postponed or cancelled due to more pressing concerns, like the day six salespeople and a manager walked off the job at the other location down the highway and the dignitaries spent the whole day there instead trying to figure out what the hell happened.

Various Do's and Don'ts. Don't ever be heard saying you don't like someone you work with. It will come back to you in the most unpleasant ways. Do smile and be friendly, even when you want to throttle the customer in cell phones because you've explained the difference between analog and digital seventeen times and he STILL DOESN'T GET IT. Don't openly suck up to anyone. Do clean up after yourself. Your store may have a custodian, but she is not your mother. Don't prejudge your customers based on how they look. Do take a bath, brush your teeth, comb your hair, and iron your clothes every day. Don't lose your temper, no matter what. Do sneak off the floor for a few minutes and have a Coke or a cigarette if you think you're going to lose your temper. Don't tempt L*ki or Er*s by bragging about your hot sales streak. Do remember that your coworkers are there for the same reason as you: to make some dough, and Don't hog all the customers. Do play with the merchandise. Your manager might think differently, but when you play with it, you learn about it. Don't be a human fact tag; make your presentations fun for the customer and for you. Do have a lot of fun. It's not against company policy to enjoy your job. If it is, QUIT. Don't stick the little Checkpoint stickers on your co-workers' backs; while it might be good for a few cheap laughs, it will come back to haunt you as most everything does.