I'm officially not on vacation any more, this reality set in deep when I arrived at work 6 minutes past my scheduled time and my manager made a "tick tock" sound at me as a way to chide me (she doesn't understand yet that I am a firm believer in being fashionably late). I was able too woo her back into being nice to me by giving her my little bag of gifts from Dylan's. She thought the tin of mints with her name on it was adorable and this makes sense because she is the target customer and sole purpose for the existence of name oriented gifts. I'm sure if she went down to Pier 39 she would want her name on a grain of rice.
I work in a commission based environment in a women's contemporary department...meaning we sell things that look like this:
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| Twisted Heart...the bejeweled track suit. Women tend to prefer to wear them with extreme bronze tans, zipped down and showing their boob jobs off.
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A sexy hip little Marc by Marc Jacobs look |
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DVF is usually a winner but this sort of looks like a child went to town with a scissors when you get up close. |
I work with quite the cast of characters such as:
The French man: He is as old as my parents, has an extremely thick accent accompanied by an extremely loud voice. He likes to show all of his bulges such as his arms but also his junk by not wearing underwear and wearing extremely fitted neon colored skinny jeans or leather pants. He has a tattoo of a naked woman branded with the name of his ex-wife (one of three). He is the ultimate shark grabbing the customers by the dozen, ignores them for the more attractive and newer customers, then holds them hostage during the check out time by forcing them into non work friendly conversations about politics, romance, his personal hobbies, etc. He appears to be the most fagy looking man on the floor and oddly (or creepily) enough he is straight.
The quiet force: I’m glad to have befriended this man…another trick to the eye of the beholder he is in his 30’s but is an islander and therefore doesn’t appear to be over 21 (If “black don’t crack” then the “asian age better than the caucasion” ?? …I know that was stupid) He uses his dead pan, monotone, accented voice to his advantage by being extremely sarcastic and mocking those is he is talking to in a way that is hilarious to observe. He’s obsessed with Lady Gaga and will only dance to hip hop music at clubs (he’s the straightest gay I know and the hottest Asian).
The Cali girl: She will close the sale with an overly enthusiastic and automatic compliment, specifically “You rock the house” and will turn right around and make a face that says “I hated every minute of helping that crazy bitch”. A super organized, type A (one of her favorite pastimes is organizing and editing her resume) with a sense of humor she is my favorite Starbucks date.
Vegas hipster hottie: My little Filipino gal pal who is the only female I respect wearing incredibly high waisted jeans, loafers and a tweed jacket (because underneath she’ll wear a white tee with a black bra to show off the sex appeal). Even though we’re the same height I consider her my own personal partying polly pocket.
Mr. Black Comedy: My dear friend who wears fabulous intricate accessories and has an Elizabethan, hip, unique, original style of dark and mysterious clothing. He’s an up and coming designer of gorgeous shoes and accessories as well as some fabulous gowns and other wearables. His sharp tongue and his equal desire to talk as much shit about everyone around us as much is a true glue to our bond. Often my lunchtime companion (I get fought over because I’m so popular and fun ;) )
ADD boy: The poor dear you can’t help but like because he needs to be liked by everyone. It is my personal proclamation that nice is overrated, but sometimes it counts.In this case it does because he really is a sweetheart. At work he overwhelms himself with the gilas [* gila- an Indonesian word for crazy person, a very annoying and challenging crazy person. It is a great code word that we use to refer to our most difficult, irritating and infuriating customers. The chronic returners, the time wasters, the needys, the wishy washys, the desperate, the truly medically insane, etc.] but still gives enthusiastic and thorough customer service. A fresh 21 he is often coming to work hungover (at an old age of almost 23 that’s practically the past for me) and runs on coffee as fuel.
The Memory bank: A truly unique individual who can give you the run down on every client that walks through the door. He likes to harass all new employees by being extremely cantankerous and rude with them but will also be the first one in tears when drama ensues. You would never peg this individual for being a knowledgeable fashion resource but somehow he gets the job done. He’s the quiet loner of the floor who sometimes shows his repressed need for social interaction. One can imagine that his apartment is filled with cats.
There is also the foreign girl (pretty, quiet, present), an annoying hipster, some other non-memorables
Today there were thirteen associates on the floor and a scattering of customers. The intention of having this many workers present on one lone floor is that we will provide them with exceptional customer service…what really happens is that we stalk them, harass the shit out of them, force them into taking our help and sell them things they may or may not have wanted. The customer base today was primarily made up of gilas. I don’t have the energy to circle my prey while warding off the other cannibals…I want them to come to me and then I am more than willing to give them my most sincere, devoted attention and cater to their every need. From stuffing them into a Spanx slip, running the floor to find an item that is made up of non-synthetic materials (if you know clothing you know that this is nearly impossible no matter how elegant the designer) and bring them mini bottles of water while bowing.
The best part of my day is always my break. Today it was spent with Mr. Black Comedy and Elah [who unfortunately works with a bunch of post-menopausal women one floor below and of course Mr. Williams our loudest, hilarious and most queeny friend. He balances out having to put up with the old hags] at “The Working Girl Café”. This lunch destination also happens to pass by the boyfriends work, he enforces the safety of art school students (they may be dramatic but tend to be violent towards themselves and not others. He has it easy). Seeing as that he is a security guard you would think he would notice me standing in front of the GIANT window directly next to his desk pretending to cause a scene, but I practically had to pound on the glass.
This evening even though it’s a Friday wasn’t anything exciting. I did get to enjoy the company of my dear friend and former associate Mr. Meredith. Mr. Meredith is an extremely intelligent, well spoken and delightful individual (minus his dislike of sunshine, animals and his quickness to get bored with people drinking and acting foolishly). He is a friend I can find myself chatting away with for hours and usually do. So with the company of Mr. Meredith I was able to enjoy my evening as the boyfriend and his video game playing, herb smoking, comic book reading, alternative male significant other entertained themselves.
Now I’m preparing to tuck myself into bed…I have a barking cough brewing in the depths of my chest... I have the immune system of a premature born child during the plague…in fact if I would have been born in a time before vaccinations or modern medicine I surely would have died. I have had pneumonia on more than one occasion, scarlet fever, constantly get strep throat. I’m just a fucking mess. So I’m guzzling thera flu, drinking codene based cough syrup by the glass and praying to not let this get the best of me.
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