Any Color is Certain Colors

I greet a woman looking for help, and she tells me, “I’m looking for a basic crew-neck short-sleeved shirt and a long-sleeved crew-neck shirt. I need them in medium-size.” She’s reading from her phone a short shopping list.
I lead her nearby telling her, “We only have a few colors…”
“It doesn’t matter what the color is, I don’t care, I’m just picking it up for my sister. She wanted me to pick some up for her.”
“Okay,” so I hand her a gray short-sleeved shirt and a black long-sleeved shirt.
She rubs the collar, looking at me, “Is this what crew-neck is? Just a regular neck?”
“Yes.”
Opening the gray shirt, she looks at the wall, “I don’t want this color, do you have a black one?”
“Yes.” I hand her the black medium, taking the gray shirt away.
“Do you have a white one?” She shakes the long-sleeved, black shirt at me.
“Yes.” I hand her the white shirt, taking the long-sleeved shirt back. I’m so glad she didn’t care what colors we had, or we might have had a problem. I laugh a little to myself, and go back to my day.

Customer Type: The Liar, Micromanagement

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*Sweats* I’m tired.

So I have two very large tourists come in, trying on a ton of clothes–maybe thirty to forty pieces between the two of them–for over an hour. They keep trying on different colors of the same style, and definitely keep trying on different sizes. This is a busy day, and I’m surrounded by customers in the fitting room. They keep requesting handfuls of items, which makes me focus more on them for over an hour, and ignore many of the other customers that also need help (perhaps thirty to forty customers). Although they are nice and cheery about it, they also get more snippy as they try on more clothes.

For one thing, the bigger sister (as they are two large sisters) is the fashionable one (?) and critiques everything her sister tries on–to the point that the smaller sister has to wait for her sister to reappear to ask, “How is this?” To my amazement, since this woman is a size 32, her sister keeps saying, ‘That makes you look fat. That makes you look stumpy. That shows your rolls.” I’m thinking how she won’t look fat when she is short, stumpy and fat trying on all sorts of spandex and skinny, slim pants. It is inevitable. At least some of the styles pulled in a little, yet her sister persisted on criticizing everything as just okay, or worse.

As the hour progressed, I was unaware–because I breathe through my mouth in the fitting room for good reason–that they were starting to sweat on everything, handing it back inside-out. One coworker noted, “Ugh, this stinks,” which grossed me out as I was trying to turn it right-side out. From that point, I left the clothes to sit on the side for a while, so another coworker could come by and innocently fold the sweaty clothes. Perhaps the smell will go away?

Yet, the clincher, after I was facing giant piles of clothes, and all the hordes of customers disappeared–myself tired, exhausted from running back and forth and helping dozens of customers–the smaller sister comes out, breathing hard, “Boy, I sure am tired from trying on all that clothes.” I can just stand and blink, it sure wasn’t a field-day for me.

Customer type: Micromanagement, Sweaty.