My mother passed away on May 28th of 2009. I had just finished my junior year of college. That summer was not what I had anticipated, do I even need to say that?
I moved into off-campus housing with three roommates on June 2nd. My mother’s funeral was June 1st. I was harangued by my maternal grandmother to stay at home and take care of my dad. I had no interest in doing that. This had nothing to do with my dad, but was a promise I made to my mom. She wanted me to move on with my life, so I did. My roommates looked like they had seen a ghost when I showed up that June day, ready to move into a bat cave of a basement room that I would be sharing with another girl. I can still remember her parents walking down into the basement and crouching down in front of me like I was some sort of deity that had just appeared on their burnt toast. Total disbelief.
Now I had planned on paying for this off-campus housing with a paid internship for a local company, boring but it was good money. What I didn’t plan on was my mom dying. So I had to kiss the internship goodbye as it had started when I was home for the month she was in hospice care. I was in a panicked state, trying to figure out how I could make the money I had planned on earning when I signed the lease. My mom didn’t have a will or life insurance. My dad couldn’t afford her funeral. $6000 was a big financial blow for him (something for all of you to think about, morbid as it may be). So no, there was no inheritance for me.
I had a babysitting job and was the head Spanish tutor at our campus’ learning center during the year. It just wasn’t enough. So out I went, looking for work. I ended up at the local mall working for a subsidiary of Zales. It was called Gordon’s Jewelers, maybe some of you remember it? My interview went so poorly that I was floored when I got the call offering me the job. The woman who conducted it was a regional manager and went by initials only, those I will not divulge here. She reminded me of someone who grew up in Nantucket wearing bows and gingham (no hate, I love the Cape) and then read and embraced Nice Girls Don’t Get the Corner Office (I am not embarrassed to say I thrifted this book and still have it). She could wear her pearls and crack the one’s between my store manager’s legs.
I can still remember her pointing into Forever 21, we sat on a bench near it for the interview. She asked me what I thought the biggest difference was between it and Gordon’s? I immediately said price and quality. WRONG. She told me the correct answer had to do with the pricing display. A fine jeweler would never have a price tag out in the open. I guess I was close enough because I started right away and found the job enjoyable enough to stick around.
My grandmother had worked for a jeweler after my grandfather died. She was widowed at 19 and never remarried (Catholic small town guilt). It only seemed fitting that I continue the tradition. I had always loved jewelry and tried to learn what I could. It was a tough place to be at times as a college girl with no budget for jewels. There was one other girl my age who worked there, she had an endless supply of diamonds and luxury bags. She also had an endless supply of sugar daddies. No judgment, just the truth. It was hard to keep up with how they wanted you to appear, you had to look the part. I got a minimal discount and used it to buy simple things like gold hoops and one of the cheapest rings in the case. That is when I decided that I really wanted a gold watch. Large and chunky. Like all the it girls. Our store had nothing of the sort, most of the women’s watches were very small in terms of their faces and I couldn’t afford them anyway.
We now enter the New Jersey portion of this post. I had a college friend who had lost her mother to cancer a few months before mine. She decided that it was time to do a girl’s trip, just she and I. I had turned 21 in July and was dead last among my friends to do so. Atlantic City was the last place on earth that I wanted to visit but it was cheap and a change of scenery. When we got to our hotel, my friend remembered that she didn’t bring any clothes. When you suffer from list making OCD like I do, this is just a shock to the system. How? How is that even possible? This was before most people I knew owned a smart phone. I think we asked the front desk where to go for shopping? Our first stop she deemed too expensive, so to the outlets we went.
Now everyone handles mourning differently, but almost everyone develops a vice of some kind and to varying degrees. Mine was overspending. I was addicted to shopping. I managed to pay all my bills and shop so I wasn’t going into debt, but I also wasn’t putting aside to pay off my student loans either. I was sad and this was something that I thought was making me feel better. I was happy to roam around the outlets while my friend found some clothes.
We eventually ended up in a Fossil store, home of my gold watch. I forgot that Fossil even made watches, so I was just tickled to find something that looked exactly like what I wanted for $50. I put on the watch and immediately felt powerful. It was not even gold-plated, and I knew of my skin’s ability to go Kermit green when it came into contact with cheap metal. But I was 21 and in Atlantic City, I was going to go order some overpriced mediocre seafood (sorry AC) with my high roller watch.
The rest of the trip was miserable. We ended up at Bally’s Beach Bar and looked like nuns compared to the staff and other customers. I was dating someone at the time but I don’t think a single guy looked our way the entire night, much to my friend’s disappointment. The next day was the hottest one that summer and she wanted to lay out on the beach. I was mostly concerned with my toiletries melting in the car (I can’t be the only one) since we had already checked out.
I don’t remember what happened to my watch, but I do remember the gold eventually coming off the surface to reveal a grey metal. Knowing me, I got sad about this and retired it to obscurity in my jewelry box. I did make a promise to myself that (sad) summer that one day I would buy a gold watch. It wouldn’t be plated, it would be the real deal.
I was able to do that this summer as a birthday present to myself. It is vintage and from a jeweler in Los Angeles called Laykin et Cie. It is a little big on me but that is fine, it has a more relaxed look that way. It makes me very happy and reminds me of how long it took me to get here from there. 14 years but it feels like 44.
I feel like in 2023 it’s easy to look at a person who has something nice and judge them. Are there spoiled people out there? Sure. Tons. But then there are people who started with a $50 watch, some bad New Jersey crab (Maryland beach girl at heart), and some mafiosos trying to find the strip club next to their hotel.
Cheers to the summers of 2009 and 2023.