Customer is always right... even when they're very, very wrong.

 Customer:  We're so sorry to see you go.  I was sorry when you left SoHo.

Me:  We were never in SoHo.

Customer:  Yes you were, you had a store in SoHo.

Me:  No... this is our only location.

Customer:  I could have sworn there was a store with the same name in SoHo.

Me:  There is a store called 'Otte' which many people confuse us with, but we're not affiliated.

Customer, looking at me dubiously:  Are you sure?

Me:  No, ma'am, I'm lying to you for my own amusement.

Customer: ...

A Letter to a Thief

To the woman who stole a dress from the store, whom I confronted in the street:

I know you stole that dress.  The hanger was sticking out of your bag when I chased you down in the street.  When I pointed that out, you said that you liked the hanger, then huffed and sighed and rolled your eyes saying "Jeez, I'll pay you the $5."  And the dress?  How would you like to pay for that?

I put the items you wanted to try on in the fitting room, (and counted them as I did) so I know what you had in there.  Also, we only had three of those dresses, and now there are two.

Look, I think stealing is wrong, but if you are going to do it, there should at least be rules.  Such as, once you are caught, you should hand over the merchandise.  All I got was a hanger.

I started by trying to give you a way out.  I suggested that maybe you had taken the dress accidentally.  I would even have been prepared to accept an excuse to that effect.  "Oops, it must have fallen into my bag!" you might have said.  And I would have taken back the dress without question.  I still would have known that you'd stolen it (as would you), but we both could have pretended that you weren't a lying, thieving, bitch.

As it stands, I kind of hope a piano falls on your head in the near future.

I doubt that you got home and sobbed.  I doubt you thought about me for longer than a few minutes as you congratulated yourself on a successful grab, whereas I have thought about you every few minutes for the last five hours.

I have run through every scenario in my head as to how I might have done things differently.  In one, I scream at the top of my lungs until someone calls the police.  In another, my eyes well up and I plead with you to give it back and you, taking pity on this poor, pathetic shop girl, denounce your life of crime and hand it to me.  In another, I tackle you to the ground, empty out your purse taking back the dress and whatever cash you have on hand as a "finder's fee".  And then I spit on you.  And, I don't know, kick dirt in your eyes, or whatever it is that bullies do.  Because that's what you are: a bully.

I hope you spill something red and permanent the first time you wear your stolen dress.  But most of all, I hope you think of me every time you look at it.  And I hope the thought of me gives you the same sick feeling in your stomach that I have when I think of you.

With thoughts of vengence and general stabby feelings,
Julia

In Which I Do NOT Drop a Baby

I have become rather adept at pretending to like children.  Really, the act is almost too good, as evidenced by the incident which took place on May 10th, at approximately 4:36 PM.

Let the record show that I was working.

A woman had come in to my place of business with her baby, a child who had only known life outside the womb for a few short weeks.  The baby was ensconced in a stroller/crib.  You know the ones...they look like a crib, but, you know, on wheels.  Woman wanted to try things on, and parked Baby in it's croller just outside the dressing room.

My coworker (let us call her Leela to protect her identity) was attempting to entertain the child with such devices as silly faces, and soft, cooing noises.  Baby seemed to enjoy this, and it kept Baby from becoming upset whilst it's mother donned various articles of clothing, such as are sold in the store.

Leela was called away, and Baby became agitated.  Not wanting Woman to feel she needed to stop in her quest for new garments, I stepped up to the croller, in full view of Baby, and smiled.  Baby smiled back.

I then spent several minutes engaged in what I believe is a rather cruel game known as "peek-a-boo".  I managed to convince Baby that I had disappeared from existence the moment my hands passed in front of my face, only to magically reappear upon drawing them away.  Baby seemed delighted to discover that I was still alive every time my face became visible.  Still, Baby began to twist and squirm, seeming to search for something which was absent.  Was Baby looking for Woman?  Or was Baby merely becoming distressed by the number of times I vanished into nothingness only to return whole and seemingly unharmed from that abyss.  How many times can one really visit such a place before one is simply gone for good, Baby wondered...perhaps.

Fortunately, Woman had completed her task, and relieved me from my duty to Baby.  I took those items she wished to call her own in exchange for money, and she picked up the fussing Baby, and cradled it in her arms lovingly.

But then, alas, a cardigan caught her eye, and it pleased her.  She wished to admire it on herself before deciding to own it, and she turned to me beseechingly.

"Do you mind holding her while I try this on?" quoth she.  My blood ran hot then cold.  My arms came up in a gesture of defense, and my feet took one or two shuffling steps backward.  Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion as several thoughts at once clamored for my attention.

Of course you can hold Baby...what could possibly go wrong?

What if I drop it...have I ever actually held a baby before?

You won't drop it, and really, can it be that much different from holding a cat?

Yes.  Yes it can be very different.  For one thing, cats land on their feet if you drop them.   Babies...erm...bounce.

But you were sort of getting on, you and Baby.  It's actually rather cute when it's not screaming...

But it can turn on you in an instant.  Oh sure, you're friends now, but any moment Baby will transform into a shrieking rage monster with huge, pointy teeth, and a taste for entrails.

Yes, better not.

"Oh, um...no, I'm not really..."

"Oh, OK."  Seeming to sense my fear, Woman set Baby back in the croller and proceeded to contemplate the cardigan.

I let out a deep sigh, and congratulated myself on having narrowly avoided disaster.

But this is a dangerous road I walk, pretending to like children.  Sometimes (and I only confess this to you because you are my closest confidant) I even think it might not be pretend.

They terrify me, and yet I am oddly intrigued by them.  After all, was I not once one of their ilk?

It is an interesting question.  Very interesting, indeed.

Regards,
Julia


PS-The above is a slightly exaggerated true story.  Also, I had a conversation about dinosaurs with a little girl yesterday, just so you know I'm not a complete monster.  We decided that while we would not like to meet a dinosaur in person, they are really cool.

The Terrifying Tale of the Pig-Faced Sniffer Lady

Before I begin my tale, a little house-cleaning:
Yes, Jenna, I will get around to answering your questions. But that is a day for another long post, and as I've just written a very long post, it will have to wait for another day.

The following tale is true. The only bits that were dramatized were the bits about "Deanna" and "Justine"'s reactions (sort of) and the weather. There wasn't really a storm that day. The rest of it is absolutely true, except that it is pieced together from several separate occasions; not everything in this story happened all in the same visit.

Names have been changed to protect the frightened.

The Terrifying Tale of the Pig-Faced Sniffer Lady
(Based on real events)

Justine shivered.

"What was that?" her boss, Deanna, asked.

"I don't know," said Justine, "I just got the chills all of a sudden."

It had been a slow day at the store, Olaf, where they were working together.

"You ever get the feeling something weird is about to happen?" asked Justine, peering out the large front window at the people scurrying past in the deluge of rain. Their faces were largely obscured by bulky umbrellas and the sheer amount of water pouring from the sky, but were occasionally lit up by great flashes of lightning.

Deanna considered this carefully.

"There is strangeness about this day," she agreed, also watching the storm which raged outside.

"I don't like it," Justine said firmly, as though announcing her displeasure would somehow change the course of events.

She could not know what was coming next.

Justine and Deanna were engaged in folding and straightening, when suddenly, the door opened.

In the same instant, a bolt of lightning and crack of thunder left them both momentarily blind and deaf, so they failed to see the face of the person who had just entered the store.

"Hello?" Deanna called out in an approximation of her cheerful greeting.

"Hi," said the woman, her voice high and nasal.

Justine was blinking rapidly, trying to clear the spots from her vision.

At last, the woman came into focus, and Justine wished she were blind again.

She was reminded, forcibly, of an episode of the Twilight Zone she had once watched as a child. It was the episode where a woman was getting cosmetic surgery because she believed she was ugly. When at last they remove the bandages, the woman is revealed to be quite beautiful, and the audience is led to believe that the surgery has worked. But when the woman looks into a mirror and is horrified by what she sees, it is only then that the doctors' faces are revealed. They are Pig People. It is an entire world of people with pig snouts for noses, and the woman is the only normal looking person, which, of course makes her abnormal, and therefore ugly by Pig People's standards.

That woman, the one who just entered the store, looked like one of the Pig People.

Justine bit back a scream, and exchanged looks with Deanna, who also looked like she was trying not to scream.

Pig-Face seemed not to notice their discomfort. She strode (and by strode, I mean "moved in a way reminiscent of Miss Piggy, who is a puppet, so how is that even possible-and oh God this is horrifying") over to a table which displayed gloves and scarves and other items of that nature. She picked up a scarf. Time slowed to a crawl as Justine and Deanna watched in horror. The scarf was lifted toward Pig-Face's pig nose, inch by inch, until it was smashed up against that nose, crushed to it. And then she inhaled. Long and deep she sniffed the scarf, until it was as if the scarf and the sniff had become one. She snarfled it.

Time resumed it's normal pace as the scarf was discarded. Next, Pig-Face picked up a wool hat. It, too, was squashed against the pig nose as though the sniffing were creating some sort of vacuum. The wool hat's smell was deemed unworthy, and it was cast aside. Next, she picked up a pair of leather gloves. Once again, they were presented to the pig nose for inspection. They were sniffed. Again. And again. Pig-Face next tried to separate the pair, pulling them violently apart. But the string which connected them would not break. She raised the offending string to her mouth, teeth bared in anticipation...

"NO!" Deanna shouted, taking a step forward. It was only then that Justine realized the two of them had been frozen in terror. Pig-Face looked up and Deanna quailed under that squinty gaze. "I'll..." she said, moving forward in a shuffling manner, as though her legs were still half frozen. "I'll cut them for you!" she finished triumphantly. Amazed by her own quick-thinking, Deanna scurried behind the counter to grab the scissors. With the thread cut, Pig-Face sniffed each glove individually before tossing them casually aside.

She continued in this manner around the store, sniffing anything and everything she could get her hands on. She came to the next table, further in the store, upon which several cashmere sweaters were sitting, perfectly unaware of the assault which awaited them. She picked up the first one she came to, sniffed. Sniffed it again. Rubbed her snout against the soft fabric and sniffed again. Seemingly satisfied, she brought the sweater up to the register. Expecting her to ask about the size or price of the sweater, Justine was surprised when Pig-Face threw it upon the counter, opened her purse and removed her wallet. She sniffed her credit card before handing it to Justine, then sniffed her wallet while Justine processed the purchase. Deanna wrapped the sweater in tissue and put it in a shopping bag. Pig-Face sniffed her purse.

She walked her Miss Piggy walk toward the door, periodically picking things up to sniff them as she went. At last, she went out into the storm, disappearing just as mysteriously as she had appeared.

Deanna and Justine were silent for a long time.

"Did she even look at the size of that sweater?" Deanna asked in a hoarse whisper.

"No," Justine answered, just as quietly. There was another long silence.

"Deanna?"

"Yes?"

"Nobody will ever believe us, will they?"

Deanna shook her head slowly, staring out into the storm. "No," she said softly. "No they won't."

The End

Here's the Twilight Zone mentioned in the story, in case you're interested.

Of course, now I'm watching this and thinking about the message behind this episode, and I feel like a piece of shit. I know this woman will never read this, but I feel bad for making fun of her. Actually, I kind of felt bad while I was writing it. I kept thinking "is it worth the laughs I'll get?" and I really fought with myself over whether or not to post it. She can't help what she looks like. On the other hand, WHY DOES SHE HAVE TO SNIFF EVERYTHING? Also, I have seen her in the store with her perfectly normal-looking husband and two friends, and they all seemed quite wealthy and happy so...what do I know? I know that another girl who works at the store saw Pig-Face pick up a piece of trash off the street, sniff it, and throw it back on the ground. I wish I were joking.

I guess I'll never know her story.

Also, one time I giggled and asked why my grandfather's hands shook like that, and my mom said I shouldn't make fun because someday my hands might shake like that and I wouldn't like it if someone made fun of me. At the time, I thought she meant that if I made fun of him, my hands would start to shake as a sort of karmic punishment. I realize now that that's not what she meant, but part of me still kinda believes it. Part of me still believes that if I make fun of Pig-Face, then I will have a Pig-Face too.

Oh well. I was probably going straight to Hell anyway.

Working the 4th

Four hours of nothingness...

Hour One:
Woman tries on dress. Looks fabulous in dress. Says she has to think about dress. Yes, dresses are complex things, we must think about them carefully.

Stalk Adam Levine on twitter. Never really looked at twitter before...do not understand what # means. Adam Levine likes Crunchie bars, Eddie Izzard, Tina Fey...cried at Toy Story 3. ADAM LEVINE=SOUL MATE. Resolve to stalk him further. Check out Adam's girlfriend's twitter...she likes Twilight. She must die. Admits that Adam teases her for liking Twilight. Where's my knife?

Hour Two:
Alone. Utterly alone. Deirdre calls. "If you haven't had a sale by 2PM you should just close up."

Have to pee. Put "Back in 1 minute" sign on door. Lock door. Head for toilet. Get to toilet, someone tries to open front door. Head back to door. Let customer in. Watch customer walk around store, doing pee-pee dance inside. Ask if woman needs help finding anything. Woman: "I need a gift." Me: "OK, were you thinking jewelry? Clothing? A nice summer scarf?" Woman: "I don't really know..." Me (in my head): "Then I can't really help you, can I?" Woman leaves. Lock door. Run to toilet before someone else wanders in.

Hour Three:
Considering closing up...woman comes in. Wants to try many bathing suits. And bras.

Hour Four:
Woman still trying on bathing suits and bras. Tell her she is trying wrong size in bra. Give her correct size to try. She is skeptical. Several minutes later... Woman calls me "genius" because bra fits. Yep, that's me: Bra Genius. Woman buys bra and panties. Celebrate the fact that I actually sold something.

Halfway Through Hour Four
Almost time to close...maybe should just...woman comes in, squashes my dreams. Woman buys dress and necklace, dreams feel less squashed.

3/4 Through Hour Four:
Have slipped into alternate dimension wherein time stands still. Two girls come in. Hear one say "At least get in some AC for a minute." Great. Now people just coming in to get out of heat. Time to leave.

Five Minutes To End Of Hour Four:
Nancy (local clothing designer and overall eccentric) enters with dresses and tops she has made. Wants to chat a while. Die a little inside.

Five Minutes After End Of Hour Four:
Surprisingly, Nancy becomes conscious of time. Shut off music. Shut off AC. Shut off lights. Lock door. Close gate. Home at last. Spend rest of day watching Say Yes To the Dress. Imagine what will wear when marry Adam. Obsession has gone too far. Slap self in face. Self needed that.

Tales of Retail

Can't sleep...must blog....

Tales of Retail
Chapter One: A Snowglobe Story

At Christmas time, the store where I work sells tons of snowglobes from Austria, made by the original snowglobe company from 1900. Seriously, we sold hundreds of these last winter. They come in four sizes, and each have different figurines inside. Some were traditional, containing a Christmas tree or an ice skater. Others were a little different, like the line of circus snowglobes with clowns, lion tamers, and acrobats. This particular story concerns the second smallest snowglobe which contained a pig. (Pigs are considered good luck in many parts of Europe.)
The second smallest snowglobe is slightly larger than a gumball you get from those machines at the mall. The smallest snowglobe (I happen to own one of the smallest with a clown in it) is slightly smaller than a gumball. I know, because I can easily fit it between my jaws and still have enough leverage to bite down. If I were, you know, so inclined. Also, these snowglobes are real glass, and say so on the box they come in. Also written clearly on the box are the words "not suitable for young children".

A woman came in with her two granddaughters (approximately 7-10 years old) and one of them wanted a snowglobe. This woman had been in before, and had always been a difficult customer to please. She also had a tendency to yell unnecessarily at her granddaughters. She made a big scene with one of the granddaughters over the snowglobe, telling her that if she got a snowglobe she couldn't get a book, and she needed to decide right now if that's what she wanted. The girl clearly wanted the snowglobe, and said so, but her grandmother continued to lecture her until finally the girl just burst into tears.

In the end, the snowglobe was purchased, and the girl was happy.

Fast forward a few weeks.

The two little girls arrived at the store. This time, the grandmother was not with them, instead, they had brought the rest of the family. Mother, father, other grandmother and grandfather. The mother marched up to me with a broken pig snowglobe in her hand.

"My daughter dropped this snowglobe and it broke. I'd like a replacement."

I looked at the snowglobe, saw that it was one of the pig globes, and went to fetch another. Unfortunately, the pig was popular. We had sold out.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't have another one. These are all the snowglobes I have left."

The mother heaved a great sigh. "You don't have another one? Well, can you get one?"

"No," I said, shaking my head, "I'm sorry, but these come from Austria, we can't get anymore this year."

The mother looked extremely put-out.

"Well, can you give me a refund, or something?" she asked angrily.

"A refund?" I repeated, a confused lilt to my voice.

"Yeah, I mean, it just broke the first time she dropped it."

"Um, well, it IS real glass, so you have to be careful with it. We had someone break one in the store, and they paid for it."

She stared harder at me.

"It's not real glass," she said with such certainty, I found myself doubting this very solid fact.

"Uh, I...I..." I stuttered. "I'm sorry, I don't know what to tell you. It is real glass. These are handmade in Austria by the original snowglobe company." I wanted to add, "it says so right on the box, you idiot" but I didn't think that would help the situation. The daughter who owned the snowglobe in question began to cry at this point.

"Okay, well, I need a new one, what else do you have?" asked the mother, as though I had placed an enormous burden on her. I showed her the snowglobes, and she and her daughter began negotiating. It was then that I was called away to another customer, so the rest of the story I got from my boss, who finished dealing with the woman.

Apparently, she kept insisting that we should give her the new snowglobe for free. My boss asked how it was broken, and was surprised that it had actually broken when it was dropped.
While they ARE made of glass, they're actually very sturdy, especially the smaller ones. It was after she pointed this out that the woman came out with the full story.

Her daughter hadn't simply dropped the snowglobe. She had thrown a tantrum and hurled the snowglobe against a wall. In spite of this confession, and the fact that we could not at all be held responsible for little girls' temper tantrums in which they throw glass objects, my boss still gave the woman a discount on the new snowglobe.

I think she was just happy that they were leaving.



More to come...stay tuned!

Jules