Posts Tagged ‘bags’

Itchy Panties

July 14, 2011

So a very natural looking woman comes up to the register with a ball of clothes. By natural I mean, the idea of hippie comes to mind, but that’s so decades ago. This is one of those all-natural people, which is fine, as long as I don’t smell body-odor–this is generally worse when I go to an all-natural foods-type grocery store and smell body odor, it definitely ruins one’s appetite. So anyhow, she has that ‘look’, which generally doesn’t mean anything, but thankfully usually means she’ll have an eco-friendly bag, which she does. The main issue is her bundle or ball of clothing

I really could not tell what I was looking at as I grabbed the ball and attempted to pull out pieces of clothing. At the same time I’m pulling, I hear a coworker on the walkie-talkie say, “Look at all these panties she tried on! I wonder if she bought any?” I have no idea what she’s talking about, until it falls into the palm of my hand–one underwear, inside-out. And then another, and another, I’m standing staring at a bunch of worn panties. I pray, I pray to all who can hear me not speaking it aloud, “Please tell me she didn’t try these on!” Yet, bikini bottoms also emerge, and even though I’m being careful, they’re all inside-out, and I’m accidentally touching hygenic-liners, I’m touching the parts of panties that touch the various places I don’t generally think about touching at work, literally.

My hands start to itch. I wonder if it’s my imagination. I suddenly wish I had super-sight, or I could take the time to look closely at my fingers. I imagine little critters and things crawling all up and down my hands, and up my arm. Even now, I feel uncomfortable and dirty. Yet, I struggle through it. I scan every single one of these panties, attempting to put them right-side out, but I have to touch so many things in order to do so. I quickly pack it into her eco-friendly bag, and after she leaves, I beg someone to watch the registers for me.

I definitely need to wash my hands.

Customer Types:

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A Cart, like a Donkey

April 21, 2010

Rarely, and I mean rarely, do I see a customer with a full-sized shopping cart walking through the mall. I don’t know where they find these things, who lets them borrow it, or if they are such shopping enthusiasts that they had to buy their own. I imagine some people buy so much stuff, they just can’t carry it. Yet, this still isn’t necessarily a socially ‘okay’ thing to do. Their shopping cart becomes like a donkey. And like a donkey, I’m sure certain stores would turn them away. *Ahem* High-end. The poor donkey-cart has to carry all those bags, being pushed around, laughed at, and stared at all day long. Really, who takes a shopping cart into retail stores? Its one thing being required to make space for wheelchair accessibility, but these things are like Hummer in a world of wheelchairs. They bang things, they move fixtures, and once they stop moving, there is no way around them–not that any cart pusher has moved very fast anyway, right?

Walking around pushing their donkey-cart, I don’t know why, but these people always have a certain look to them. Like today, the woman with her donkey-cart had it full of thrift shop and cheap-shop bags–a good thing to flaunt, right? I mean everyone is staring anyway. Let everyone know, since they’re already looking at you and your donkey-cart, “Hey, not only am I classless, but I am cheap, too!” In the fitting room, she had to announce her arrival by yelling at me three times. Because of her precious cheap clothes, she had to change with the fitting room door open–and believe me, she was trying on everything, so everything was coming off. Horrid, absolutely horrid. Thankfully she was wearing what was left of a bra. So after she was done trying on her intimate apparel, yes, intimate apparel! I walked into the room and was suddenly thrust into my childhood.

I imagined sitting with a blank sheet of colored craft paper, grabbing at my coloring tools. When you open the box, and inhale the smell of crayons–you know where I am taken back to. The entire room reeked of that crayon smell, the bad kind. It was like someone broke little pieces of crayon and left it everywhere, aging for fifty years, rubbing it into the walls. All the clothes were covered with that scent, and everywhere she went, there it was–like a bad habit we try to lose, it just follows you. It is ironic, considering her cart smelled nothing like a donkey, but she just had to smell something awful. Needless to say, I let someone else grab her clothes out of the fitting room, fold them, and put them away.

Customer Types: Lowered Expectations, Piggies

It’s All Your Fault, Mommy!

December 5, 2009

I am on the sales floor and there is a mother with a stroller and her daughter is walking nearby. Inside the stroller, the woman has her large son sitting up–and he’s far too large to even be in a stroller at this point, so I assume she’s training him for a life of laziness. Her large son decides to lay back–I guess she had too many bags (probably five or six) hanging from the handles–he shifted all the weight to the back, so the stroller fell backwards. He hits the floor and a lot of screaming and crying ensues. The mother struggles to lift the stroller while trying to get her son to stop crying. As all of this is happening, the woman’s daughter (3-4 years old) points and screams at her mother, “It’s your fault, mommy! It’s all your fault!!!” This continues for several minutes. Screaming, crying, and “It’s all your fault mommy!”

Now this is a moment to remember.