Costumer Service 101 (incomplete 2nd half)

Posted: December 28, 2011 in Memoirs of a Kyle

The stinging in my back worsens as I stand positioned. Repetitious work. Folding cotton sweaters in such rhythm I feel like the Jay-Z of this clothing store. Sliding my fingers underneath the fabric and aligning them straight. Allowing a trickle of OCD as I stand loathing time. Time which is spending my 6 hour shift toying with me. Taking its sweet time allowing me visitation rights to the clock card machine.  “Oh how I miss that thing.”  I stand hunched over the clothing table.  This is costumer service 101. *Sigh

The day after Christmas leaves me dead to the world. Consumer assholes coming for second helpings while bringing their righteously negative attitudes to greet me. “Why hello ma’am today we’re having a..”. “I CAN READ,” interrupts me as my smile is greeted by an Oprah. Now?.. Before you assume down the path of racism an Oprah is someone who anticipates their skinnier then they really are. Often a woman who’s weight often balloons . An Oprah. Eyes half ajar with intimidation and lack of sex. A stiff walk that reads “pound me… damnit PLEASE!” ..   Such a yo-yo diet would leave me feeling defeated I reckon? But why take such negative energy on somehow as cute as I? I dunno…

The store begins to pick up with customers. My folding goes unnoticed as a Loitering Rat  has dismantled my perfected sweaters. To busy texting to even realize my look of defeat as I stand next to her. Wishing I had eaten that slice of greasy pizza earlier as my crop dusting  is out of ammo. She will go unpunished today i suppose. A Loitering Rat is often in their tween ages of 12-16. Young kids who spend their time window shopping by forms of clothing injustice. Trying everything on while in a zombie state as they tweet on their phones avoiding the destructive path they leave behind.  They speak in head shakes and demands. Often cruel in tone if sizes are depleted while playing Jenga with the stack of denim. As time passes they relocate back into their parents hole..err minivan. I could use some in-store D-Con.

Store traffic often gives me moments of a true rush. Multi-tasking customer requests while jumping on register. Moving in a pace that leaves one sweating in their britches. Uncomfortably squirming as my underwear begins it’s Speleologists gig investing the cave. Often rushing to the dressing room to either adjust my balls to breathe or Amber Alert my boxers. “Excuse meh?” i’ll hear. In a timid voice normally with a hint of accent. “OH FUCK!” i think before my 90 degree twirl I’ve mastered.  “HI! how can i help you?” springs from my lips as rehearsed. “Hello.” she says.  ‘Bloody Hell it’s Rainbow Barf.”

In definition a Rainbow Barf is a progressively fashionable Asian. They wear colorful clothing that complements their often crazy haircut and work in packs. Burdened with Cliche as they accessorize with HELLO KITTY! apparel with overall wardrobe seeming over the top. I sometimes assume they come to my store for the catwalk entrance. Showing off their super cool esemble in slow motion upon store entry. Smiling as they rub in there Gucci belt or progressive setup of their suspenders. Only wishing I had thought of such a creative way to wear them like that. Wardrobe is very much fountain drink suicide.

“Do you have 00?” i’m asked. In an accent I find entirely too difficult to hear. Leaning in closer as my 4th or 5th “What?” expels from me .. Wishing my deafness would surpass as I’m coming off rude, I imagine?  “Do you have double zero.” she asks again with clearer English. The sound of double zero inflaming my ear drums. Such a size actually exists in this city? I was under the impression a double zero was an Urban Legend.  I focus.

“Why let me check the backroom for you,” i say. “As such a size is uncommon.” She doesn’t laugh.  I rush off before slightly admiring the creative way ribbon was used in her hair. “I’ll be right back.”

I search the back-room for the Skinny Jean ( 00’s) as requested. Checking my phone for missed calls and blowing a kiss towards the clock card machine. “See ya soon toots,” i think. Only been a couple hours and I may have mentally clocked out. Drained from social capabilities. Wishing I could sign to costumers instead. The negatively lies stagnant as I hunt through denim. No Double zero?

“Excuse me ma’am, we seem to be out of stock.” I whistle. Avoiding any eye contact with a hidden smirk. “No no?’ is whispered. This is the part I find thee most difficult when dealing with a Rainbow Barf. Their lack of English and compassion. Immediately when a “No” is used in context they dumb themselves down. Pretending that “No,” means “Maybe!” and that I prolly overlooked their anorexic fitting denim.. Usually a game of racquetball occurs with “No and Yes” being heard echoing from walls. Frustrating having consumed me as this Rainbow Barf is fucking with me. I glance at her Gucci belt and sigh. Wishing I had a white flag to succumb to her game. “Try ONLINE,” i say. Only raising my voice a couple octaves. Still smiling as this is Customer Service and all. Yet, like a quick breeze she smiles and nods. Her pack re-positions and exits the store. Just like that!

Why the eff did she fuck with me? i think as I decide to hide out in the dressing room area. Such customer service leaving me exhausted i decide to “Run.” Clothing that is. A job that requires you to clean up customers messes and shelf them. Today being December 26, i can only imagine such piles await me. As the clear line to the rooms is my foreshadow.

I skip towards the room and greet my other employees in battle. Often giving a wink of sympathy as they too are at war with an Oprah or Rat. Smiling on robotically as we please their every wish. “Hey Buddy. I need your help”… The sound of a rather attractive man, perhaps?  Oh this could be Oh So serendipitous. I twirl around and am faced with an older gentleman. Immediately ceasing any flirting mannerisms that may shoot his way. “How can I help you today.” i say. Scripted still. Thinking how great of an actor I would have been.

“It’s for my son. I need help dressing him.”..  Oh hell! A chance encounter with a male Koala. I was unprepared for this new endevour. Yikes!

A Koala is a parent who could possibly be single. Taking the reigns as the dominant parent on a mission to shop for their offspring. The only issue really being their lack of understanding. Wishing they could grab the first pair of jeans and call it a night. Overwhelmed with the costumer service I was about to gift them with.

“What exactly are you looking for?” i ask bubbly. Loving the sound of my voice as I have paired with a mission that could draw out time.

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Comments
  1. Everything about this is a big, fat, YES!!!! LOVE IT!

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