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Monthly Archives: December 2006

Yeah, sorry about not updating earlier in the week. Those last few days of Christmas shopping won’t happen by themselves. Anywho, this is what I’ll call my “Holiday Update”, the official update for the holiday(s)! You may not necessarily see an update from me next week considering it is both Christmas and my birthday. Just going to be a busy time, so give me a little leeway here!

This time, I’m going to talk about a concept I like to call ILLEGAL CLOTHING. I truly, honestly, 100% believe there should be a literal fashion police. It would save the general public a lot of near-vomiting experiences. We have laws for indecent exposure, but I think there should also be some for indecent coverups. They would drag the offenders to the side, and wrap them in a good, generic blanket, so as to cover up all the shame of their bodies.

ILLEGAL CLOTHING 1: WAY TOO MUCH IN WAY TOO LITTLE
For example…400 pound women should not, I repeat, should NOT wear spandex pants, velour pants, or any sort of silky, flowy material. Really, we don’t like to think of an elephant wearing pants at any time in our lives, and no, you’re not showing off your “booty”, you’re revealing your 18-wheeler tailgate. Yes, all of the aforementioned items technically count as clothing, but who are you trying to kid? They’re like lace panties; a piece of clothing that hides NOTHING.

GAHH!

What you see above is ILLEGAL CLOTHING! DO NOT GO IN PUBLIC LIKE THIS AND THINK IT’S APPEALING!

ILLEGAL CLOTHING 2: THIN GIRLS WITH NOTHING TO OFFER
Another thing; young, thin girls…avoid at all costs trying to wear tight jeans if you have a non-existant ass. I know it’s all the rage to paint your jeans on, but if you don’t have a canvas, the painting’s kinda hard to see. Tara Reid is a PERFECT example of this. She really just has an extended lower back. Get some ass implants before trying to show it off.

Perfect Example

Wear jeans that are comfortable and don’t make you “muffin top.” Many younger girls retain the tire around the middle, so you’re very prone to letting that pudge hang 2 inches over the top of your jeans.

Illegal jeans

Admittedly, this girl is a little pudgy…I won’t hold that against her. BUT HER JEAN CHOICE IS INTOLERABLE! Seriously! If you’re a bit pudgy, don’t wear jeans that show it!

ILLEGAL CLOTHING 3: OVERGHETTO
Alright, this isn’t just all women. It’s definitely some men. Men nowadays have the misconception of “ghettofabulous”, where ghetto really is fabulous. Black men dress this way because they are black; it is their culture, and they wear it well. YOU ARE NOT BLACK, so don’t try to be. You’re not fooling anyone. There’s no one saying “Gee, I want to say this man is white, but his clothes are so fantastically ghetto that I do believe he’s black!” You’re doing no justice to the African-American community, and they’re really just laughing behind your back. Again, we turn to celebrities, as Kevin Federline makes a perfect example of this Illegal Clothing.
gangsta.jpgkfed_kevin_federline_1.jpg

HAHAHAHAHAHA YEA…No. No way in holy hell. The following picture best describes people like this.

wigga.jpg

ILLEGAL CLOTHING 4: NO BRAS
Oh yeah. This is a doozy. If you are tiny and have no breasts, sure, go bra free…just not on a cold day. That’s fine. If you’re young and spry and your breasts can support themselves, sure…be free! However, if you are 60 years old, have pancake breasts, are, as previously mentioned, 400 lbs., or any combination of those, PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN, WEAR A BRA!

I cannot tell you the number of times that women come in to the fitting room with nothing on underneath that blouse, and it’s like watching a tsunami of flesh. I’m normally not seasick, but I get fleshsick pretty quick. Again, we turn to Tara Reid for a great example.

tarareid.jpg

Now, she admittedly, she had botched plastic surgery, but that doesn’t get her off the hook for relasing THOSE bad boys onto the world. Seriously, those NEED support…or a support group…or something. All I know is that if you’ve got it, flaunt it. If you have it in the wrong places, DON’T flaunt that.

fatwoman_cake.jpg

*Throws up in mouth*

Moving on…

ILLEGAL CLOTHING 5: MIX ‘N MATCH
I get a lot of these in the fitting room. You’d swear that the person fell into their closet, somehow got a random assortment of clothes on them, and said “Eh, whatever.” I understand you’re shopping in a clothing store, but COME ON. You’ve got church clothes, right? You’ve got something you’d wear to a job interview, even if it was for McDonald’s, right? Wear those in public!

The best way I can put it into perspective is imagine if you were shot, and they took your picture for the newspaper or something of the sort. Would you want the outfit you are currently wearing to be seen by your town, borough, township, city, state, or country? If your answer is no, then we DEFINITELY don’t want to see it. For this, I will provide no example. Your imagination is the limit here. Just put any random clothing that you can possibly think of, and that’s what I get about 60% of the time in the ol’ FR.

Well, that’s all I have for now. I’m exhausted, and I still have a ton of stuff to do when I wake up. I hope you all have a Happy Holidays and a great New Year, just in case I don’t post again next week.

(I lied; I probably will)

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One of my most terrifying things in the fitting room is the concept of little children.

Let me set the record straight; I’m not very fond of kids. I never really have been. Most children, to me, are very annoying and they irk me something fierce. I do like some kids. Some are well behaved or even cute. Most I find to be obnoxious. I know I shouldn’t hold it against them, simply because it is more than likely bad parenting than bad kids…but still.

We get a lot of kids in our store, playing with the footballs we have, or putting a quarter in our dispenser machines for a crappy yo-yo, a crappy dice, or a pretty damn decent bouncy ball. The way that most parents treat their kids, though, is APALLING. I mean literally vomit inducing. I don’t like kids, but if I ever had them, I would not treat them as some of these parents do.

Some people have far too many children. I remember I had a group come in once (they were Muslims). NINE kids. Nine. As in one more than eight, one less than ten. How in the HELL can you take care of nine kids?! Not even the frickin’ Brady Bunch had that many…and they’re a fake family, meaning they’re SUPPOSED to be surreal!

I tells ya. Parents these days.

Anyway, another time, there was this little boy. He was NOTHING but nice to his mother; he was well behaved, didn’t scream, yell or kick, and didn’t even ask to buy or get anything. His mother was shopping for him in the kids section, and she places him about 10 feet away from the table that’s next to her, points at him, and tells him very condescendingly “You stay. Stay here.”

Then she turned his back on him, and went searching through the pile. Who the hell in their right state of mind turns their back on their kid who’s 10 feet away from you, and no older than 8?!

My most fabled memory is a woman who did preferential parenting. This means they preferred one kid over the other, and treated them accordingly. I felt bad for this little boy; he probably got his own shoes re-gifted to him three times during Christmas. The mother really didn’t seem to care what he did, and he was acting out as a result. So I talked to him, and kicked a ball around with him when I got the chance to, but soon it was too busy to do that. So the little boy is hanging off the front of his mother’s cart…with nothing in it. Yeah, this is smart.

I start up one of my ever popular conversations with the customer, and it goes like this:
Me: Ma’am, I believe your boy will be hurt there. Please keep an eye on him.
Mom: (absentmindedly) Yeah…yeah…
Me: Ma’am, did you hear me? (she was buttoning a button on her daughter and smiling quite happily about it. She turned towards me with fire burning in her eyes).
Mom: YES, I heard you. What, do you think I’m an idiot?
Me: (holding back what I wanted to say with everything I had) No ma’am, I was just making sure. I’m sorry.
Mom: You’d better be.

The mother continued to fawn over her daughter, while the little guy was trying to get something done for him. Anything. He’d even take a smack to the face, and you could tell. But the mother refused to listen. He started to rock back and forth, and the cart wheels started to teeter up off of the ground. I quickly pop into another conversation with the mother.

Me: Ma’am, really, the cart is falling. Please take your boy off of it.
Mom: In a minute.
Me: No ma’am, I insist on it being now. He will hurt himself. (and knowing how she was acting, she’d blame me for it).
Mom: Then YOU take him off of there. You see him doing it.
Me: Ma’am, I can’t touch a child legally in the store.
Mom: Go ahead, I give you permission.
Me: But wouldn’t you think that you should do it since it’s YOUR child? (*THIS WAS A HUGE MISTAKE*)
Mom: (turning to me quite angrily) Well SIR, he looks fine now, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to keep helping my daughter.

And she kindly slammed the door in my face. I asked him if he wanted to get off of the cart, but he insisted he was fine stayed on. I continued helping people, trying to keep my eye on him. I turned my back for two seconds…

And I hear what I didn’t want to. KRACK!!!!

I quickly head towards the front of the fitting room, and there are already tears. The little boy hit his head off of one of the door handles. Right on his temple. There was an angry, purple, half dollar sized welt on it now, and it was literally throbbing.

Well, of course the mother is NOW concerned with her child, so she’s out, trying to get him to stop crying and babying him and all. I ran to the back and got him a cold compress, and we did an accident report. The mother flat out LIED about what she was doing at the time of the accident. She claims she was helping HIM try on stuff, and that the door was wide open. I later filed the report stating the true story.

I tried to cheer the little guy up and was joking around with him and such. I tried to start a game of “tag” for him, and sure enough, about 10 minutes after the whole thing transpired, he was up and running around. I really do wish I had that sort of energy and motivation.

Hell, I wanted to take a week off of work after seeing it.

So are you hearing this, parents? Your kids are there; please look after them as such.

Sometimes I’m left to my own devices in the fitting room. There are occasional periods where there is very little happening back there, and I’m either by myself or have only a few customers to help out. It gets lonely occasionally, but my coworkers like to come and pay me a visit on occasion.

On this particular day, however, there was no such luck. I hadn’t had anyone come into the FR in over an hour (not even one person passing it!), and the last I had seen a coworker was around 20 minutes beforehand. There was no processing that needed to be done, nor was there any running for people to come back and run out on to the floor. Simply put, I was bored and lonely.

As I stood there, idly twiddling my thumbs, I finally had a customer come back. I will say three words: she was stunning. This woman couldn’t have been older than her mid-twenties, had a face you could stare into all day, and a body to match (she certainly wasn’t having difficulty filling in her shirts…or pants). Her hair was also striking; it was extremely full, curly (barrel-rolled, to be sure) and trailed to just between her shoulders. She was wearing ruby red lipstick and had vibrant, green eyes. On this particular day, she was wearing a form-fitting blouse, a pair of skinny jeans, and a set of adorable roach-crushers. I rarely get fantastically gorgeous women coming in, so I made it a point to be friendly and try to leave a good impression (hey, that sounds shallow, but you would do it too.) She was the type of woman you looked at and you just KNEW looked good.

I led her to a room somewhere in the middle as she requested (she said it was a shorter distance to the mirror and she didn’t like walking by the open door past all the people shopping), opened the door, gave her a smile and told her that she should call for me if she needed help with anything. I tried to make it a point that I was being very earnest in my attempts to be friendly, and I made sure to make eye contact. I could guarantee that most guys’ eyes didn’t make contact with hers. She gave me a sly smile back and said alright.

And so, I resumed my pacing duties in the front of the FR, trying to maintain positive numbers in my IQ, which was nearly impossible at this stage and a fun challenge. The woman was still trying things on, albeit silently, and she had no friends or relatives that were coming to visit her back there. I was starting to lull in and out of subconciousness when I heard the door open.

Now, when I usually hear the door open, I try to see what is going on, whether a person needs something, such as a size or an opinion, or whether they are leaving or just showing someone an item of clothing. It shows good customer service when you are so willing to help people out ASAP, so I try to do it when allowed. Since I had no other pressing matters at hand, I scurried over to her room to find out that her needs were of the item of clothing variety.

Or lack thereof.

This woman comes out of the fitting room in nothing but a bra that seemed to barely contain her and a pair of our panties. And not just conventional panties; no no, it HAD to be the damn lacy frilly ones we have. I was about 3 feet away from this woman when she came out, and I literally did a little jump backwards. For as much as I have experienced in the FR, I never had anything like this happen before. She looked at me a little funny, and her expression read something like “What? Ain’t you ever seen a woman before?”

So, after I calmed myself a little, we had a little conversation.

Me:
Is…is there anything you can help me…I mean, I can help you with?
Woman: Yessir, there is. I would like your opinion on this (she gestures at her “outfit”)
Me: Uhh, ma’am…I don’t think I can do that?
Woman: Why not? You said if I needed your opinion, you would help me with it.
Me: Forgive me, but I didn’t exactly expect something like this.
Woman: Like what? Like this?

She did a little spin on the spot, complete with show-offy flourish at the end. She was very playful about it, and she wasn’t being mean or nasty. In fact, she seemed to be hanving fun.  I was stammering and literally shaking and looking like a crack addict who’s overly paranoid. I was so scared that I was going to get in trouble, but no one came and saw what was happening. I was all by my lonesome with this half naked girl in my midst.

Woman: Well? What do you think?
Me: Well…uh…if I were giving you an outsider’s perspective, I would say they looked fine.

I thought this might stave her off a bit, but no such luck.

Woman: No, you’re not answering the question. (she turns around) I wanna know what YOU think. (she shakes her ass a little bit and bends over slightly, looking over her shoulder at me).

I nearly had a heart attack. This was surreal. There was no way this was happening in my fitting room.

But there she was, in all her beautiful glory. I stammered a reply.

Me: Uhh…uhh…uhh…well, to be honest…uhm…they look…g-g-great, really wonderful!
Woman: (she stands fully upright now) And this looks okay with them? (she pushes her chest forward, making a point of showing off her ample bosom)
Me: Absolutely! Incredible! (I was telling her what she wanted to hear at this point simply because I didn’t want someone to come in and see this woman flaunting her extravagant goods all over the place).
Woman: Thank you, sweetheart.

She smiled, spun on her heel and walked enticingly back into her room. I was sweating bullets.

A few minutes later, she came out, and gave me what she did not want (she had tried on other things as well), but she kept those damn red lacy underpants. She came up to me after she gave me the stuff and said “Thanks for putting up with my antics. You treated me like you should treat a woman, and I appreciated it.” She then gave me a little hug…out of nowhere…and headed for the door. She then waved over her shoulder, and said “Hope to see you soon!” with a smile and a wink.

I leaned against the wall, as if I was out of breath. It happened so quickly, and it took its toll on my body. I took her last phrase “hope to see you soon” into consideration in a second. What would the repercussions be of a second visit?

My heart was screaming “YES!”

My brain was screaming “NO!”

My insides were screaming “WHAT’S FOR LUNCH?!”

A little part of me does want to see her again, simply because I’d like to see what she would do next time. Your guess is as good as mine.