What you can expect:
The brutal truth of me, without all the sugary coating.
Here I am just me, UNCUT and UNEDITED.
I talk about my family, my divorce, and a lot about MAKEUP.
If you leave me a comment, I will love you forever. :)

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Dear Customers, Vol. 3

I know, I know, it's been overdone. But I'm fed up today, and I'm doing it again.

Dear Customers,

First of all, I appreciate you shopping at my store. I am bored out of my mind there 4 out of 5 days every week, so your presence is appreciated.

If, while you're there, though... maybe you could just speak kindly to the stranger-lady who is helping you with your shopping/trying-on experience, that would be appreciated even more.

For instance, when you walk up to my fitting room, where I'm standing there with very obviously nothing else to do but serve you, and I say, "Hi!" the appropriate response is, "Hi," or "hello," or "how are you". The IN-appropriate response is, "EIGHT." Yes, I do need to know how many items you are taking in with you, but I'm not a take-a-number machine. I'm a person saying hello to you. Barking a number at me isn't going to make me judge you less harshly for picking out clothes that are clearly too small for you. I promise it will have the opposite effect.

Also, you should probably know that even if you ignore my existence, you are still going to need me to buzz you into the bathroom. Pretending I'm not standing there isn't going to make you invisible; it just makes you rude. It's not MY idea to make you "ask permission" to use the restroom, and I'm still a person, not a machine. So a reasonable nod or request would be polite.

Oh, and Lady? You look like an idiot when you walk into the men's room searching for the bathroom just because you're completely unwilling to ask me which way to go. I am there to serve you, but I simply cannot if you don't tell me what you need.

While we're on the subject of the bathroom, when you send your 4-year-old daughter into the bathroom alone, it freaks me out. I stand there the entire time until she comes out, worrying for her. Just go with her; it'll take you two minutes, and I won't have to worry that she's being molested in there. And when she says, "But I'm scared," don't tell her she's being a baby. She's four years old. YOU are the one who should be scared for her.

Oh yeah, and ladies, just because you only weigh 89 pounds and you're teetering on your ginormous heels doesn't mean you don't have to treat people with respect. Your ten pounds of makeup, your teeny little jeans, and your $3,000 purse aren't going to make anyone think you're beautiful if you treat them like garbage.

One last thing... Sunday is not technically bring-your-kids-to-throw-around-all-the-toys day. You have two choices: 1) accompany them through the toy department, or 2) come back and clean up after them. I'm just wondering... Why is Sunday drop-your-kids-off-in-the-toy-dept-and-go-shop day??

Thanks for shopping! See you next Sunday!


Fitting Room Girl
(trust me, I was standing there; you just didn't notice me)

1 comment:

  1. Awwww...I can't even imagine the crap that you have to deal with on the daily. People are so rude.
    PS. Don't you ever just wish that one of those 89 pounder's heals would just snap off. I'd like to see a good ankle break and yell "Ha ha" like that that kid on the Simpsons"
    PPS. I'm not normally this mean.


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