Short skirts, long looks

Business is slow. Anthony, another retail slave and I are standing by the entrance, people watching. People watching is a great way to pass the time. They become fodder for our boredom-enchanced cruelty.

“Whoa, check out the girl in green.” Anthony exclaims.

My eyes wander over to a pair of women near the escalator. They couldn’t be more than sixteen, seventeen. The one clad in green wears a denim skirt cut off so short I nearly catch a glimpse of what’s underneath.

“I hope she doesn’t drop anything,” I say chivalrously.

We look on in silence for a little longer. I hope no one catches us staring.

The girls walk to the escalator finally, moving their way up to the second floor. I turn my head around to see if we missed any customers. As I return my gaze I see Anthony lift his chin in acknowledgement at the pair.

“Holy shit!” I say. “They caught you looking!”

“They caught us looking,” he corrects.

I try not to look too embarassed. But not too proud either; I don’t want to look like a lecherous perv. We continue to watch them until they reach the top of the escalator and disappear from our view. For a minute neither of us say anything. Then Anthony speaks up.

“Her face was wrecked, though.” he says thoughtfully.

Lycanthopy, retail-style

Although I work in the middle of a city that prides itself on being a model town, people suddenly morph from model citizen to outright asshole when they step into a restaurant or a store of any kind. I read The Store’s manual on Providing Good Customer Service but they never mentioned this change in behavior.It’s like werewolves, except that it’s a sales associate instead of a moon that causes this change. Instead of long pointy fangs I just get a view of rather shoddy personal dental hygeine. And of course, the mismatched and unsightly outfits don’t morph into fur. That said, the attitude is just the same: petty, angry, and full of spittle.

Today I encountered one such she-wolf. Overly-tanned with sunspots to show off year of sun damage, she is clad in a loose-knit pastel top, tasteless gold jewelry, and black shorts. Her hair is cut short and fluffed/permed in a loose white-woman afro. Yuppy Uniform of the Suburbs. She walks in carrying a bag with The Store’s logo. A return, how nice.

“Hello, welcome to The Store,” says I. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

She walks to the counter and unloads her bag unceremoniously. “Retail Slave, I need to return this.”

“Would you like to take a look around the store first?” I suggest, according to Store Protocol.

A look of irritation passes across her. “NO.”

I process her return. Once I get to the end, I’ll need her credit card in order to return the charges. We have old-ass computer systems. I take a look at the reciept again. “Ma’am, I’ll need your Visa.”

“Well, I don’t have it.” she replies. “It belongs to my daughter.”

“Would you like to get store credit or wait until you can get the card from her?” I say, giving her an option. She looks hard at me again.

“It’s a debit card. Can’t I get cash back?”

Uhh, what the hell?

“I’m afraid not, ma’am.”

She-wolf suddenly rears up. “What do you mean, NO?”

She says “you” as if I am an earthworm or some other creature unworthy of her time. Me saying no to her is offensive from a person of my stature. Come to think of it, a lot of this probably has to do with a Yuppy upbringing and a life-long sense of entitlement. Saying no to a Yuppy is like asking for a fistfight.

“Company policy, ma’am.”

“My daughter’s out of state right now for summer school.”

Did you want me to run right over and pick her up?

“There’s nothing I can do, m’am.”

“What if I use my Store credit card?” she says slyly.

“Sorry ma’am,” I reply. “I can either give you store credit or you can wait until your daughter comes back with her card.”

I’m letting her down gently but she takes no notice. With a sweep of a flabby arm she sweeps the clothes back into the bag.

“Ridiculous,” she shrieks. “Ridiculous.”

She walks away briskly. Or rather, as briskly as she can.

“Have a nice day,” I say to her quivering back.

Now that school is out for the summer, I see a lot of these same she-wolves with their cubs in tow. I wonder what sorts of lessons they’re passing on in interpersonal skills.

Hello is long-hand for BOO, MOTHERFUCKER

One thing that I’ve noticed while working at The Store is how customers respond to my co-workers and me when we walk up and greet them. The managers here take the idea of Customer Service seriously and have passed the values down to us Retail Slaves. Consequently, whenever anyone walks into the store will be greeted and offered assistance. Customer Service here is Serious Business.

Unfortunately, most people who walk in are used to…walking into a store and being ignored. A lengthy history of such cold experiences produces shock when they come in to The Store. Reactions to a simple “Hello! Welcome to the Store; is there anything I can help you with today?” can be separated into several categories:

1. Shock n’ Scuttle
The sound of a friendly voice offering assistance does not compute into the binary expectations of the Customer. Binary expectations are Acknowledgement with Complete Silence or Acknowledgment with Cold Shoulder. Since “Hello!” does not fit into either, this throws the Customer off. Confusion results in mild fear – questioning looks that say “What do you want from me? Don’t hurt me!” – and a hastened, shuffly pace like a beetle.

2. Shock n’ Sneer
Similar to Shock n’ Scuttle. Confusion and fear are replaced by revulsion and disgust. There is a sneer or some ugly condescending face that says, “Are you talking to me? What the hell do you want, Retail Slave?” and a hastened, haughty walk. Or waddle, as it more often is.

3. Total Cold Shoulder
“Did I hear someone say something? It sounded like ‘hello.’ But I can’t be too sure so whatever, I’ll just keep walking.”

4. In n’ Out
At the sound of someone addressing them – someone they don’t recognize – they spin around and walk right out. Fucking weird, but it’s happened more than once. So it gets its own category.

Of course there are some people who are happy that someone is willing to help them find a gift or something. But there’s no interesting story for that.

Bienvenidos a Hades de Retail

I used to be like you: Motivated, educated, and happy to be alive.

Now I work in retail. I am a retail slave
These are my stories