Three words: Desperate retail associates.
I've never worked retail, but I'm sure it's not the easiest gig in the world. You're on your feet all day, folding, hanging, fetching. And even with your measly commission, the pay is lousy. I get it.
Nevertheless.
BYE BYE GO AWAY NOW.
Seriously. Down, girl.
You, too, peppy gay man in the Britney Spears headset. Step off.
Everything in the store is 40% off. It's written on huge posters outside the store. There's signage over every shelf and rack that says "40% OFF YOUR ENTIRE PURCHASE." And still you inquire breathlessly "Did you know you get 40% off your ENTIRE purchase today!?"
NO. YOU DON'T SAY.
The sign said "40% off your entire purchase", but we all know how fickle printed signs can be. They say one thing one minute and ... THANK GOD YOU WERE HERE.
No.
I don't need you to start me a fitting room.
Granted, I'm no Rocky Balboa, but I think I can carry a sweater. This one doesn't even have sleeves, so I'm good.
I recognize that landing me a fitting room is the retail associate's Holy Grail. I realize that the person who trained you probably told you that if you can just "get her to try stuff on", you increase your likelihood of making a sale by XYZ percent, and that's how you nab the commission. But let me give you a tip: I am trying to put together an OUTFIT, an endeavor for which I have little aptitude even when I'm holding two pieces up side by side. So if, busy little retail squirrel that you are, you take the top half of my outfit and scurry off into the dressing room with it, my odds of finding an appropriate bottom half are I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. SHOPPING IS HARD ENOUGH. JESUS.
I don't hate you. That's mean.
I don't hate you, I just wish you'd give me a little bit of breathing ro--
Doing fine! No, I don't need you to get me another size! A moment to set down my purse and remove my pants would be good, but other than that, THINGS ARE GOING GREAT IN THE DRESSING ROOM. And should they take a turn for the worse, I know you'll be checking in at least 75 more times before this is all over.
Which is why it strikes me as odd that when I finally make it to the cash register, the first thing you ask me is, "And who was helping you today?"
I've never worked retail, but I'm sure it's not the easiest gig in the world. You're on your feet all day, folding, hanging, fetching. And even with your measly commission, the pay is lousy. I get it.
Nevertheless.
BYE BYE GO AWAY NOW.
Seriously. Down, girl.
You, too, peppy gay man in the Britney Spears headset. Step off.
Everything in the store is 40% off. It's written on huge posters outside the store. There's signage over every shelf and rack that says "40% OFF YOUR ENTIRE PURCHASE." And still you inquire breathlessly "Did you know you get 40% off your ENTIRE purchase today!?"
NO. YOU DON'T SAY.
The sign said "40% off your entire purchase", but we all know how fickle printed signs can be. They say one thing one minute and ... THANK GOD YOU WERE HERE.
No.
I don't need you to start me a fitting room.
Granted, I'm no Rocky Balboa, but I think I can carry a sweater. This one doesn't even have sleeves, so I'm good.
I recognize that landing me a fitting room is the retail associate's Holy Grail. I realize that the person who trained you probably told you that if you can just "get her to try stuff on", you increase your likelihood of making a sale by XYZ percent, and that's how you nab the commission. But let me give you a tip: I am trying to put together an OUTFIT, an endeavor for which I have little aptitude even when I'm holding two pieces up side by side. So if, busy little retail squirrel that you are, you take the top half of my outfit and scurry off into the dressing room with it, my odds of finding an appropriate bottom half are I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. SHOPPING IS HARD ENOUGH. JESUS.
I don't hate you. That's mean.
I don't hate you, I just wish you'd give me a little bit of breathing ro--
Doing fine! No, I don't need you to get me another size! A moment to set down my purse and remove my pants would be good, but other than that, THINGS ARE GOING GREAT IN THE DRESSING ROOM. And should they take a turn for the worse, I know you'll be checking in at least 75 more times before this is all over.
Which is why it strikes me as odd that when I finally make it to the cash register, the first thing you ask me is, "And who was helping you today?"
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