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It’s a short one this week, folks…I’m working on a few other juicy stories, but this one has been laying around in my head for quite some time, and it’s about time to post it. This week’s story scares the hell out of me. This happened a few weeks ago, and it just popped into my head again this evening, so I’m writing about it now.

After coming off of break, one of my co-workers (we’ll call her Mary) was watching the room. I took the key from her and proceeded to survey my domain while she went to folding clothes. Things were normal…well, as normal as they get around that FR.

That is, until SHE came in.

A woman, probably in her late 40s, early 50s came strolling in. Let me rephrase that…shuffling in. She was about my height (around 5’7 or so) and weighed about 105 soaking wet. Skinny bitch kinda character…no curves to speak of. She distinctly overly tanned herself, so she had wrinkles around her eyes and her mouth. Her hair was black, but her one inch roots gave away the fact she was naturally dark brown. She tied part of it up in an 80s style duo-ponytail thing, which looks very very awkward when you have very frizzy, curly hair. She was wearing a flowy top (a common dress ploy to avoid revealing she has no upper body to speak of) and a pair of jeans that were painted on. It was a pretty common sight…and she definitely had a smoker’s voice. If you’ve ever listened to a woman that smoked for the majority of her life, you know exactly what I mean.

The thing that was most shocking about this woman was her boots…which matched her hair…both in color and texture. Seriously. Frizzy haired black boots that were about 2 inches thick in all directions stemming from her leg.Yes, these boots.

Yes. These boots right here.

Now, I encounter my lot of strange looking folks in the ol’ FR. I’ve gotten balding women, frail, frightened looking women, and people that just look…well, strange. This woman topped the list because she actually flaunted herself as if she looked good. That’s the joke of the century right there.

So anyway, Jim (remember him from a post wayyyyy back? I thought not) came waltzing by, and I noticed that he didn’t shave. He had a few stray hairs growing in random places, so I decided to bust on him for it as a joke. I called out “HEY, THAT BEARD’S COMIN’ IN NICE AND THICK, JIM!”

Now, I will be the first to admit my facial hair is nothing spectacular…pretty straggly, actually…but it’s there. It’s distinctly a goatee and mustache. I have a lot more than Jim, so I just joked with him about it.

Well, this woman looks straight at me, and says very seriously (and in a snobby, snooty voice): “Tsk…it’s not like you have anything to brag about. It looks like a caterpillar died on your upper lip.”

I’ll let that soak in for a second.

A customer said this.

Directly to my face.

With 100% sincerity (you could see it in how she looked).

What the hell. What in the FUCKING hell.

I’ve been insulted…jokingly before by customers. They find it hard to insult me, though. I’m nothing but nice when it comes to my job. And the same went for this woman…I was nothing but nice to her the entire time she was there. I asked if she needed help or anything, and she definitely took advantage of that. And for the few times that I have been insulted, it’s because of what I have done, not because of who I am or what I look like.

Well, I went from zero to pissed instantly. Things like this usually don’t irritate me, but I had just been fucking insulted by King Tut’s mom (she looked old enough to be her, anyway). My smile faltered, and I stared at her…no, LEERED at her intensely. She kinda laughed meanly about her insult. No one else did, so I guess she pitied herself. In fact, a woman sitting right next to her looked at her glaringly; I guess she saw how insensitive the comment was.

She left shortly thereafter. I mean, I couldn’t lose my cool, despite how much I wanted to. I know it’s stupid to get so angry over something so shallow as my looks, but Jesus, if I can be nice to the hundreds of people I see in a week, I’m pretty damn sure you can avoid insulting me for no fucking reason.

I really felt like shouting back (and this popped into my head immediately) AND HOW MANY FUCKING WOOLY MAMMOTHS DID YOU KILL TO FUCKING MAKE YOUR ASS UGLY BOOTS?! or THE POODLES CALLED…THE WANT THEIR GOD AWFUL HAIRSTYLE BACK!! or FUCKING GET SOME IMPLANTS SO THOSE CLOTHES ACTUALLY FEEL LIKE THEY’RE CLINGING TO SOMETHING!!

Fucking asshole.

New stuff soon.

Busy busy busy. Never seems to stop for me. This blog won’t stop for a while, either. It’s odd to think it’s almost a year since I started it. Anyway, on to stories.

I get cocky customers in the fitting room all the time. It’s in human nature to think you’re better than the lowly peon that works to present clothing to you. You could go into any store…not just ours…and see this process. People are determined to prove us wrong constantly or think we’re stupid or something. I still fail to see the connection between working in retail for a job and stupidity, but I guess our customers would definitely see it before us. I mean, I know I’m dumb now thanks to them; all my efforts to read War and Peace I now know were in vain. I guess there’s a clause in our contract that says we’re supposed to be treated like shit just because we work there. I don’t know. Moving on…

I encountered a woman and two daughters last week who came in about 20 minutes before close. They had a cartload of stuff, and it’s common ground to just leave them go into a room and do their own thing. I’ll be damned about LP, I am NOT counting all of their goddamn items for them. Have you ever seen a smile slide off of someone’s face? It’s depressing and aggravating, isn’t it? Kinda like “What the hell did I ever do to you?” sort of thing. Well, that’s EXACTLY what happened when this woman came in. She was laughing like an idiot right outside the fitting room, but she looked at me, and I saw the smile slip right off. I could already tell she didn’t like me…and I didn’t want to put up with her for too long.

Before I get too far into my rant, let me just say that this woman’s body composition was hilarious. It was like she was an action figure or something. Her upper body up until where her shirt ended was relatively thin, but where her pants met her shirt, WHOA MOMMA did that change. Her hips, ass, and legs were HUGE. They were by no means fat…on the contrary, they looked relatively normal. Normal for the Hulk. On steroids. I didn’t say anything because who knows…maybe she was She-Hulk in disguise.

Anyway, they go in the room and bang and thump around for a while. After about 10 minutes of this, the mother darts out, and grabs some more bathing suits. Doesn’t say two words to me. About 5 minutes later, she does it again, and I offer to help get her whatever she needs. She ignores me. Again. My patience is being tried. Actually, no, I just went riproaring into getting pissed off.

Finally, the next time she comes out…again, 5 minutes later…I block her, and talk to her directly in the face. I am already agitated. We’re closed already, and they’re the only ones left. I simply say “I’m here to help ma’am. Please, tell me what you need.” She scoffs, walks around me, and says “Nothing.” Not even an excuse me, no thanks, or even a kind “Fuck off.” What a bitch.

Finally, the woman and daughters each leave with a bathing suit top each. Yes. One top. Each. Not even bottoms…but I guess the mother didn’t want to bring attention to hers or something I doubt we had a size big enough to fit her ass. I was standing not 2 feet away from them when they left, so I asked them if there was anything they did not want so I could take it back. The mother, being the bitch she was, didn’t have the heart to respond, and just blew past me. At least one of the daughters told me there was “some stuff” in the room.

To say “some stuff” was an understatement. We have six little hooks (I believe) in the room that you can hang your stuff on. Each one of which had at least TEN BATHING SUITS. You read right. That’s over sixty bathing suits from these three girls. There were so many, we literally filled an entire extended rolling rack (about six feet long) with the damn things. IT IS NOT WITHIN THE MENTAL CAPACITY OF A NORMAL HUMAN BEING TO THINK YOU NEED TO TRY ON EVERY BATHING SUIT IN A STORE YOU ENTER…SEVERAL TIMES OVER.

That’s not the worst of it, though…the icing on the cake was the fact that THEY LEFT AN ENTIRE CARTLOAD OF BATHING SUITS, TOO. I’ll just let that sink in for a second. Women are certainly picky when it comes to clothing…and rightfully so, based on the selection of stuff they have. But there is no viable reason you can give me…none…that would justify trying on that many bathing suits. None at all.

Now get this…they come back the next week. All of them. WITH MORE FUCKING BATHING SUITS.

Seriously?

You’re serious, right?

As in not joking?

Yup. 3 more hooks worth of bathing suits, going on the principle of 10 bathing suits per hook.

They execute the same gameplan…hate me right off, ignore my inquiries for help, and just be general assholes. After about 20 minutes (again, right up till close), they leave with nothing. Nothing in their hands. I don’t care if they stole, they didn’t even make an attempt to buy anything. What, is there a certain ratio or something you need to hit before you can actually purchase one? Like 80:1? What the hell is wrong with these people?

Fortunately enough, they haven’t been back to visit…yet…but I simply dread the upcoming back-to-school sales we’ll be having. The girls were both pretty young, so I’d assume they’re going to be back to try on school uniform stuff or something like that.

I hate to think how many pairs of uniform khakis they’ll leave me…

Things have been hectic for the past few months, with lots of trip planning, school wrapping up for the year and general mayhem that is a college kid’s life. I will do my best to update this as often as I can from now on (which shouldn’t be too hard, considering it’s now sumer.) My trips may put a hinderance on future updates for a few days, but nothing you guys won’t endure, eh?

Oh, who am I kidding, I know I only have like…one reader now. Oh well. I’ll entertain them.

Sometimes I like to think the fitting room is not all bad. Truthfully, it’s not. It’s actually pretty fun in there, and quite enjoyable for a lower class job, y’know? It’s frustrating at times, and people get angry at me for no particular reason. Sometimes, though, it’s the little things that make up for it.

For example…a few days ago, during a lull in our otherwise busy swimsuit season, a little old man comes waltzing in. Before I even begin to tell the little story of this gentleman, let me first describe him…he’s one of those little old men that you just go “Aww” when you see them. He had on a panama hat complete with a white band around the top. He had large, well kept glasses that sat on his long nose. His face was pudgy/doughy, but not so much to make you cringe nor too little to make him look skeletal. He just had a kind old man’s face. He had a yellow shirt that matched his hat very well, with a white grid pattern on it. He wore this tucked into extremely clean and well pressed white pants that were rounded out by completely white dress shoes. For his age, he knew how to dress. But that wasn’t the best part.

To complete the entire outfit, he was wearing a bright red bowtie that you actually had to tie. It was one of THOSE old guys.

Now that you get the level I’m on with him, he comes in and I give him a smile and welcome him to the fitting room. He says “Gee, that’s mighty nice of you! Most young folks wouldn’t give me the time of day!” He had a couple pairs of our khaki pants in his arms, and he certainly looked intent to try them on, so I took his items (“Such service!” he said with a smile) and put them in the room for him. I told him my name and said if he needed anything at all, like a size or an opinion, I’d help him out. He responded by smiling, tipping his hat, and saying “Will do, young man.”

HE TIPPED HIS FRIGGIN’ HAT TO ME! That’s amazing, if I do say so myself.

So after a few minutes, he came out with our off-white pair of khakis on, and asked if there was a three-way mirror he could look into. I directed him to the one nearest to him, and he was standing directly across from it at the time. We both chuckled at his inattentiveness, and he took off his glasses, cleaned ’em, and said “That blasted doc…he swore to me that these would work!”

Again, one of those lil’ ol’ man quips that everyone loves. Anyway, the best is yet to come.

So he saunters up to the mirrors, and gives himself a once over. I could physically see the smile on his face brighten the more he looked at himself, and he declared “Hey, these don’t look half bad, do they?” True enough, they suited him well, and I told him so. “Oh boy, just wait’ll I show the Mrs.”

Does this guy EVER stop coming with the awesome phrases? Seriously?

He askes if it’s fine whether or not he goes over to the main doorway to call for his wife, which I had no objection to. He said she was nearby, so he’d just give her a shout. He goes over, holds his hands up to his mouth and calls “Sweetypie! I have some pants to show you that are just swell! I want you to see!” A few moments later, she comes in, and he holds both of her hands in his and gives her a kiss on the cheeks. She then reveals she’s holding a onesy for a baby, and said “Wouldn’t this look fantastic on Gregory?” “That it would, Julia. We’ll get that for him. Now, for the business at hand…” He holds up his hands like an old showman, and says “Presenting…these khakis! What do you think?” “Oh, those look marvelous on you, Gus (HIS NAME IS FRIGGIN’ GUS!!)! You most definitely have to buy them.” “I think I will, my dear. You sit down here and wait just a moment. I’ll be right out.”

She sits down, and before Gus goes back into his room, he introduces me to her, and says “This fine young gentleman is one of the reasons I still have faith in retail!” I seriously turned red. I was really embarassed about it, but she smiled at me, shook my hand, and said “I know you young people all work very hard to earn your money, and you get very little appreciation for your trouble, but I want to thank all of you for all your help.”

I was kinda dumbstruck. I mean, you rarely get compliments like this, but especially from the elderly like this…it’s just shocking.

Anyway, she sat there, waiting for Gus, humming “You Are My Sunshine” to herself when he finally comes out. He hands me the one pair, and I asked him if they worked out, and he said “No need to try ’em, I already love these right here (he pats the folded pair draped over his arm).” He holds out his arm in a hooked position, and Julia walks up and holds on to his arm, like an elderly pair going to the prom. Before they make it out the door, he turns around, and says “I’d like to thank you, my fine chum (he claps his hand on my shoulder). You were very helpful, and I definitely am going to come back to try more things on because of it. The world needs more young people like you. You have a wonderful day.” He shakes my hand, smiles and winks, and then resumes the position with his wife and he struts out the door, almost dancing a little jig.

It’s not every day that you encounter a couple who are so in love with one another, so polite, and so thankful to just…well, be. I also don’t need to tell you the amount of awesomness they exhibited with every word. That speaks for itself. I don’t know if I will ever see them again, although I hope I do. But as I said, there’s a couple little gems that I encounter that just make my job worth it.

I’ll post a new update soon.

Yeah, once again, very busy, especially with midterms and ANOTHER snowstorm that I had to shovel for. Additionally, we’re still revamping our store and such…lots going on. Oh well; to satisfy the hungry dogs you are, I’m going to throw you a bone. There is a breakout of Lemming Syndrome in our customers. It’s like they gather in groups and collaborate what to do all at once. Really, I believe in each and every one of you guys out there. You can definitely think for yourselves. If one person is an idiot, and you do the same things as them, then guess what? You’re an idiot, too! So be a leader, not a follower. The thing is, don’t be a stupid leader.

A fantastic example is outside of the fitting room. Now, from previous posts, you should’ve gotten the idea that the interior of the room itself is massive. The waiting area is sufficient to cram about 10 or 15 people into if necessary, with space down the hallways on either end and the bathroom area. Get the idea? It’s big. So why is it that so many of our customers insist on waiting outside of the huge ass doorway that says “Dressing Rooms”? I mean, first, you look pretty dumb not walking right in, and second…you make others wait behind you. Other more beligerent and annoying customers that at least get it right on the first time and now how to walk up to me and say “I NEED A ROOM.”

Then again, there are times when customers can be so frickin’ annoying with their persistence. Most of the time, when things go smoothly, people acknowledge me one at a time and then follow me accordingly unless I say otherwise. Sounds simple enough, right? You overestimate the power of intelligence around here. That is the minority of occurances; most of the time it’s a jumbled mass of confusion, but not because of what I do. Get the hint? Wait your damn turn. If you are looking to try stuff on, gauge your time accordingly. Don’t just rush in and try to find something. If you’re in a rush, it’s your own fault for waiting so long to get some piece of clothing. And really, if you’re in that much of a rush, do you NEED to try things on? Really, even if you wore it once, you could bring it back. Don’t trouble me with your petty bullshit. You nor I have the patience for it.

Anywho, back to what I was saying…wait. I do my best to make things easy for all of us except making theft easy for you…I try to avoid that on occasion. So when I’m helping, please, let me help you, not MAKE me help you. I can’t count the number of times people have just waltzed along with other customers. I let in the first person because they actually listened, and I smile at them and get them situated. I turn around, and I see some woman that you just KNOW is irritable. C’mon…you HAVE to know what I’m talking about. You know…really skinny, mousy face, and the telltale sign of super short hair cut “fashionably.” I will warn you…if you ever see a person like this, do NOT mess with them; not for fear of getting hurt or anything, but they are just so goddamn annoying you’d rather get several root canals than put up with them. So anyway, they’ll stand right behind me and look at me expectantly. No sign of what they want. No words. Nothing.

“Can I help you?” Uhh, like perhaps install a brain for you?

“Tsk…I NEED a ROOM.”

I’m glad I keep my anger under control, because statements like this usually warrant a punch in the face. These people also tend to link with another tendency, which is MDC or Mistaken Door Complex. I often will put a tag on a door because they fall off so easily to let me know someone is in there. Many people see this and will make a beeline for this door. Doesn’t matter what’s in the way…seeing eye dogs, small children, a person that is blind deaf and dumb…they will knock it all over to get to this door. And often times, my shouts of “NO, NO THIS DOOR DOWN HERE” go ignored; they will jiggle the handle until they realize “HEY, THIS ISN’T THE RIGHT DOOR!!” and is probably followed by the thought “WHY DIDN’T THAT ASSHOLE TELL ME?!”

Well, that’s because I contracted Assholism a loooooong time ago. See my previous post to figure out what Assholism is. But in truth, this time, I’m not being an asshole. You’re just an idiot.

Also pertaining to my last post, DON’T YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT PUTTING CLOTHES WHERE THEY DON’T BELONG. Just because one moron was too impatient to wait 5 seconds for me to run up and take the clothes from them doesn’t mean you have to join the club. Really, it’s not all that fabulous…sure, you get the benefit of trying to be an “independant thinker” just like everyone else, but in truth, your brain cells lessen each time you do something like that. They don’t even have a membership card or package! Pfft! Who wants to be part of a club like that?

Another thing…our racks of processing are NOT to shop through. Don’t go to our damn processing area and start digging through it because you got pissed that there’s ONE pair of leggings for your daughter in the store and you couldn’t find it. First of all, she doesn’t need to look whorish in leggings, especially at age 10. Second, she probably doesn’t care. You’re just a pompous ass. I mean, really, what are you trying to do? You’re LOOKING for a reason to spend more money. Granted, it’s only $2.97, but with that in mind, isn’t it even more pointless? How often do you waste time looking to spend three bucks for no real reason? Are you just trying to disprove our ability to the masses? Are you hoping to shout at the top of your lungs while running through the store with your size 12 jeans you were trying so damn hard to find and proclaim “DON’T TRUST THE EMPLOYEES!! I FOUND SOMETHING BEFORE THEY DID AND/OR SAID THEY DIDN’T HAVE!!”? We work here; I’m pretty sure everyone is still going to trust our abilities and stick with asking us for help. Face it, you’re not gonna be the Che Guverra of Fashion and start a huge revolution because of your searching abilities.

Trust me, there will be good posts to come. I mean, the Bra and Panties Saga wasn’t exactly bad now, was it? Terrifying, yes…but not bad. It’s just that people have a very self serving attitude, and I feel the need to cut them down to size. Anywho, I’ll post early next week…hopefully with something good!