Holy shit, I work at the mall. I never thought this would happen to me. I worked my ass off supporting myself through college, with no help whatsoever, and so far my Bachelor's has earned me a lower-management job in a clothing store. And it's a bona-fide degree--I did not take a correspondence course or send money to a website or go to a tech school. I attended an accredited, top-ten university and my program was prestigious, even if my field of study wasn't that popular. I have applied to over 150 jobs, as I've mentioned before. I am not just a little disappointed, I am outright disillusioned. I am close to being bitter, but I am cursed with an irrational optimism that is the emotional equivalent to the little inflatable arm tubes kids use in the swimming pool. But that doesn't mean that I don't have days when I want to throw myself off the fourth floor balcony into the rotunda.
Women walk into my store every day and behave like complete assholes. They come in, and I greet them genuinely. They try to ignore me but my ego won't stand for it, so I make sure to get right into their space, make eye contact and beam out the warmest smile I can muster while trying to make some small talk (all this is actually required as stated in the training handbook). The reactions are mixed, some women really are just sleepwalking through the mall and are so sick of shopping that they don't even see who or what's in front of them. Other women get pissy and are uncomfortable with my lack of subordination. As far as I'm concerned, this is MY store; just like when you walk into someone's home, you acknowledge your host in a friendly manner.
I get herds of middle-aged white women that get shipped in from out-state, small towns who walk in and look around sneering the whole time. Instead of just getting the fuck out of my store and heading over to Sears and Roebuck to pick out a nice puff-paint-decorated sweatshirt and matching dickey, they travel around and around the store groaning and sneering while pulling the shit off the hangers and throwing it over the racks every two feet. It usually takes them 20-30 minutes to leave, during which time I follow them around cleaning up after them in the most obvious fashion possible without using the sigh-and-eye-roll routine. Instead I take the direct approach and tell them what great/flattering/fashionable pieces they are picking out (although they are actually just tossing things to and fro). Mind you, this did not just happen a couple of times, this is a legitimate phenomenon, and anytime any of us hears, "Oh yahhh, we came in together on the bus," we know we are in for a rough weekend. But I have to give them credit, at least for their hygiene...
A good percentage of the Super-Sized women who shop in my store just fucking REEK. I am not talking hippy-in-the-vw-vanagon funk. This smell is something otherworldly, yet consistent from person to person. Imagine a stinky twat mingled with long-unwashed feet shoved into a buttcrack and left to rot in a dark closet. Women walk into the fitting room, disrobe, and unleash HELL ON EARTH. You can almost see the fumes pouring out of the fitting room area, many of us have been forced to evacuate, sometimes gagging. One woman forced the evacuation of the entire store!!! People streamed straight out of the store exclaiming, "Oh MAN! What stinks?!" And, "Whoo, does it always smell this bad in here? What IS that??" The whole time we were apologizing profusely and trying to signal nonverbally what the origin of the stink was. Sometimes, though, a person comes along who doesn't even need to disrobe to emanate putrescense!
Then there are those shoppers who came out from under their rocks for their special trip to our store, lucky us. They trample in cussing and smacking at their crying, dirty children. Their husbands and boyfriends stare lecherously at our breasts and make inappropriate comments or requests. Sometimes when the women come to me for assistance I look at them frozen in horror at what is going on inside their mouths. They are often looking for "a sexy outfit for the club" but it seems to me that the obvious answer would be to NOT spend $150 on a new outfit and spend it instead getting those teeth fixed. "You're seriously complaining to me that I don't have jeans that exactly match this jacket, when half your teeth have rotted right out of your head?" Where are people's priorities??
I'm one to talk! I blow a good portion of my paycheck on things that are not necessities when I have bills to pay, and I haven't been to the dentist for like ten years. It is only by the grace of God that my teeth are in good condition--but for how long? I haven't gone because I can't afford it without insurance. My job only covers me for medical, barely. And what if my boyfriend knocks me up and then heads out of town and I think I can make it on my own so I decide against an abortion, only to find that my low-paying job does not have maternity leave. Then I got a baby, no job, and post-pregnancy calcium deficiency that wrecks my teeth. I'll be pissed off, maybe resent my child. I'll buy sexy outfits and hope to hook up with some dude to help pay the bills around my place. Is this how it happens? I think I am so strongly put-off by these people because I can see how easily it could be me. Shit, some of these people are fucking family.
So what to do? I've decided it's time to move on from the mall. I am headed off up the chain to the pink collar workforce where a whole new world of annoying adventures awaits me, but for a couple bucks more an hour and better benefits. It may be just a case of "out of the frying pan and into the fire" but I won't know until I try, right?
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