Out of all the summer work advice you could possibly receive, this one will sum it up best: never work in retail. Really, there is no job that could be more exhausting, frustrating and low paying as folding clothes and then standing by to watch as people unfold them all over again. Such disheartening experiences can sometimes incite the violent nature lurking within.

The summer before college, I had the displeasure of working in Chicago’s downtown Levi’s Store, not realizing that there were some qualifications — “hipster” and “wear-skinny-jeans-every-day” — I simply did not have. As if people were not already overwhelmed by the range of jean options available to them, whoever designed this location decided to use every inch of the store for display, which ended up being nearly half a block long. For seven hours, five days a week, I refolded so many jeans that their dyes began to give my skin an effect reminiscent of brownish-blue sandpaper. At least some part of every paycheck was used to find a more intensive moisturizer.

It’s widely believed that retail is easy because it “only” involves arranging and stacking clothes and helping inquisitive customers. This can be true about two percent of the time. The majority of your day is spent refolding, sizing and aligning the same pile of jeans or shirts because, right after you stocked them, a customer came prancing along (who’s not even really shopping; they’re “just looking”), rifled through them, stretched every size out against their body (some guys just want to see if that dream about them fitting into a pair of 30-inch jeans had a little truth to it), threw a couple over a shirt rack, took six sizes into the changing room, left them there, came out to get another pile, and then shot an indignant “No!” at you when you asked them if they needed help. Yes, that is the life of a retailer.

People who have been in retail for longer than three months are generally smart about how to manipulate it in their favor. They know what shifts to take, what visual assignments (dressing mannequins or assembling store fronts) are the least or most amount of work, and what are the best hours for breaks. My late entry into the massive Levi’s Hell meant that I had to stay late, trying to yank a pair of 501’s over a male mannequin’s bulging crotch or find a belt that fit a girl’s 23-inch waist, take breaks when the fewest customers were around, and got the worst shifts: the ones that end at closing. Not only was I slammed with a barrage of late-day shoppers, but dressing rooms — which I was completely responsible for cleaning — were packed with clothes from every corner of the store, half of Chicago was asking me where such-and-such item was, and I usually had to pee. When the store finally closed each night, I literally dropped to the ground and praised whoever was watching over me for their good graces. There was no one there to curse me out for not having a certain size, no one there to recount stories of his favorite pair of 501’s while I held two tall stacks of toppling shirts in each arm — there was no one. Just me and my other coworkers.

But you didn’t think that was the end, did you? No, no, no — another aspect of retail most people don’t know about is that your shift isn’t over until the entire store has been replenished and cleaned. When you happen to work at a location rivaling Michael Jordan’s Illinois mansion, that equals an extra three to four hours of dragging your throbbing feet across the entirety of the store, searching for un-sized stacks and misplaced jackets. And for what? A rate laughably close to minimum wage and one that, by far, under-compensates for your employee “discount.” What’s 15% anyway? In Chicago, that’s basically tax. This doesn’t even take into account that most brand-name jeans you buy directly from the retailer make you collapse into a fit of giggles when you see the price. Levi’s tend to be more reasonable, but why spend $60 for a pair of sky-blue skinnies you found two hours after traipsing through a gigantic store when Sears sells the same ones for $30? And why bother asking a disoriented sales associate when Sears has every item’s location listed on signs? Think about these things — don’t work in retail.