Well good eve my fine readers! I survived Black Friday with only two stab wounds and at least 25% of my dignity left, seriously nothing like bitchy, cranky, moms looking for a good deal to make you feel like a TOTAL imbecile.
Let me just enlighten you. At one point, perhaps somewhere around 2am when I was getting that “2 o’clock feeling” a lady with the “why is my son on the bench?” haircut approached the register (if you want to know the haircut please feel free to Google “Kate Gosselin” and you’ll understand). She ended up purchasing 3 very large bags, plus one garment bag worth of clothing. Mind you, we got new registers and about 1000 new employees so there was often befuddlement behind the registers.
The checkout process was not quick enough to please her, and her RBF (resting bitch face) game was so strong I think she may have soiled herself. I come over to help the poor soul who was ringing her out by beginning to bag her stuff for her. I asked politely if she would like her blazer (ok, it was on clearance so it wasn’t even cute so like whatever) in a garment bag to which she replied, “yes?” K GREAT THANKS FOR ADDING SASS WHERE THERE DIDN’T NEED TO BE SASS.
Finally, we think that she is done, right? WRONG.
I hand her the 6 foot long receipt and she starts to leave. I am thinking “godspeed, you poisonous bitch!” (pardon my language) but then……………. She begins to turn around. No. God. Please no. What do I do. Avoid eye contact. Quit?
“Um I had a black and white skirt when I came to the register but it isn’t on my receipt.”
Panic ensues. The innocent girl who was on the register before had already fled. I was alone. My ass began to sweat. Thankfully, I looked behind me and it was sitting on the counter along with some stupid little boy’s tee shirt. I asked if the shirt was hers along with the black and white skirt. She said “obviously,” as if I were born with a general knowledge of what this particular woman would shop for on this particular night.
Okay. Everything is cool. Everyone is good. I ring the two items out and half-assed the folding of the stupid kid tee shirt because, who the hell cares? It’s a KID’S TEE SHIRT. And she acted like she was in the big hurry before. So why spend time folding, or ironing, or hiring a Rabbi to come bless the damn shirt for her? I hand over the skirt and shirt to her assuming she could stick them into one of her 85 bags.
This is the best part.
She shoves the f****ng kid’s tee shirt right into my face and goes “REALLY? REALLY?” and then proceeds to slowly REFOLD the shirt right in front of me. I am so sorry that my folding job was so inadequate (FOR A KID’S TEE SHIRT) that you had to go out of your way to make me feel like an idiot.
LISTEN LADY, IT WAS TWO O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING. I DO NOT GIVE ONE TINY SPECK OF A F*** ABOUT YOUR STUPID KID’S TEE SHIRT. QUITE HONESTLY I FEEL REALLY BAD FOR THE KID. I HOPE HE HATES THE DAMN SHIRT. I HOPE HE CRIES WHEN YOU GIVE IT TO HIM. I AM A COLLEGE EDUCATED WOMAN PLEASE DO NOT TREAT ME LIKE AN IDIOT IN FRONT OF A THOUSAND PEOPLE. ALSO YOUR HAIR IS UGLY. *mic drop*