Re-Tale

Funny, real-life tales from working retail.Written by humorist James Evan Burroughs. Disclaimer: These are works of non-fiction. All material is insprired by countless retail jobs the author has aquired. They are not focused on any one experience, store or company. Names and places have been changed or omitted for anonimity.

[deargod-thesepeople]

If I can survive panty markdowns, I can survive anything.

James Evan Burroughs

[deargod-thesepeople]

The man tried to return a belt.

A belt he;d bought six months prior. He claimed the product was faulty. “Genuine leather doesn’t wear like that,” he insisted. The belt simply looked worn to me. Whether the leather was genuine or an imitation, it looked like it had seen the other side and returned as a majestic witness. It was as wrinkled as a smoker’s upper lip. It was tattered and worn-out. I had my manager come over to look at. Get a second opinion, maybe I’d misjudged the man and his belt.

She denied the return. She denied his claims. She cut off his tail with a carving knife. She walked away.  

“That’s shitty, just so you know,” The man said to me.

His final words, before prancing out of the store, were, “I’m going to Tweet about this.”  

Maybe one day he’ll publish a book called, “How I Took Down a Multi-million Dollar Company with One Tweet.” A, sort of, David and Goliath Tale.

[deargod-thesepeople]

“You can just scan the invoice.”

I can’t stand it when a customer tries to tell me how to do my job.

“I have to input the order number manually.”

“Usually they just scan it, but whatever.”

“I think I would know better than you because I was trained how to use the system and I have been using it for a year now. But why don’t I let you dictate how it’s done, Casey. Then we can sit here all day scanning the invoice, wondering why the fuck NOTHING IS HAPPENING!”

God the rants I have to internalize to keep my job.

[deargod-thesepeople]

I don’t know if you are a woman who shops clearance,

or if you have witnessed the way woman shop clearance, but, let me tell you, it was a massacre. Clothes on the floor, clothes thrown over racks and hangers sticking out with garments half off of them. There was a bra dangling from the ceiling. There was a pair of pants wrapped around a mannequin’s neck, like a noose. This is what happens when you combine discounted clothing and PMS. “Grab your torch and pitch forks ladies, we’re going bargain shopping!”

I spent a shift working in the Woman’s department. I was placed in charge of cleaning up the clearance section. You should have seen the way these woman were shopping. They gave new meaning to the term “Retail Therapy.” I’d finished making the small’s section beautiful and I’d moved onto the medium’s section. A chick came over to the small’s section and started attacking it, like a lion ripping apart its latest kill. She was aggressively sifting through the selection, smacking the hangers together as she made her way down the rack. As if my job was to prepare it for her to demolish. Clothes were flipping and flopping and flying everywhere. She’d remove a blouse, look at it, decide she hated it and toss it over her shoulder.

Another woman swooped in, like a pelican, and snatched a few pieces, adding them to the top of a monstrous pile of merchandise she had in her shopping cart. The pile was so outrageous, she had to hold it with one hand and steer the cart with the other, as she headed to the fitting room to spend the next 5,000 years trying it all on. Most likely to leave with one or two pieces.

These were no longer woman shopping the clearance section, they were animals in the wild. All couth and decorum left at the door, as the hunted for 8 dollar blouses and dresses up to 99 percent off the retail price. With my jaw on the floor, all I could do was watch with budging eyes. Jesus be with me if I dared get in their way.

[deargod-thesepeople]

Everything about the man lead me to believe he was gay.

He was well dressed in fitted, flashy clothing, he was impossibly well groomed, his skin was olive tone and his hair was platinum blonde and slicked back. He had teeny, tiny black hoops in his ears. His walk was sassy. His voice had that faggy tone. I was prepared to hit on him by saying, in my own faggy tone, “You can stick it in,” at the exact moment when he would need to insert his credit card into the card reader. And “Take it out and put it back in again,” if it failed to read the chip.

“Do you use a mobile number to earn rewards with us?” I asked.

“No, but let’s try my wife’s number.”

[deargod-thesepeople]

The woman was annoyingly eccentric.

She was one of those uppity bitches who think their view of the world is so incredibly profound that it’s the only one that matters. We should all seek her approval. We should all aspire to be like her. She was middle aged and did a lot of Yoga. I could tell because the entire time I rang up her purchases, she kept slipping into the tree pose.

I was able to add 9 and 4 in my head and come up with a total of 13 dollars for the woman’s alteration fee.

“I’m surprised people can still do basic math in Trump’s America,” said the woman.

If you can take a simple equation such as 9 plus 4 and make it political you might be a full blown liberal. As if Trump is to blame for people who don’t know how to add. I am not a Trump supporter, but I think we can blame that on calculators and computers.

[deargod-thesepeople]

The customer was returning a Michael Kors jacket.

I was searching for the detached tags and pulled an unopened tampon out of the front pocket. I felt it safe to assume she had worn this piece of merchandise, perhaps at a time when her “friend” came to visit, but it was in sparkling condition so I felt no reason to refuse the return. Besides, there’s a chance she bought the coat with it already in the pocket. Maybe we were having a sale, buy a coat and get a free jumbo tampon.

“Oh, did you want that?” I asked, nonchalant  in my delivery, as if asking her if she wanted fries with her meal, maybe she prefers a baked potato or some roasted Brussels sprouts. She took the super absorbent cotton wand from my hand and placed it in her purse. She showed no shame or embarrassment, my kind of people.

[deargod-thesepeople]

The woman tried to return a pair of shoes.

We take back shoes! But we don’t take back shoes if they’ve been worn. This pair of fuck me pumps had definitely been worn. They had been taken out on the town a time or two, used to elongate her legs and lure in the sex of her preference. This chick was a common whore and it was a plain as the hickeys on her neck she attempted to cover up with the wrong shade of foundation.

I didn’t refuse the return because she was a whore, I do not discriminate against such characteristics. I just could not take them back because it’s against a policy we have that states we cannot return merchandise that has been worn, and policies make the world go round after all.

She was very upset with me when I delivered the news.

“I just don’t understand why you won’t take them back if they’ve been worn.”

“These shoes hurt my feet!”

“I never write reviews, but I’m going to write one about this incident the minute I get home!”

My favorite one was, “It’s just that I have a lot going on in my life right now.”

As if that line was the ticket and I’d say, “I’m so sorry you have a lot going on in your life. That must be so difficult. Of course I’ll take back the shoes.”

I stood my ground until she finally grabbed the box off the counter and stormed out, cussing under her breath.

She had asked for my name for the review. “Jessica,” I told her. “My name is Jessica.” Okay so my name is not Jessica. It’s James. But like I want her to know that.

You know, it’s just astounding to me, a bitch more basic than dove soap has so much going on in her life but still has time to write a review. Like I don’t have a lot going on in my life? I have 87 episodes of Sabrina the Teenage Witch to watch on Hulu and a row of gin bottles in my closet that need to be transformed into martinis and consumed. On top of all that, the Sims that inhabit my city in Simcity: Build It are so fucking pissed at me. People are abandoning their homes because there aren’t enough fire stations, I don’t have enough minerals to manufacture bricks and, the cherry on top of it all, my city was attacked so now I have to rebuild half of it. And this chick acts like she’s the only one with a lot going on.

[deargod-thesepeople]

The customer was a beautiful bean stalk.

She was tall, curvy and she had the perkiest tits I’ve ever seen. She approached the counter with several returns: a few spring dresses, a jar of face cream a few push up bra’s, among a variety of merchandise. I was able to accept all of the items but one; a pair of designer earrings.

“We do have a strict policy when it comes to certain items, this pair of earrings will need to be returned over in the jewelry department.”

“Really, you can’t do it here? I mean that’s, just like, such a hassle for me,” She protested.

“Unfortunately the jewelry department has different guidelines when it comes to returning designer items, so it does need to be taken back in that department. It’s on this level right on the opposite side of the escalator.”

“Ugh. Okay fine. Whatever,” she spat, putting the earrings in her purse.

As I finished up processing her transaction she dramatically removed them, slapped them on the counter and said, “No. I won’t accept this policy of yours. I’ve done it here before.”

I held on tight to my patience for fear I would lose it, “I apologize, we do try to stay consistent with our policies. These do need to be taken back in the jewelry department.”

Policies are important whether you’re a multi-billion dollar corporation or a simple human trying to make it through life alive. I, myself, have a strict policy against having intercourse with chimpanzees. Is it physically possible? Of course. However, even if a chimpanzee insisted I was the most beautiful creature on two legs and he desired for me to spank him with a leather paddle and call him daddy; furthermore, INSISTING that our ancestry is basically parallel; I would decline his offer because, as I previously stated, IT’S AGAINST MY POLICY.

The beautiful bean stalk with perky tits huffed and puffed. She rolled her eyes. Her whole body reacted to my adamant refusal. It was strange. She picked up the earrings and threw them back in her bag. She turned to a woman standing by the escalator who, I’m assuming, was her friend. She began dramatically waving her arm at the woman to get her attention and yelled, “Bernice, they’re making me take the earrings back in the jewelry department so it just gonna take a bit more TIME.”

It was a tad obnoxious.  Some people are more difficult to service than others. Although I totally understood her perspective (my mom is always telling me to look at situations from the other person’s view point) and her frustrations, there’s no need to make a chimp of yourself in public over a policy.  

[deargod-thesepeople]

The bank teller was a beautiful blonde lady,

she looked like a stalk of broccoli. All full of anti-oxidants and vitamin C. She still carried her youth, her eyes were bright blue and her voice was like liquid honey. I instantly felt comfortable with her and went ahead and flashed my hand. Forgetting the number one rule life has taught me: Although honesty is the best policy, people suck so you have to fib a little.

“I lost my wallet at a Starbucks on Tuesday,” I told her. “It had everything in it, my debit card, my credit card, my driver’s license and my Dutch Bro’s Coffee stamp card. I was one stamp away from a free coffee, too! I just want to cash this check I wrote to myself so that I will have money for tacos, beer and black tar heroin. Every penny I have is in this bank.”

“Oh, I’m actually unable to cash a check without a state issued I.D., but let me check with my supervisor to see if there is anything we can do since this is a special case.”

Her supervisor appeared, she looked like a person who eats a lot of Brussels Sprouts, if you know what I mean by that. She told me the same thing, there was nothing she could do since the bank tightened its policy for security purposes.

I plead my case with stern passion because money is essential when it comes to acquiring tacos and beer, I can always give a blow job for heroin. She didn’t budge and I could tell she felt remorseful. I was upset. I could’ve exploded, I could’ve yelled, I could’ve been over dramatic, I could have told her, “Well this makes me very upset!” But I knew she would have helped if she could’ve and I have been on the other side of the counter and had to give customer’s bad news like, “I’m sorry, I can’t return this half used stick of deodorant,” Or “No, I can’t give you an addition discount for a teeny tiny mark on the bottom of that shoe.”

I thanked them both for their help. It is probably a good thing I need to identify myself to cash a check. Otherwise anyone clever enough to steal a blank check and walk into the bank claiming to have lost their wallet could have access to my cheddar. I ended up just writing it out to my friend and she cashed it. In the “For” spot on the check I put “Dildos and Doritos.”  

[deargod-thesepeople]

The mother’s room is useless.

Don’t get me wrong, I am overjoyed that the store wants to provide a special room for new moms to pump sweet, succulent milk from their breasts for their precious little spawns. If I were a pregnant hooker or a new mommy fresh back from maternity leave, I would be overjoyed to have a room with a comfy chair to relax in while I read Cosmopolitan and utilize my breast pump. The thing is that there is no one currently employed at the store who is with child or lactating her way back from maternity leave (okay so sometimes I lactate when I’m hungover, but that’s just an odd medical condition I have.) I view the room as a wasted space.

It was once used as a changing room to get in and out of our work T-Shirts. Now we are forced to change in the lunchroom. It kills my appetite when I’m trying to enjoy my Souper Meal and someone starts taking their clothes off.

This room could be used for so many things! We could use it as a relaxing meditation room or a torture chamber for rude, inconsiderate customers; the options are endless. I’d certainly love to start running my hand job business out of it. 20 dollars for a handy in the mother’s room. I think it’s a good way to supplement my income at the risk of contracting carpal tunnel.

I’m going to write a letter to corporate.

[deargod-thesepeople]

The man was like a cucumber

dipped in chocolate fondue. He was long, slender and his skin was like mocha. He was quite abrasive, like a pineapple. This man was the most annoying person I’ve encountered. He bought one lousy pair of Nike sunglasses and wanted the fucking world.

             He was all, “Get me a case for it.” Oh, am I your servant now?  

             I went to the drawer of sunglass cases and pulled out a Nike one. It was just a soft cover sleeve. I’ll admit, it’s slightly disappointing next to a gorgeous hard cover Calvin Kline case or a velvet upholstered Mui Mui case (Mui Mui doesn’t mess around.)

            When I presented the case to him he was quite disgusted, “Ah common man, give me a better one.” God some people are so ungrateful. There are starving children in third world countries who, I’m sure, would LOVE a soft, Nike sunglass case.

           “This is a Nike case and those are Nike sunglasses it’s not fair for me to give you a Gucci case and then not have it for the person who buys a pair of Gucci sunglasses.”

           He let out a huff followed by, “Get me a cloth wipe at least, common man.

           I absolutely loath being called “man.” I prefer “Guuuuuurl,” with a finger wave.

          “Sorry this case doesn’t come with one and, again, it’s not fair for the person who purchases a pair of glasses that comes with a cloth wipe.”

          “Well I bet your boss would give me one."

          Oh for god sakes, will you please excuse yourself? I would. But that would be considered rude and unprofessional. I handed him the receipt, biting my tongue.

          Okay, full disclosure, the cases are free and so are the cloths. We don’t always have cases that match the sunglasses. Sometimes we get 50 Ray-Ban cases and only 2 pairs of Ray-Bans. I totally could have given him a Ray-Ban case or a Gucci case and dug to the bottom of the drawer for a cloth, but I’m no one’s bitch. Even if I made commission, he’d be pushing it. And I most certainly don’t make commission.

         Well I had to have chat with my manager after he filled her ear. She said to me, “James I can’t have people complaining about you. I know you’re better than that. I know he was a pain but you just have to kill these kinds of people with kindness, this is where your service experience kicks in.

         She may as well have said “Bend over and take it.”

[deargod-thesepeople]

[deargod-thesepeople]

[deargod-thesepeople]

The woman was blonde,

a shade of blonde that can only come from an eight dollar dye box. She was stumpy and frumpy. I’d describe her as an upside down avocado with bad hair, and boy was she ripe. (Picturing people as different types of fruits and vegetables really helps me get through the day, while, at the same time, a reminder to make food choices for a healthy lifestyle.) She had a return from an online order which she unloaded on the counter in front of me, accompanied by explanations of why she was returning the items (as if I give a rat’s ass.)

        All was fine and dandy, as I consider myself to be a patient person coupled with the fact that we do accept online returns in the store. The only issue being that she was outside the time frame allotted to make it. I told her this in a professional, calm and well-tempered manner. At first she was understanding. Then, as she began packing all the returns back into the bag in which she brought them, she got verbally aggressive.

       “Well you know I would’ve come sooner but it’s just so hard for me to get down here,” she barked.

       “This is just a real problem because these flip-flops do not fit me!” She shook her head aggressively and threw them back into the bag.

       “Thank you so much for helping me put this back in the bag,” she spat in my direction as she forced a backpack back into the plastic bag it was shipped in.

     “This is just about the worst customer service I’ve ever had in the place,” she snarled.

      As she stood there and made a fool of herself like a child throwing a temper tantrum, all I could do was nod, apologize and reiterate that there was nothing I could do because there was, in fact, nothing I could do. I even showed her on the computer screen that I was not physically able to process an online return when it is outside the policy.

      She huffed and puffed and almost blew the security attendant down as she stormed off.

[deargod-thesepeople]

The man was pudgy,

he looked like a potato if you peeled it and dressed it up in boring clothes. He seemed annoyed, not with me in particular, but with his overall existence in general. I asked him if I could email him the receipt for his transaction. “Absolutely not!” He protested. “I don’t need any more junk in my inbox, especially not from you people.” I understood where he was coming from. My inbox is flooded with spam. I ordered a dildo online and the company won’t stop sending me offers, buy one get and additional two inches free. I printed out a paper copy of the man’s receipt and handed it over, expecting him to take it and leave.

             “Oh my god, this receipt is so long! Why is it so long? You know you wouldn’t run out of paper as fast if these receipts weren’t so long.”

               Like I’m in charge of the company’s receipt length department, or something.

               I had nothing to say to this logical statement except, “Duh.”  He did not like that. He huffed and puffed out the door, rambling on under his breath. I could only make out two words, “rude” and “unprofessional.”