Please Answer When I Knock. I Really Don’t Want to See You Naked.

Dear beloved customers,

We’ve spent a lot of time together. We’ve seen each other through the good and the bad. The neat and the messy. I’ve watched you try to flirt with my hot coworker and been on the receiving end of your advances. I’ve rung up your coupons, exchanged your items, and dealt with your returns.

“Hi. Welcome to the store.” I say those words to you whenever you enter. They’re almost always accompanied with a smile. I just love it when you walk in, hear me address you, and ignore me. It really adds a little special something to my day.

After a few moments, I tell you the current sales we’re having. Trust me, I’m only saying it for your benefit. I’m not telling you the promotions because I like the sound of my own voice nor am I repeating it to remind myself. Take a second to listen to what I’m saying. It’s for your own good.

Then, as you rifle through the stacks, please let me help you. This time I’m being selfish. I know you can find a size all by yourself, as you often point out. I understand that finding sizes isn’t that difficult and all you have to do is rummage through the pile of neatly folded shirts. But because I’m not very fond of refolding the same t-shirt over and over again, I’d much rather find the correct size for you. Please let me. This is what I get paid to do.

Another task I get paid to perform is letting you in to a fitting room. In case you haven’t noticed by my lack of a crystal ball, I’m not psychic. I don’t somehow know that you need a fitting room unless you tell me. Standing in the clearance section by the fitting room is not telling me you need a room. And once I let you in to a room, please shout if I knock on the door later on.  Since we have a limited amount, it means that I have to let someone in to the room after you’ve finished. Again, I’m not psychic. I don’t know if you’ve left the room or not. If you don’t answer me, I’m going to open the door and find you in your underwear. Trust me, that is something I don’t want to see. Also, it’s been only boys whom I’ve accidentally walked in on and just so you know, you’re not sexy. I don’t instantly want to jump your bones because you’re standing half naked in front of me. It doesn’t turn me on at all. In fact, it makes me embarrassed and I will probably do my best to avoid you for the rest of the time you spend in the store. So men, please answer when I knock.

When you leave clothes in the fitting room, usually inside out and on the ground, that means that the next customer will see it and think it’s what they’re supposed to do. So then they’ll leave their clothing in the fitting room. And then so will the next customer, and the next customer, and I hope you can see where I’m going with this. Leaving your clothes in the fitting room creates a vicious cycle and a lot of clothes for me to carry out of the dressing room. I’m a small girl. I’m even littler when my arms are weighed down by fifteen pairs of jeans, eight shirts, five pairs of shorts, and a hat.

After I carry out all of your leftover clothing, I put it beside the smallest register. Whenever I’m not actually ringing up a transaction, I’m putting the clothes back on the sales floor. Please don’t watch me finish a transaction, grab a bunch of jeans, and start to walk away and then force me to return because you just decided that you really want that shirt RIGHT NOW. Especially if you were still shopping while I looked around after I finished my transaction and before going to put stuff away. Also, try not leave once you get my attention. It’s really irritating when I stop in the middle of something to go help a customer only to have the customer disappear on me.

When I’m ringing you up, there are a few questions that I am required to ask you. There are two simple replies to these questions: “Yes” or “No”.

Please don’t come up to my register and start gabbing on the phone. You weren’t on it while you were shopping. Why would you take it out when you’re supposed to interact with another human being in the flesh? Does the person on the line want to hear me ask you whether you have your card on you and that your total is $56.46? Really? Do they find you so fascinating that they cannot live without hearing you pay for your clothes? Please don’t glare at me when I ask you a question as I’m ringing you up. I’m not asking you to annoy you, although that would be an added bonus. I legitimately need the answer. I promise the entire transaction will go much smoother and quicker if you just hang up the phone that’s suddenly become surgically attached to your ear.

I’m not your mother. I’m not your personal shopper. I’m a sales associate.

xoxo,

Me

PS. To my darling coworker: Thank you so much for leaving me that mound of clothes to put back. I know you said that it was because you were really busy the whole afternoon but I’m going to let you in on a secret. Are you ready for it?

You lied to me.

How do I know that? Because I’ve worked at the store for two years. I know how rushes work. I know how long it takes to put clothing back. The amount of clothing you accumulated during your shift was far more than what would pile up during an hour or two of constant rush. In fact, putting all of your clothes back took nearly my entire shift because there was so much of it.

Don’t worry though. Our manager saw you and watched me put your mess away. She saw how long it took me. She also knows when you work next. I’d expect a nice little pile of clothes waiting for you during your next shift. And if she doesn’t leave it? Well I have the shift before yours soon. I get off when you start. Maybe I’ll be really busy during my shift too.