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I’ve always said that
everyone in the world should be required to work retail for a week. One week is
all it will take, and suddenly you find yourself trying to carefully put that
shirt you were looking at back, perfectly folded. You start looking for a sales
associate to help you, being more sympathetic to the credit card schpeal, and then-
you find yourself harshly judging all other stores on their lack of customer
service. I mean why can I never find anyone in Target to help me? I swear that
every time I’m in, it’s nothing but red shirts and khaki’s running in the
opposite direction like they have high stakes poker in the back. And then I’m
left to my own devices trying to shove a futon into my cart.
I recently had a
quarter-century crisis moment, and while waiting for a pedicure, wandered into
Hot Topic. A serious episode of punk rock nostalgia ensued, and I ended up
walking away with $30 worth of shiny diamonds to stick in my lip. Only to get
home, come to my senses, and realize that there was no way to shove something
back in a hole that has been closed for 2 years. So after work today I
shamefacedly walked back in Hot Topic to return said lip-rings.
“Uhm. We don’t do that.
Like, you know, take back BODY PIERCINGS?”
“Oh. Well yeah, guess
that makes sense, I mean one would assume that they had been opened huh? Geeze,
sorry, it’s just- well uhm, my hole closed.” Gah what an awkward thing to say…
Then blonde tater-tot
pipes in, “Yeah? Take ‘em back? Ewww.”
Eww?EWW?! I stand up to my full height, in all my
I-work-at-Victoria’s-Secret-and-look-professional-scariness. Child, if you only knew the 15 year-old bra
I had to take back today. “Uh, yeah, totally- thanks guys.”
And I slunk away, even
more embarrassed at my crisis moment. Yes. I pussed out. To a couple of
teenbots. But really, I hate making a scene. My boyfriend, on the other hand,
will let whatever waitress, sales associate, or bartender know exactly how he
feels and then some. Half of me sinks down in my chair and shares a thin-lipped
smile at whomever is receiving the onslaught for the luke-warm lobster bisque,
as if to say ‘sorry about him, it really isn’t that bad!’. The other half is
sitting in awe at his boldness and fist bumping the soup.
Confrontation? Not my
thing. And while I understand that Hot Topic provides a certain,
there’s-no-way-you-can-understand-my-angst-and-i-don’t-give-a-flying-f#$%,
vibe- I still cannot believe I got ewwed. If I overheard my sales associate ewwing
a customer, I would instantly take over the conversation and call the employee
into the office. Happy to say I have never had to deal with that, even though
we will take anything, and I mean anything- back (and no we don’t resell it,
for those of you twisting your nose up). But seriously, customer first eh? Like
don’t make them feel even worse for something they probably already feel
awkward about.
Granted, sometimes
things slip out of your mouth before you realize it. An adorable little woman
came in to be resized, beaming at me and announced she just found out she was
pregnant.
“Mmmm.” I grimaced,
tightening the measuring tape around her chest, and going about business as
usual. For those that know me, such a response is standard. Like the Queen in
Chitty-chitty-bang-bang, the idea of a child catcher sounds like a good idea to
me. I’m terrified of children, and horribly awkward around them. I looked up
and realized her cheery expression had come apart, as I was clearly the first
person to not gush ooey-gooey enthusiasm over the prospect of wrecking havoc on
the female body.
“Uhm- I mean, when are
you due? How exciting!” I force the biggest baby fever smile I can manage to
recover from my unenthusiastic comment. And then she was back to her bubbly
self, talking about baby showers and bottles. I throw back the miniscule
knowledge I have about the joys of parenthood (much in thanks to my friend
Hannah, equally baby terrified, but a champion of a mother, with infinite
patience for her baby-handicapped friend).
Retail is a tricky business. With it comes a responsibility to read people, to understand what they need, even if they are nothing like you, and make sure they leave happy. And working for Vicky’s? Well, there’s a reason they call them intimates. I never want a customer to leave embarrassed, or feeling stupid. That’s my job. Now, what on earth to do with these lip rings?
