Price check

We have a giant wall of nail files.

The wall is intimidating. Hundreds and hundreds of nail files in neat little cubbyholes lined up on the wall, staring at me.

What do they want? Why do they stare? Where did they come from? ...I think my job is making me crazy.

A woman is standing near the giant wall, picking individual flies out their cubbyholes and inspecting them as if she is expecting to find nutritional ingredients printed on the sides.

"Hey!"

I believe she is speaking to me.

"How can I help you?"

"This file don't have a price on it, is it free?"

...

...

...

Clearly. In fact, everything on that wall is free.

No. Is this your first time in a retail store? Are you just being hopeful? Why in the world would you think that it was free? You can't be serious.

I look at her. She is completely serious.

I walk over to where she is standing and make a big show of looking at the TAG LOCATED DIRECTLY UNDERNEATH THE SPOT SHE TOOK THE FILE FROM THAT CLEARLY SHOWS THE PRICE.

"No ma'am, it says here that the file is $.79."

"Oh, yeah, that's too much."

She puts the file back in its little cubbyhole.

I take it back out and shove it into my eye socket and as I lay, bleeding to death on the sales floor I am able to transcend the meaninglessness of my job and nothing hurts anymore.

Sigh. Sorry, that's not true. What actually happened was I watched her walk around the store for another 20 minutes, picking up various items that were CLEARLY labeled with prices and yell at me,

"How much is this?"

I feel this woman is giving me more credit than I deserve. For some reason she is under the impression that I can "magically" sense which item she is picking up, in the back of the store while I am in the front so that I can tell her the appropriate price.

She is also under the impression that I am capable of memorizing the exact price of all 18,000,000 items we have in the store at any given time. (ok, that might be a slight exaggeration but it's up there.)

I have also (regrettably) given her the impression that I care that she is unable to read price labels and would love nothing more than to follow her around deciphering them for her.

She left without purchasing a single item.

I am lost for words.

This is so amazing that I am fairly certain you couldn't make something like this up if you tried.

A man comes into the store and wants to know if we carry cotton wedges. Thinking that this man is obviously concerned with his general appearance and is thus looking for some type of makeup remover/applicator sponge (don't ask me why I am assuming he wears makeup, I have no idea. I work in a beauty store, when people ask for cotton wedges they are generally using them for makeup application, makeup removal or nail polish removal. Maybe he wanted them for some type of craft project. At the time, I had no idea so I just assumed.)

Ahem, anyway. My boss, obviously thinking along the same lines as me, starts to show him the cotton balls that we do indeed carry, in excess, in our store.

"No, not those," he says, " I am looking for the kind that you use, well, you know, that a woman would use when she has her period."

My boss, god bless her little heart, without missing a beat says,

"Oh, you mean tampons? No, I am sorry, we don't carry tampons here. You could try the drugstore though."

"No, you don't understand." he says, obviously getting frustrated, " I want the type of cotton that a woman can use when she has her period and wants to have sex."

...

...

...

Neither of us have any idea what he is talking about.

Frustrated, "tampon boy" starts to walk around the store obviously intent on finding this certain type of cotton whatever that can be used when having sex. On your period. I have to admit, I am confused. Having been a woman for 30 years I think I should know about whatever it is that he is talking about. But I just don't. This vexes me.

Suddenly, from the back of the store, a triumphant cry.

"Here they are!" he exclaims.

I can not wait to see what he will bring up to the counter.

Wait for it...

He approaches the counter carrying a bag of sponge applicator wedges. For those of you not well versed in beauty products and the accessories needed to use said beauty products, allow me to elaborate.

A sponge applicator wedge is what it sounds like. It is a wedge shaped sponge, approximately 2 inches long and oh about an inch wide at its largest point. Maybe you missed that, IT IS A SPONGE SHAPED WEDGE that is typically used to apply makeup. It comes in a large plastic bag with many other sponge shaped wedges. It is neither sanitary nor meant to be placed inside of a woman so that she can "have sex while on her period."

This is so much more information about this guy's personal life than I ever needed to know. I don't know if I am concerned that this "woman" is asking him to pick these up for her or if he is taking it upon himself to buy something for her to make their sex life easier, or at the very least, less messy.

I don't know if I can sell this to him and have a clear conscience.

Then I think about evolution and natural selection and I figure, meh, what the hell.

Kids

I walked out of the back room today to find a group of kids huddled around the body jewelry display case. Because customer service doesn't discriminate, I approached them and asked if I could help them with anything. One of the girls mumbled something about not needing my help, so I started to walk away.

"What the fuck did she just say to me?" I heard someone say behind me.

I turned to see a boy, not more than 4 feet tall, wearing pants that were obviously bought too short as they only came up to right underneath his butt, glaring at me.

"Sorry?" I asked him.

"I said, what the fuck did you just say to me?"

"I asked if you needed help with anything."

He glared at me.

It was then I decided perhaps I should remain at the front counter in case he did in fact need my assistance. It was obvious he was hard of hearing or possibly confused about being out in public and how visiting a retail store may cause the workers in the store to offer him assistance with his purchasing experience. Clearly this frightened or intimidated him in some way and maybe my presence could offer some sort of calming effect.

After another five minutes of glaring he nodded his head in that way that guys nod their head when they are trying to motion towards something because men apparently sometimes forget how to use their arms and hands to actually point at what they are referring to.

Head nod, "That one."

Me, "Sorry?"

Head nod, "That one."

Me, "That one what?"

Head nod, "I want THAT one."

Me, "You want WHICH one?"

He takes his hand out from underneath his shirt, actually he had both his arms inside his shirt, the arm holes were apparently too uncomfortable to use that day so when he reached up to point to the piece of jewelry he wanted to purchase his entire shirt ended up around his neck. His pants were still barely hanging on, resting right below his ass and exposing his grey boxers and (now that the shirt was around his neck) his entire midsection. At this point I could have asked him to leave as he was clearly violating the No Shirt part of the public dress code.

"I want this one," he says, tapping on the case with such force that I thought the entire thing, which is bolted to the counter, was going to come crashing down. Maybe it was because he was only 4ft tall and could barely see above the counter that he felt the need to be so angry about it.

That would have probably made me angry as well. I should have offered him a comment card so he could complain about how our store is not designed well for the vertically challenged.

I took the jewelry out of the case and set it onto the counter. Another member of the entourage paid and then handed the piece of jewelry to the young man that was still glaring at me.

"Have a nice day guys." I said with my customer service smile.

As they were walking out the door the girl I had initially approached said very loudly,

"I don't think they like black people in their store."

This incensed the short one as he then began to jump around outside the door and windows yelling at the top of his lungs,

"What?! What?! You scared of black people? You don't like black people. What?" and on, and on, and on.

I am not sure if he was really asking me those questions or if he just had some sort of condition that caused him to ask questions really rudely and in a confrontational manner all the time.

So allow me to answer that question now.

I have no problem with black people. I just don't like kids. In any color. Especially rude, unsupervised, miscreant, loud ones. I hate children. I hate when they come into my store and steal or make a mess or loiter.

Why did he have to make it a race issue? It's because I'm white isn't it?

Awesome Questions Vol. 2

"Dearie, do you know where I can find a little laxative?" like a small amount of laxatives or a small individual laxative. NO. THIS IS A BEAUTY SUPPLY STORE.

"Do you mind if I open this tweezer and see if it works?" Yes, I mind. That is just gross. What if you don't want it? Should I let someone else buy your used tweezers?

Phone call; "I know you close at 9 but I am on my way could you maybe stay open until I get there? I really just need some gel for my hair." Of course we will stay open for you, I have only been working for 10 hours and would love nothing more than to stay open an additional 30 minutes so you can purchase $2.99 hair gel. Would you like me to prepare a nice snack and a latte for you to have when you get here as well? NO NO NO NO NO, go to Walgreen's, they are open 24 hours. Jackass.

More of a statement than a question; "Of course you wouldn't know what I was taking about. You are a white girl." Really? Then why even bother wasting my time? It's not my fault. I was born this color.

"Do you like working here?"

Usually

"But don't you feel like you are wasting your potential?"

No, I never thought about that, thank you for pointing that out to me "girl in a Perkins uniform", now excuse me while I go home and contemplate this while drinking copious amounts of alcohol and crying.

"Do you sell insert random product here?"

No I am sorry, we don't

"Why?"

To frustrate you.

I get this question at least five times a day.

Money

I woke up this morning feeling like I got hit by a truck. Splitting headache, nausea, body aches and no I wasn't out drinking last night. I can only assume (with my keen observational skills) that I have contracted some type of virus. It makes sense, I work with the public. I come into contact with many people during the day and interact with them on a one to one basis. People carry germs. Most people are not as vigilant as I am at washing their hands, covering their mouth when they cough or turning their heads when they sneeze. My store is also frequently overrun by small children that tend to be, well, leaky and sticky and like to touch things and pick things up and put them down in the wrong places. Then I have to run after them and retrieve these objects and return said objects to their rightful homes. I feel comfortable in estimating that I have inadvertently touched or otherwise come into contact with about 100 different people's germs in a good days work. (God I feel icky now, hang on while I wash my hands again.)

Anyway, it would make sense to me that because of the nature of my job I could expect to contract random viruses on a regular basis. (If you haven't read any of my other posts, please take a break to do so now as I am pretty sure that the previous sentence could be misconstrued and leave you to believe I work in the sex industry. I will wait for you to come back.)

I am not here to bitch about this though. I really don't blame all my customers for exposing me to their germs and condemning me to a few days a month of feeling like shit (I should clarify; I don't blame them for making me feel like shit physically, I do however completely blame them for making me feel like shit emotionally, mentally, spiritually, etc.)

What I blame is their money.

Money, as we all know is dirty. Just the thought of it passing through all those sets of unwashed hands, collecting germ after germ. Ick.

There are two types of money I come into contact with at work. The first is normal money. Normal money is the kind of money that normal people carry around. Usually, it is money that they get from the bank and then put into their wallet which then goes into their pocket (man) or a purse (woman) (or vice versa, I am not one to judge a man carrying a purse or a woman who chooses not too, I am neutral on the purse debate as I can see both the pros and cons of carrying one). Normal money is typically pretty flat, though it may have a few crinkles, usually it is very legible and true to its original color. Normal money may or may not still have that "money" smell. Normal money is money that I happily take from a customer in a normal manner and place into the correct slot in my cash register: transaction complete, have a nice day. Normal money makes me happy.

Then there is the other type of money. Let's call this type of money OMFG you have to be kidding me you expect me to touch that? money. This is the type of money that is usually carried by angry, loud, sweaty, profoundly overweight woman who can't put their cell phone down long enough to let me tell them how much of their money I need for the transaction then get mad at me and shoot me dirty looks, type of money. This type of money is carried in a very special place. This type of money is obviously of such value that it can not be carried in the same places that normal money likes to dwell. It must be carried in that sacred place close to their hearts (as it is obviously very dear to them.) This money is carried in their bra. In their sweaty, too small, why on earth are you even wearing a bra as your shirt is clearly 18 sizes too small and those things are half hanging out anyway, bra.

This type of money is characterized by it obscenely crumpled appearance. It may range from slightly damp to Jesus Christ I could ring this thing out and fill an entire cup. Typically one would not automatically be able to tell which denomination of bill they were handed as the excess grime and wetness has caused the entire bill to bleed and smear and look like a tattered dish rag the color of infant diarrhea. This is the type of money that I pluck from their hands with the very tips of my index finger and thumb and then try to finagle into the cash drawer with as little money to skin contact as I am humanly able. After which I will run to the restroom and wash my hands for no less than five full minutes. If, god help me, there is a line of customers and I can not immediately sanitize myself you will see the growing anxiety within me; my breathing becomes shallow, I lose the ability to make normal conversation, I may develop a slight facial tic.

All I can wonder is; is there something wrong with these women's pockets? Why in the name of everything that is beautiful can't the money be put into the pocket? No one wants to touch your nasty, sweaty boob money. NO ONE. Seriously, it's gross. And why for the love of god is it all wet? What the hell? Did you run here? Clearly you didn't because your boobs weigh a thousand pounds. If you ran, you would probably topple over. And then, your money would get crushed under the weight of your giant breasts. See? The bra or whatever it is you have barely holding your breasts together, maybe floss or string or fuck whatever, the bra is not a safe place for your money. I see your pockets. I see them! You have them. Put the money in your pocket. I did not (almost) graduate with a 4.0 G.P.A. and pay my taxes and brake for animals and elderly people and recycle to have to deal with your nasty, sweaty bra money. (Not to mention your horrible attitude but we will leave that for another post.) I don't get it. Do you think it looks attractive? Do men swoon when you pull wads of cash from your chest? Are you a stripper that forgot you aren't at work and don't have to stuff the money into your clothes so that the other girls on stage don't take it? Did I miss some type of memo about this season's fashion trend? Is the bra the new wallet?

Pockets. I just want them to use their pockets.

Anyway, I should probably go see a doctor as I am feeling worse now than I did this morning.

If my diagnosis is some new strain of virus that is transferred only by sweat, specifically cleavage sweat, expect to see my face on the news tonight. And please send me letters in jail.

Retail Sales Act 1

Interior of a retail beauty store, late afternoon.

A girl rushes into the store and practically throws her purse onto the counter,

"Hey, can I uh, can I leave this here for a minute, I need to go find my mom."

Before the sales clerk can answer the young woman turns on her heel rushes out the door.

Perplexed by what just occurred the sales clerk looks at the large tote style purse on the counter.

"Should I open this? No, it belongs to someone else, it is not my business, I will just set it aside until the young lady comes back to claim it."

Satisfied she has made the right decision, the clerk sets the purse onto the floor behind the counter and starts to walk away.

Suddenly, the sound of sirens fills the air and she looks up to see 2 squad cars race into the parking lot. It immediately dawns on the sales clerk what has just happened and, throwing all good intentions aside she grabs the abandoned purse and opens it.

Inside she finds numerous articles of clothing from the retail store next door, complete with price tags and anti theft devices. Being the good Samaritan she is, the clerk grabs the bag and rushes out the door toward the police.

"Hey, this belongs to that girl," she says, motioning to the young woman who is now walking very fast in the opposite direction of the store, "she left this in my store."

The officer takes the bag from the sales clerk and peers inside then yells at the young woman to stop.

"Officer, that white girl put all that stuff in my purse, that shit wasn't there, she put it in there!" the girl exclaims.

"Do you need me to stay out here for anything?" the sales clerk asks the police officer.

"No ma'am, I think we are okay."

Satisfied that she has done her good deed for the day the sales clerk walks back into her store to finish the remainder of her shift.

The following was based on actual events. Names and other identifying details were omitted to protect those who are not completely lacking common sense or self respect. Any similarity to any person living or dead is purely intentional. No animals, sales clerks or police officers were harmed in the making of this blog.

Body Jewelry part 3

"Do you have any longer tongue rings?"

"This is all we have."

"I am getting my tongue pierced tonight and I heard it swells so I need a longer one right?"

"Well, typically your piercer should be able to provide you with the correct size jewelry."

I know where this is going, but I don't want to believe it.

"Yeah, I have to get my own jewelry."

"You are not getting it done in a shop are you?"

"No, but my friend is almost a professional."

.....

.....

.....

"So do you think this one would be long enough?"

"I have no idea. I would really recommend getting it done in a shop."

"I don't have an I.D. and I don't want to wait."

"Well, it's your face. It's your call."

"These are sanitary right?"

"Sure."

Friend of customer, "Girl, I think you should wait to get it done right, I don't think this is a good idea."

"I don't want to wait though."

"Maybe you should listen to your friend."

"Nah, I will just take this one, it will turn out ok right?"

"That will be $10.72, good luck."

Body Jewelry part 2

"he he, uhh, how much is this belly button ring?"

"$9.99"

"Whoa."

"Are they all like, the same size?"

"Well, they are all the same gauge, 14, is that what you mean?"

"uhh, yeah. I think. My girl just lost the top ball on her belly button ring and I need to get her another one. Do you sell just the balls?"

"No, sorry we don't."

"Huh, well I wonder if this will fit."

Me attempting to be helpful, "Well, most shops will pierce a navel with a 14g so any of these should be ok, where did she get it pierced?"

"heh, uh, a basement."

Riiiiiight.

"I am not sure then what she needs."

"Well if it doesn't fit can I return it?"

"No, all sales on body jewelry are final."

"What if I don't open it?"

"No."

"What if I just take it out to the car and hold it up to her belly button to see if it looks like it will fit and if not I bring it right back?"

"Sir, the second you take that piece of jewelry out of the store it can not be returned."

"Uhhhh, why?"

"Health code."

"Lame."

....

....

"So do you want to purchase it?"

"Yeah, whatever, it's only ten dollars."

End scene.

Hours and Locations

I used to like people. Really, I promise I did.

After a particularly trying evening with some particularly trying customers, I finally usher (what I think) is the last customer out the door five minutes before we close. The moment I turn and begin the long victory walk toward the back of the store to start preparing to leave for the night that all too familiar "ding" of the door alerts me that I am no longer safe. Another customer has arrived.

I turn to look, it is the same guy that I just helped for the past 30 minutes.

The same guy who made me want to put a staple gun to my eye for the past 30 minutes.

He is back.

"Did you forget something?" I ask politely.

"No. But do you know where an Old Navy is around here?"

"Sorry, I don't. I think the closest one is actually about 12 miles away"

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Well do you know how long it would take me to get there?"

really?

"No, I am sorry I have no idea."

"Well if you had to guess, how long do you think it would take me to get there?"

"Um, maybe ten or fifteen minutes?

"Exactly?"

"I am sorry sir, I really don't know."

"Well, do you know their hours?"

"Old Navy's hours?"

"Yes."

"No, sorry, I have no idea."

"Well you are not very much help are you?" As he leaves in disgust.

Really? Because I should clearly know the hours and locations of stores THAT ARE NOT THE ONE I WORK AT. What am I? The Yellow Pages? Jesus. You have got to be kidding me. I think he wanted me to feel bad. Am I supposed to feel bad for this? Did I do something wrong? Am I missing something here?

I can't take it anymore.

Awesome Questions Vol. 1

"Why is this nail polish so expensive? Is it permanent?" Yes, like a tattoo, so make sure you chose your color carefully.

"Do you dye hair here? Could you dye my pubic hair for me?" from an 80 year old woman.

"Is blue black hair dye darker than jet black hair dye? Because I want my hair to be black black. So is this jet black like, black black?" Nope, it's brown brown, we just labeled it black to trick trick you. (She actually called the store when she got home too, so I could reassure her again that the color she bought was indeed black black.)

"These combs are $.79 cents each? Can't I just get two for a dollar?" No, because then you would be underpaying by fifty eight cents plus tax. Also, this is not a flea market.

A woman, gesturing to my coworkers tattoos and piercings, "What's with all this, this trash all over." I don't know, what's with all this bitch in you?

"What is the kind of glue that is stronger than nail or hair glue? I need to glue the bow back on my daughters shoe." Have you tried superglue? "Do you sell that here?" Yes, it's in the aisle with the screwdrivers and toilet paper.

"Why don't you have the same products as the beauty store I went to in Washington?" I am stumped as how to even address this.

"I saw a product on your website that says it is not carried in your stores. Can you check if you have it in your store for me?" later in the conversation "Well how can I get it without ordering it online?" Maybe if you close your eyes and wish really hard the magical beauty fairy will bring it to you for Christmas.

"Do you have this product in the back?

Is there something wrong with the one right here?

"Well this one is on the sales floor, I want a new one."

It's in an unopened package

"But it is on the sales floor, I don't want a used one."

But it's not..it's brand new..unopened...sigh, never mind.

Shoplifters

I have a secondary job at my primary job; it is to watch for potential shoplifters.

Remember the good ole' days kids? When people were honest and respectable and you could leave your door unlocked and trust your neighbors? Yeah, me neither.

We have a lot of shoplifting at my work.

It is my responsibility to try and prevent this from happening.

After months of dealing with this you begin to get a certain "sense" of which type of customers that come into the store may be potential shoplifters.

Particularly, people that come in wearing slippers and white, transparent pajama shorts. Oh, and a shirt with no bra. Which brings me to another question; why do so many people leave the house these days in their pajamas? I am all for comfort and have been known on occasion to wear pj pants to the store. But they are usually plaid. Or at least a dark enough color that if I wasn't wearing any undergarments you wouldn't be able to tell. Also, put on a bra for god's sake. I know, I know, why should we have to wear bras? Why can't we just be natural. Blah, blah, blah. I hate bras too. They are uncomfortable. All the wires and metal clasps and unbreathable fabric. When I get home from work one of the first things I do is remove the bra. That's in the privacy of my own home though. The only other person that has to witness my unsheathed breasts in all their glory is my dog, and I own her so she doesn't get a choice.

So this woman walks in wearing very short, transparent, white cotton shorts. Underneath the shorts she had on a turquoise thong. Which was a great choice I think as it really broke up the monotony of all the white. She was also wearing a purple shirt with no bra. Let me paint the picture for you; she was probably about five foot nine and a svelte 300 pounds, 100 of which I am sure was living on her chest. One of her boobs was the size of my head. At least. Oh, lets not forget the faux Mohawk/mullet with purple and white stripes.

You couldn't make this shit up if you tried ladies and gentlemen.

As I am watching "slipper girl" walk around the store suspiciously picking up items and then setting them down in random places (like her purse) her friend, with the entire set of gold teeth tries to distract me with inane questions about hair glue. Gold teeth?

My coworker, bless her common sense notices what is happening and starts watching "slippers" on the video camera monitor behind the counter to try and catch her in the act of pilfering our goods.

This was obviously very rude of us and totally unacceptable behavior.

So "slippers" comes up to the counter, cutting in front of an entire line of paying customers and starts yelling at me. Now she wasn't actually yelling at me, it was more like she was trying to ask me a question about something but her inner rage at the fact that I was suspicious of her behavior was coming out in the extreme volume of her voice. When I didn't immediately respond to her she proceeded to start speaking to anyone who would listen (and really how could we not listen as she was still shouting) about how my coworker and I were "spyin' white bitches, trying to catch her do somethin'. Nosy white spyin' bitches"

Understandably the other customers in line were getting a bit uncomfortable. This is where my customer service skills come in handy.

"I'm sorry ma'am but if you are going to speak that way I am going to have to ask you to leave."

I guess this was the wrong thing to say?

"You f*cking stupid white bitch, I will leave when I wanna leave. Shi*, nosy stupid bitch, you can't make me leave." and on. and on.

"Excuse me for a moment ma'am" I said to the very nice lady at my register. Turning to the she hulk I said,

"Okay, here's the thing. You can go buy whatever it is you need, someplace else. But you need to leave now, I don't need you in my store talking that way"

I am apparently not very threatening as she laughed at me.

"You stupid skinny white bitch, f*ck you, you can't make me leave, I'll leave when I wanna leave, stupid spyin' bitch."

So I did what any normal stupid skinny white bitch would do in this situation. I called the cops.

This was when she started threatening my life, but at least she was doing it while she was walking out the door.

And then, as if the situation couldn't get anymore surreal, it did. As soon as she got to the parking lot, she mooned me.

Man I work at the classiest establishments.

Could you throw this away for me?

I will admit it. I am the whitest person you will ever meet. I am a blond haired, blue eyed, half Irish half Swedish girl from the Midwest. I grew up in the suburbs. I own not one, but two Coach purses. I shop at Trader Joe's, (mostly for their cheap beer and I feel better about eating junk food if it's organic.) I have a dog that comes in a "miniature" variety and I own the miniature one. She has her own wardrobe. It's mostly pink. I will be the first person to admit that I am a stereotype. I can accept this. I only have one complaint. I will never understand hair when it comes to women who are not Caucasian. I want to. I really do. I think women are beautiful. All women. I really wish that I could "get" the hair "issues" that women with other nationalities have. That being said...

A woman comes into my work. As she is walking around the store she is taking the braids out of her hair. I am not still sure how this is working, but she is literally taking the braids out of her hair and as she is doing so, actual pieces, or strands of hair are coming out. I am assuming that she has previously purchased hair to braid into her own hair, to make her hair longer? Or thicker? Whatever, after about 20 minutes of doing this she has obviously amassed a great deal of hair in her hand. Ok. Cool. Whatever, I can deal with this. Take out your hair. It's cool. I am "down" or whatever. I may not really understand it, but I can try. I can also be cool with it.

What I am not cool with...

After this girl has finished "removing" her hair or whatever she was doing she came up to me, with her handful of hair and says,

"Can you throw this away for me?"

Really?

Like, take the hair that you braided into your head and put it into my hand and put it into the trash for you?

I am sorry, but this is where I draw the line.

I am not touching your hair. I have germ issues.

Sometimes I wash my hands for 20 minutes after touching my own hair. So, sorry, but I really can't bring myself to touch yours.

Thanks for asking though. You are clearly a very classy gal.

I probably gave her the snottiest look I could muster inadvertently, then I lifted the trash can towards her.

I hope she was offended.

Please don't use the products...

Once I had to ask a woman, who incidentally was a "professional" (meaning someone in the cosmetology industry and thus should have been through some sort of training or whatever about cleanliness and sanitation) not to let her children use the brushes and combs we sell if they were not going to actually purchase them. She was offended. Because why wouldn't someone want to buy the hairbrushes that her children used?

We also sell piercing guns. Having worked in a tattoo/piercing shop I am acutely aware of all the bodily fluids/viruses/communicable diseases that can be transferred easily without any awareness. At least 2 times a week I have a customer come in and ask me if they can "try" out our piercing guns before they purchase them.

Of course you can. No problem at all. You see, we here at Mary's have an autoclave right behind the counter so that you can, in fact, pierce yourself, for free and then if you don't feel the gun is meeting your expectations (which I am pretty confident it won't) we can sterilize it and you can walk out the door with a free piercing.

We are totally in the market for free piercings.

We also sell body jewelry.

Awesome.

We also love it when you ask if you can "try" on the tongue ring. Clearly body jewelry is "self cleaning" and can be tried on. I am certain another customer would not mind in the least if I sold them a tongue/nose/nipple/etc. ring that you have previously given a test drive. Of course you don't want to purchase it if it is the wrong size, perhaps you could ask your piercer what size he/she pierced you with? No? Oh, you got pierced with one of our piercing guns in someones basement? Hrmm... I don't know how to help you then.

No, I am sorry, the jewelry is not returnable.

Why?

Well, it's a silly health code thing. I know, pretty lame huh?

This is why I drink.

And also why I am slightly addicted to hand sanitizer.

Hair follicle testing

"I need something that will totally bleach out my hair."

"No, something that will totally destroy everything in my hair, I have a hair follicle test coming up."

Awesome.

"Hey I have a question for you?"

"Okay?"

"...Does cocaine affect my hair?"

No, not at all. It also doesn't affect your health, fertility, sanity, financial situation, relationships, ability to reason or be sane...also, I believe it recently became legal . That and crack, heroin, meth, etc. What the fuck? Is this actually happening?

No shirt, No shoes...

Am I the only person on the planet that wears shoes when I leave the house? I can't be. If I were, there would be way more incidents of athletes foot and people without feet and other horrible things. Right?

2 teenage girls walked into my store the other day. Being the "customer service oriented" person that I am, I approached them and asked if there was anything I could help them with.

As I was doing so, I happened to glance down. Neither of them were wearing shoes.

"Um,. like we were just wondering if you could tell us about bleach?" Blink. Blink.

"Sure, I can tell you about bleach, as I walk you out of the store, because I am sorry girls but I can't have you in the store without shoes on."

"Oh really? Oh, ok."

I walked them out. I explained bleach as I was doing so. See. I am nice.

The very next day a woman comes in with her six children. Yes, six. She asked me to help her pick out some hair. So I did. Her children were running up and down the aisles and when one of her devil spawn, er, I mean, beautiful children ran directly into me, I noticed he was not wearing shoes.

No.

Wait, how do I handle this the correct way?

"Ma'am, I am sorry, I am going to have to ask you to either put shoes on him or take him out of the store. We can't have him running around without shoes as we sell chemicals in this store that could potentially hurt his skin., if for some reason something had spilled or something."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really."

She looked at me.

I looked at her.

She looked at the child.

"Do you have a cart?"

" I do have a cart. I will get you one."

"Will it be okay if I put him in the cart?"

"Ma'am, as long as he is not running through the store barefoot I will be happy, I just don't want him to get hurt."

I proceeded to get her a cart and she proceeded to put her child in it. I spent the next hour with her discussing $12.00 hair pieces and all I could think about the entire time was; how can you afford this fake hair when you can not obviously afford shoes for your child?

Forgive me gentle reader, I do not mean to judge maliciously, but really? I have no children, so maybe I am not the best person to dole out advice on how to take care of your children. However, I feel like it may be slightly important to at least provide your children with the essentials. Like shoes. In public. Just saying.

The thunderstorm

Summer is notorious in this state for the awesome thunderstorms. Wind, rain, hail, tornadoes, you name it, we have it. (Except for hurricanes and earthquakes of course.) What I especially love about thunderstorms is when I have to work during them. Yep. Nothing tickles my fancy more than working next to floor to ceiling windows during 80mph hour winds. Really. I love it.

What surprises me the most is how so many people are so diligent about coming into the store to buy their beauty products even during the worst storms of the century. Because you gotta have priorities right?

Let me set the scene for you; it's 8:30 p.m., the wind is howling at a meager 48 mph (it was actually probably closer to sixty but my number six key is broken on my keyboard, don't ask, just know I no longer allow myself to drink coffee whilst blogging). Anyway, the wind is howling, the lighting is illuminating the sky and the thunder is literally making the windows shake. The huge 8ft. tall windows that I am standing directly next to are shaking. Oh, and the icing on the cake, we are under not only a severe thunderstorm warning but also a tornado warning. A TORNADO WARNING, like, go someplace safe, under stairs or in a bathroom or something TORNADO is coming to take you to OZ warning. Then she walks in.

She couldn't have been a day past sixty in her flowered sun dress and wait for it....straw hat.

In a thunderstorm. So, she comes in and I greet her,

"Great weather huh?" (yes, I am so original.)

"You know, I was actually looking for, well, do you have hair pins?"

"We do! They are right over.."

"No, I mean, do you sell individual hair pins?"

"Like just one hair pin? No, I am sorry, we don't"

(Mind you, a pack of hair pins is only about $1.99 for like 40 of them.)

"Well, I really need a hair pin, you know, to hold my hat on."

I am biting my tongue wondering why the hell this woman needs a straw hat, at 8:30 at night, during tornado weather, but hey, I will play along.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, we don't."

"Well, do you have a hair pin?"

"Do you mean do I have my own hair pin?"

"Yeah, do you have an extra?"

"Hmm, yeah, sorry, fresh out."

"That's too bad. Well, would you mind if I looked around on the floor to see if anyone dropped one?"

....

....

No not at all, you CRACKHEAD feel free to crawl around on my floor to search for a used hair pin. Are you seriously dry humping me right now? Jesus fuck all.

"Actually ma'am, I am sorry, I just can't have you crawling around on my floor."

"Oh... ok. You know, the guy at the dollar store at the end of the mall accused me of trying to steal a candle."

Really, can't imagine why.

"He did. That's horrible" (that's the part where I act like I care.)

"Yeah, why would I steal a candle, I mean it's only a dollar."

I can't for the life of me imagine why he would assume that. Were you crawling on the floor with the candle? Looking for more candles perhaps?

"That's too bad, I am sorry."

"Its ok, hey do you mind if I dump my bag out on your counter to look for a hair pin?"

"Be my guest."

She then proceeds to heft her giant tote bag on to the counter and this is what she pulls out; 3 bras with tags still attached, 2 bags of prescription medication, 17 miscellaneous makeup "things", a screwdriver, an inhaler, a makeshift wallet sort of thing, 1800 pieces of paper and an umbrella. Oh, and 2 candles.

I wanted to say, really ma'am, I can't for the life of me figure out why anyone would be suspicious of you.

What I really said...nothing, I was too intrigued by the fact that she had 3 bras, with tags attached in her purse. I mean, I am known to carry things that may come in handy like chap stick. Or sunscreen. Tampons? Possibly dental floss. But what are you really doing during the day that requires you to carry extra bras? Extra brand new bras? With the tags. I don't get it. Are you lactating? At sixty? Because that's impressive.

"Well, I don't seem to have a hair pin."

Really, because clearly you have everything else.

"I'm sorry, that's so frustrating"

"Yeah, well, the boy that accused me of stealing, you know what I said to him?"

"What?"

"I invited him to my church."

That's when I kicked her ass out.

The name badge

A very pleasant woman that I helped today thanked me by name. This was a monumental event. Under normal circumstances most people enjoy hearing their own name. In fact, I have read studies that suggest calling someone by their name 3 times during a normal conversation will subconsciously instill a sense of trust in them, for you. Under my circumstances, a customer calling me by my name fills me with a sense of hope for humanity. Allow me to explain. I work at a beauty supply store whose moniker is the same as a common woman's name. For convenience sake lets say that the name of the store I work at is called Mary's. Thus, my name badge has the store's name in big bold letters over the space that has my name. This is a source of contention for me as every clever male that comes into the store has to make the joke, "ha! So your name is Mary? That's funny, are you all named Mary and you work at Mary's? HaHa" Or, my favorite, "Oh that's cool, your name is Mary and you work at a store called Mary's" Yes. Clearly I am so insecure with myself that I sought a job working at store that shares the same name as me. It gets me a lot of dates. Or maybe Mary's is only interested in hiring people who have the same name. No you jackass. Who in their right mind would choose to work at a store that had the same name as them. That is ridiculous and frankly IF I ever met a person who shared the same name as their place of employment (and it wasn't because they owned the place or were related to someone who owned the place) I would make fun of them constantly and never be their friend.

Which brings me to the worst of the "name confusion" offenders. Working in retail you could surmise that we do many promotions on new products that come out. In fact, every month new products are shipped to our store and as part of promoting them, we are encouraged (read: required) to sport fancy buttons on our Mary's issued smocks, with the original phrase "Ask me about (insert new product name here)" So last month, a new hair color/care product line comes out. It was called "Age Beautiful". I bet you can't guess what the buttons said. Anyway, a nice gentleman comes into the store one day on an errand for his wife (they are always on an errand for their wife) and as I am ringing up his purchase, he squints at my chest and says "Well, your name can't be Mary, that's the other girl's name, wait, is your name Age?"

....

....

Yes. My name is Age. In fact my full name is Mary Age Beautiful Supply Store. It's a family name. Passed down from many generations. Of lowly retail workers. Really? no, REALLY? You retard. Who is named AGE!!?????? No! NO NO NO. How do you even get dressed in the morning? How do even function, wait WHO GAVE YOU A DRIVER'S LICENSE?

Breathe.

"Ha ha, no, no sir, that's not my name. My name is Shannon."

"Oh"

....

"Have a nice day."