From Toys R Us to Feminist Awakening: How a Teen Retail Job Changed My Life

At 15, I landed a job at Toys R Us, and it turned out to be more than just a paycheck—it was a crash course in capitalism, gender politics, and the power of selling joy.

The Job That Started It All

My first job was a one-month stint at a fish and chip shop, paid in $20 bills tucked into Chiko roll packets. After a burn on my forearm (the scar remains), I left. That was the end of my hospitality career. In 2014, I knew my strengths: I was no good with deep-fry baskets or carrying more than one thing at a time. I wanted retail.

Lucky for me, there was an excess of Christmas casual jobs, specifically targeting the youngest workers they could legally pay the least. So I became a Toys R Us checkout chick, in a blue polo, black pants, a lanyard, and my school shoes. I processed transactions, directed customers, counted tills, and cleaned up after closing. To decompress, I'd play Bop It! in the board games aisle.

Selling Joy, Facing Reality

I loved the business of selling toys—it felt like selling joy. But as with any job involving children, there were ugly bits: vomit and urine in aisles weren't uncommon (though floor staff handled clean-ups). We also had Babies R Us in the store, and I found it amusing that 17-year-olds were allowed to advise expectant parents on breast pumps.

The Gendered Language Awakening

As a burgeoning feminist, my least favorite part was the gendered language entrenched in the industry. I took great pleasure in playing dumb—head cocked, brows furrowed—when customers asked where the "girls" or "boys" toys were. If forced to adopt such language, I'd pair it with exaggerated air quotes.

One woman called to order balloons for her grandson's birthday. We took details—how many, pickup time—but when it came to color, we touched a nerve. "The boy color!" she insisted. She arrived, and we handed her blue balloons. She recoiled. She wanted red. Obviously.

A Crash Course in Capitalism

I saw hyper-consumerism on overdrive. I worked an overnight shift during Chadstone Shopping Centre's 34-hour Christmas trade, watching frantic shoppers race to buy plastic that would end up in landfills by next festive season. I learned that retailers use harsh lighting in windowless stores so shoppers lose track of time.

I met dozens of adults hardcore into collectibles, asking us to bring out boxes of Hot Wheels from the back so they could rifle through stock before it hit shelves. I learned we'd play Justin Timberlake's Can't Stop The Feeling! on the hour, every hour, the year the Trolls movie came out. I knew which toy was hot one month and which would be next. It was a short course in capitalism.

Fond Memories and a Lasting Impact

Despite the lows, my memories of Toys R Us are extremely fond. I left for fashion retail when I started university. Soon after, Toys R Us Australia entered administration, and all stores closed in 2018.

When I applied as a teenager looking for pocket money, I didn't realize I'd be entering my longest place of employment to this day. I also didn't realize a fluorescently garish 78-year-old US toy company would be the one to radicalize me.