why i don’t talk to the customers

When ringing up people at the cash registers we are techincally obligied to engage in conversation with the customer, usually making some comment about how cute something is. Here are a few common scenerios:

me: oh this is a really cute top?

customer 1: um…..whatever.

me: this is one of my favorite pieces in the store right now. did you try it on?

customer 2: look, i don’t need some fake act from you ok? i know you don’t care.

me: i like your top you have on. is that from here?

customer 3: oh puh-lease…

it eventually leads to this at the end of the day:

me: that will be $327.96 .

customer: it wouldn’t kill you to acknowledge me you know?

why do i try?

bloody tampons

Yesterday a customer came up to me and asked me if there was a public restroom in our store. This isn’t rare, our store is fairly large and people assume that it has a bathroom in it for customer use. We don’t, and our managers are incredibly strict about it (seriously, i got marked down in “loss prevention” on my annual review because I let an 8-month pregnant woman use our upstairs bathroom once). Anyways, I told the woman that we didn’t have a restroom for customers and offered the two other public restrooms in the area: one across the street, and another literally around the corner.

“Can you please let me use the bathroom, I just got my period and I need to insert a tampon.”

Ok. Who says “insert” a tampon? I gave her a look of “Sorry your undies are kinda bloody right now” and then told her that she should hurry over to the other public restrooms, which would take her less than 2 minutes to get to.

the customer is always wrong: en francais

Dear Bitchy French Woman,

I realize that this Easter you came to New York and had one thing on your mind: I need some blindingly white, extra-wide legged sailor pants that are completely inappropriate for my age. Without a care in the world you swaggered into the store where I worked and selected the perfect pair–making sure, of course, that the girl in the fitting room went downstairs to get you a “fresh” pair first.

Anyways, you came up to me and draped the pants over the order form that I was filling out, who cares if I was writing at that moment! You needed to buy pants so you could rush off to shop and eat at all of those other places that aren’t open because it is FUCKING EASTER. Nevertheless, I rang you up normally and mindlessly, which is really the only thing I could do. I began to fold your pants and wrap them up but apparently this wouldn’t do, and you were forced to stop me.

upholstery

the store that i work at is currently having a special on “all upholstered furniture.” common conversation that occurs every twenty minutes in the store:

dumb old woman: “oh ‘upholstered furniture’ huh? so what does that mean, exactly?”

me: “we are currently having a special discount on all upholstered furniture in the store.”

dumb old woman: “oh so like, sheets and stuff?”

me (forcing politeness): “actually it is on UPHOLSTERED FURNITURE, not sheets, which we do not actually sell in our store at all.”

dumb old woman: “so I saw a shower curtian on sale, is that an extra discount in the upholstered furniture sale?”

seriously? if you are spending well over six hundred dollars on fancy organic cotton t-shirts and “lounge pants” you should know what upholstered furniture is. i don’t care how old you are.

Introduction

This is my online diary about my experiences as a retail worker at a major women’s clothing store.

This is my introduction entry.

This is the last sentence of my introductory entry.