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Albuquerque city councilor enjoys her part-time job at Kmart

Sally Mayer kneels in the hair-care aisle at a Northeast Heights Kmart, searching for products during her shift at the store. Mayer, who is also a city councilor representing that Northeast Heights community, started working at the Kmart before Thanksgiving to earn some money during the holiday season.

Photo by Erin FredrichsTribune

Tribune

Sally Mayer kneels in the hair-care aisle at a Northeast Heights Kmart, searching for products during her shift at the store. Mayer, who is also a city councilor representing that Northeast Heights community, started working at the Kmart before Thanksgiving to earn some money during the holiday season.

Sally Mayer, a Kmart employee and city councilor, shares a laugh with customer Florence Garcia in the aisle in front of the electric shavers, which were on special. "If you take it seriously and put your heart into it, it can be really fun," Mayer said Monday of her new retail job.

Photo by Erin FredrichsTribune

Tribune

Sally Mayer, a Kmart employee and city councilor, shares a laugh with customer Florence Garcia in the aisle in front of the electric shavers, which were on special. "If you take it seriously and put your heart into it, it can be really fun," Mayer said Monday of her new retail job.

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Sally Mayer, city councilor and lightning rod for controversy, has found a new purpose at the end of Kmart's Aisle 2.

There she stands embroiled in a conversation with someone, likely a constituent, though it's hard to tell.

The topic of electric shavers is hardly a major policy issue, but this constituent has a grandson with new whiskers. And there's a shaver on sale for $19.99.

Luckily, Mayer is there in her ponytail, red sweater-vest and big button that says "I'm here to help."

"If they ask you if someone helped you, turn this in," she says, giving the satisfied customer a card. "I'm Sally."

That would be Sally Mayer, the Texas-twanged former real estate agent, possible mayoral candidate and one of the newest part-time employees of the Kmart at 9500 Montgomery Blvd. N.W.

Since the week before Thanksgiving, the 57-year-old Mayer has been working five days a week at $7 an hour — 25 cents more than the city-mandated minimum wage she twice voted against.

"There are parts of this job I absolutely love," she says, while rearranging the Metamucil.

But it's a job she came to out of necessity, she said.

Mayer gave up her six-year career as a residential real estate agent two years ago once it was no longer lucrative. She has since lived off retirement funds and investments that pay off monthly.

But when one of those investments recently came in $500 shorter than expected, she found herself in need of a new source of income.

Now, she finds herself unloading trucks at 7 a.m., constantly straightening the rows of deodorant and assisting customers.

The customers have become a perk of the job. She rattles off a list that, in just a short while, have already made an impression on her.

There's the 93-year-old woman whom she helped shop for chocolate. The woman who hugged her after Mayer helped complete her shopping list. The Vietnamese nun who spoke little English.

And to the man who came in the night before Thanksgiving and left without an electric roaster, Mayer said she's sorry. She found one the next day and has felt badly ever since.

Their reaction, usually, is one of gratitude —something she doesn't often see in her more public persona.

"I'm used to such negative feedback," Mayer said.

Mayer, midway through her second term representing District 7, has proven to be a polarizing public official.

Some people in her Northeast Heights district are still disappointed she didn't fight to stop a Wal-Mart Supercenter from coming into the Wyoming Mall.

Mayer is a vocal advocate for animal welfare. Her rewrite of the city's animal ordinance spawned hours of debate at City Hall and, in July 2006, one failed attempt to recall her from office.

Last week she joined three other councilors in boycotting a council meeting over behavior exhibited by Council President Brad Winter, who they said backed out of agreements to support Mayer or Ken Sanchez as president.

Mayer in January plans to hit the job market again. She's looking to capitalize on her past experience managing a hotel and savings-and-loan branches. She wants a management job.

But she says her position as a councilor has been a drag on her job search.

For one, she needs an employer who is sympathetic to her need to be at City Hall by 5 p.m. two Mondays a month.

Also, she never realized how easy it would be to spend more time working for the public than working for her own good.

"It's just so tempting to put too much time into being a city councilor," she said.

More acutely, she worries about the perception of public officials, and whether being a controversial public figure is a detriment to her job search.

The perception question didn't come into play until she applied for an $8-an-hour job at a Target store. She didn't get the job but walked away struck by one of the questions she faced during the process.

"This question on the application really threw me: About what percentage of politicians do you think tell the truth?" she said. "So many people think those two words — lying and politicians — are joined forever."

It's one of several revelations she's been struck by in this chapter of her life. One other is about the minimum wage, and her new appreciation for the people that work at the lower levels of the pay scale.

Still, if she could go back in time she wouldn't change her previous votes against raising the wage locally.

Then and now she protests the use of the term living wage, a phrase she feels is disingenuous, believing that raising the wage a few dollars does little to make low pay livable.

"I object more to it now. It is a minimum wage," she said. "There are lots of people here who have two jobs."

Mayer also might be the test case for another oft-fought piece of legislation.

Voters last fall, for the 12th time, rejected a plan to raise the salaries of city councilors, in this case from $9,500 a year to about $30,000.

Mayer supported that legislation.

Today, however, she bears no regrets. She will miss the Kmart job someday, but until then there are people in need of an inexpensive electric shaver.

And there is deodorant that needs to be straightened.

"Look at this row. This cracks me up," she says. "OK, we've got Clix. Kilo. These are names of deodorant. Wildcard. After Hours. I've had a ball. Then you have your clear gels, your soft solids.

"If that ever comes up in council . . . ."