Would you like your balls with you or in the bag?

Everyone returns things. I do, and so do you. Things don't fit. Sometimes you're allergic to something. It happens. Something I have learned over my many years in retail I have learned to keep my receipt, and return things right away when there is something wrong. And when I return things, I do it myself. I don't have my boyfriend or husband do it (I don't have either one of those things but I still would not make them run my errands if I had one). I don't have my mom, friends or sisters do it.

Some people do not follow this method. Some people make other people do their dirty work for them. Some people make their husbands return their make-up. And with that in mind, I will begin this story. As always this happened during a weekday afternoon at everyone's favorite place for beauty, Flta.

An average guy approaches the cashwrap, a little shorter, glasses, very average. He puts down two products, one an expensive concealer, and an expensive face wash. Now at Flta, we have a 60 day return policy, and 80% of the product has to be left, and it even says so on the back of your receipt and on that weird mat thing that is right by the cash register. The man has the receipt, and i ring for a manager to turn the key for me to process the return. He has the receipt and the date puts the return just before the 60 days. I check the face wash, it's a little low... the concealer is the same. I show them to the Big Lady Manager on duty, and she says that we cannot take back the concealer and that we would take back the face wash.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I can't take back the concealer, but i can take back the face wash." I inform him. "So i guess satisfaction isn't guaranteed?" he says defensively. Now I should mention that the office where my Big Lady Manager is sitting is right next to the register and the door is open, there is also a window, so she can see and hear clearly. "I'm sorry?" I was actually very surprised by this reaction. "It says here that satisfaction is guaranteed" as he points to that stupid mat that no one ever reads. "Well, we can't accept thing that have less than 80% of the product and this concealer has been used too much so we can't take it back, but my manager says the face wash is okay, so I can just return that for you." Let me put it this way, this guy ordered a burger and fries, and ate 2/3 of the burger, then 1/2 of the fries, and then he calls over the waiter and says "I didn't like it, I'm not paying for it. You can't do that, so you can't return used products!!!! I MEAN COME ON

"Well what is my wife supposed to do?" Um I don't fucking know and I don't fucking care! "Well if she has any questions she can come in and return it and we can find something else for her." OR tell your fucking lazy wife she needs to return her own shit, especially makeup....I mean come on dude. "Thanks for nothing." and he takes his half used shit and leaves. Fine. Whatever. Wow, you showed me.

Some time passes and the phone rings, and Big Boss Lady answers. She was next me, so I heard the whole conversation. This is what her half was:

Well ma'am the products were more than half gone, and our policy is that 80% of the product has to be left.

Ma'am she was not rude.

Ma'am I heard the whole transaction.

Ma'am you weren't here.

I understand but ma'am you weren't here and she* was not rude. *(one guess who she's talking about!)

I will make an exception, and he can come back in the store and I will return the product.

He called his wife and told her I was mean to him... so she called and defended her little hubby wubby man. Literally 5 minutes later, he's back. Not only is he back, but he has an attitude like, "yeah don't fuck with me bitches. you're returning my shit now!"

Really. Really dude? You feel good about yourself. You're in a makeup store in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, and you're wife just called and defended your ass, because you couldn't.

I'll tell you what I couldn't do, I couldn't look at him in the eye again without laughing. Big Lady Manager had to ring him up. I mean he probably had a lot on his plate that day, next he had to go to Victoria's Secret and return the bra that just keeps digging into his, I mean her side... he hates it when that happens.

I am not sweating you.

I do not know how I forgot to write about this gentleman sooner, this is someone who I have been dealing with for years at Fulta, years. I simply call him The Millionaire. I have worked off and on at Fulta for a little over 3 years, I think, and this guy has been coming into Fulta that whole time. The thing is, I have never seen him buy anything. Not once. Nothing. What he does is roll up in his white Hummer, parks it and most of the time leaves the car running, with his stereo blasting so it shakes our windows (he's a really classy, environmentally conscious guy), walks right into fragrance and then dowses himself in one of the following colognes: Issey Miachi, Armani Code, or Ralph Lauren Blue. The only way I can think to tell you just how much cologne he puts on his body is to say that the front of the store will then smell like that cologne for up 20min after he leaves. I am in no way kidding about that, my nose would never lie to you about the pain that this man has inflicted on it. So after a nice little French whore-style bath, the guy leaves, smiles and waves to whoever is at the register.

Now at first, I used to talk to the guy. When he would come in I would walk over to fragrance and ask him how he was ect, thinking he was going to buy something. And I will say he was a nice guy, he would say to me "I buy stuff here all the time, I just need to come in here and freshen up my sent" No problem, because really I can't say shit. He technically isn't doing anything wrong... he's just a dick about it.

So when I came back to Fulta a few months ago, he of course was in and out as usual. One day it was just enough for me. The in and out. The "I spend thousands of dollars in here" (no you fucking don't). And the spraying. The constant spraying. So I talk to my manager on duty, I tell her I am going to hide his fragrance of choice behind the counter, tell him it broke and then show him one of our gift sets of said fragrance that he can purchase. Brilliant idea RHE. Brilliant idea. I mean after all, he told me a few weeks ago he said he was just waiting for the gift set, so now he's in luck! It's here! And he can finally, after all these years be a paying customer.

About 20min after I hide the tester, he strolls in. (see I can just feel in my bones when he is about to come in) I say "Your tester broke last night! But we have the gift set." "Don't be sweating me. Don't sweat me" (more than anything I wish I had a picture of my face at this exact moment, I am sure that it was a cross between surprise, shock, and confusion, because I was not trying to sweat him, because I don't even understand what that means.) He walks over to his stand-by cologne, and begins spraying and saying "What, I bet this one will be broken tomorrow too, and if it is I'll just find a new one" Asshole. "It broke last night and if you don't believe me the manager who was here when it happened is here, and she can tell you." "Uh huh, sure, this one will be broken tomorrow. Stop sweating me." Dick. "I don't know if that one will be broken, it might be" "Why are you getting in my face?!" "I'm not in your face." I can't be in his face, I can't even get near his face because of the fog of fragrance that engulfs him. This is the first time ever, that in 3+ years I have even thought about saying anything to him, because he is a customer. Well today's the day I realized that he's not a customer because he doesn't buy shit here.

And here is why this pecker-head earned his name The Millionaire: "I don't need you sweating me, I spend thousands of dollars in here. I'm a millionaire. I'm a millionaire. I made $750,000 dollars last year, I'm a millionaire." I say nothing, because what is there to say, I am in the presence of a millionaire. Little old me is in the same vicinity as a millionaire, I mean I never in all my life thought that this would happen to me. I am the luckiest girl in the world to be able to even talk to him.

Here's the thing about The Millionaire, first of all last time I checked $750,000 is not a million dollars. I have only seen him in 4 outfits in the 3 years I have been dealing with him. He has a white Hummer, which he parks wherever he sees fit in our parking lot, i.e. not in real spaces. He has never, not once purchased anything ever. (I know I said that before but I think repeating that fact its essential)

After this I decide I am never talking to him again. I'm done. Who am I to even think of correcting a millionaire. Mother's day rolls around, and he comes into Fulta with his son, Lil Millionaire as I like to call him. The Millionaire sprays himself, obviously and then he sprays his son, who is about 6. He is covering this 6 year old in cologne. To me, this is some sort of child abuse, and it's also teaching poor manners, and really, poor hygiene as well. The Millionaire sees me, I say nothing. In fact I leave fragrance! I let him have free reign! He went up to my manager and said "I don't want to name names but there are certain people in this store who are very rude to me and constantly bothering me" My name is Rebecca, nice to meet you after all these years. My manager knows his history, everyone who works there knows about this D-bag, so my manager just kind of smiles and nods. So I walk back into my territory, because The and Lil Mill are gone, and there is a woman who needs my help. She is in the woman's section trying out Chanel Chance, "Are you finding everything okay?" "Yes, I just can't decide, I do really like this one though." "Yeah that's a great fragrance" Just then The Millionaire is back and he walks over to the woman, who you guessed it, it's is his wife, and tells her it's time to go. The whole family is in on this racket!

Now, if you or I were to constantly go into an ice cream store and just ask for samples of flavors, and then not get anything, ever, that would be wrong right? This is like the exact same thing, and it pisses me off. I really hate this guy. I hate his Hummer. I hate his sideways hat that he wears. I hate the attitude he has. I hate his money. I hate the colognes he sprays. But really who am I to judge. He's a millionaire. He told me himself. He's a millionaire, and I'm not. Apparently, I can't touch that.

I should note, that The millionaire hasn't really been into Fulta lately, however I now see him, and his Hummer all over my neighborhood. He better lookout, in Boystown everyone wants a hummer.

Racism makes everyone uncomfortable.

So I have two jobs, and I find that while I deal with rude and stupid people at Flta, I tend to deal with a type of rudeness that's more like a snotty rude, at the hotel I work at. I have to say that I have been at this job for just about a year, and I have few stories about people being rude to me. I think that it's because the people that I interact with, seek my help. In other words they need something from me. I get complaints about things sometimes that are simply out of my control, but people need to vent, and they vent to me... to "make you aware". This story is one of those cases, and old gentleman let's call him Mr. China, came to me one evening and had me literally at a loss for words. Which is very difficult to do.

Mr China is a fit older man, he reminds me of that old guy on Seinfeld that keeps trying to prove that he is still strong and fit and thinks that he can beat Jerry at anything... it's a funny episode if you haven't seen it. Anyway so he comes to the desk a little later in my shift around 7:30. He puts both of his hands on my desk, and I greet him with my usual "Hi, what can I help you with?" He releases a deep sigh, pauses, and then begins..."I took a cab to Chinatown last night and it was almost $12." Let me just say, that's a pretty normal fare to Chinatown from the hotel and I already know that there is nothing I can do or say that is going to really matter in this situation. "Well that is about what it would cost, that's a pretty standard fare."

"Well i googled mapped it on my phone, and it told me to get on the highway here, and he didn't do that" Let me just say that 1) he has a better phone than I do if he can google map and 2) there is nothing I can do about this old man!!! yell at the cabbie not me. "Well sir, you have every right to tell a cab driver how out want to go, however even if you got on the highway out there the cab still would have been around the same price."

He shakes his head and shows me on a map how the cab driver took him, and I said "Well yes that is a little out of the way, but really sir the cab fare would have been the same." "Well I got out of the cab and then I just walked the rest of the way! So who knows how high the fare would have gone!" Okay, he said it right there Now this is where things get awkward... to say the least.

"Well I just, I don't really want" this guys isn't mad he's frustrated and I can see his wheels turning. Let the racism begin in 3, 2, 1... "Well the driver, he was like Indian or whatever you know. None of them are from this country. I don't even think he spoke English, he probably had no idea where he was going." Pause... long pause, because I am not saying anything! What the fuck am I supposed to say: "Yeah tell me about it. Fucking immigrants! But sir you must admit they do a great job on landscaping, nails, and dry cleaning... am I right!?!" He begins again "I've just had a real problem lately with people in this country who don't speak the language and are taking our jobs..." Again, complete silence, I take the stack of papers on my desk that I use to write on, and begin to organize it, you know tap it on the desk, like I am a news anchor or something. And I pretty much stay silent, because, what the fuck.

What really kills me about this situation is the fact that this guy is complaining about immigrants and people who don't speak the language and he wants to go to CHINATOWN! Chinatown, because everyone speaks English in Chinatown. Chinatown were everyone was born and raised in America. Good old Chinatown.

"So I want to go to Chinatown again tonight, how do I get there on public transportation?" REALLY, really. You want to go back?? "Well that's going to be a bus and a train, you are going to take the number 20 to State street, and then take the Red line and then you will be right there." I am also pretty sure he could have looked that up on his google map on his fancy old man phone and then that way we could have just really avoided this whole awkward situation all together.

"Okay, I'm going to just wait for my friend and then we'll go." His friend then comes down to join him. It's a lady, a young lady, a young Asian lady. Now I don't know if this is his lady friend, a work colleague or whatever. I just find it a little ignorant to be racist against a minority but then hang out with one.

Oh, and the next night... He wanted me to help him find a good Korean restaurant.

I'm a natural.

I realized yesterday when I was talking to my friend Caitlin that I forgot to post the story that is the real reason I wanted to start this blog.  A woman that was just so special and dear to me, that I just want everyone to know about her.  Let's call her Mrs. Beige, and I want you to know that this woman is a real gem.  Once again this story takes place in Flta, on a Monday night between the hours of 6-9pm.

An Expensive Trip.

At Flta, I am usually stationed in the fragrance department.  Which is fine by me, because, I'll let you into my warped head right now, I like to pretend that I am like an undercover cop sometimes, searching for thieves.  I have chased one guy out of the store before, but I digress.  So I am in fragrance, which is in the front of the store, so when people come in I usually greet them.  This woman, is dressed head to toe in beige.  Beige suit, beige bag, beige shoes, even her hair was like a mousy blonde similar to beige, so one can only assume that her car is beige and she has an amazing sex life.  Mrs. Beige comes right up to me and says "Can you help me?"  Already I know me and this lady are just not going to get along, for many reasons, her beigeiness is just the tip of the iceberg.  "Yes what do you need help with?"  Mrs. Beige is  flustered to say the least, so I want to get her what she wants, so I can get back to my detective work (the fragrance beat doesn't sleep, well after 9pm it does).  Mrs. Beige goes into her purse and whips out this gross old can of Sally Hansen Mouse Foundation (a real top quality product), and she needs more.  Since I can't really leave my section (darn) I tell her we don't carry that product anymore, but we have Sally Hansen's new mouse foundation, and it's in the aisle with all the nail care.  Mrs. Beige takes off to get to the aisle, but she clips a glass shelf on her way with her lovely beige blazer.  "Oh, are you okay?" I ask, because at this point I am only mildly irritated with her, and I am also really happy she didn't break the shelf, leaving me to clean it up.  "My jacket got caught.  That would have been an expensive trip!" she says, in a very snotty tone.  An expensive trip!?!?  What does that even mean?  An expensive trip to where?  The tailor?  Last I checked getting something fixed at the dry cleaner is like 10bucks.  I know the economy is shitty, but damn Mrs. Beige, I can spot you the 10bones.  

So after she checks her jacket, and realizes it's fine, saving her tons of money apparently, I realize she's a handful and I need to show her where the Sally Hansen is myself.  Now the Sally Hansen aisle is a cluster fuck, and really that's putting it mildly, but since I know we don't carry that product anymore, I show her where the new version is.  But, since it's a Monday night, the night we get our replenishment, there is one color left and it's the deepest shade, and in case you haven't figured it out, Mrs, Beige needed the color beige foundation, I shit you not.  "Well here is the new version of your foundation, I'm sorry, we don't carry that exact one (like I had said before)."  "This isn't foundation.  It's a light base that you put on before your foundation."  No, listen here Beige, it's a foundation.  "Can I see the bottle, because I don't think that I know what that is then."  She handed me the bottle and it says Sally Hansen spray mouse foundation on it.  "It says foundation on the bottle."  "Well it's much lighter than a foundation, and you use it before you're foundation."  Really.  "Don't you have anything comparable to this?  I mean I refuse to believe that this is the only game in town.  What about the competitors?" Really, this shit that she wants is the only game in town, and it's like 4.99.  "Honestly, Sally Hansen is the only brand that makes a mouse foundation.  We do have Cover Girl, and Revlon,  but they wouldn't have anything similar to that.  CVS might have it." (I love saying that to people for whatever reason.)  "Well show me them!"  Deep breath in, and i turn to my right and say "Cover Girl is right here next to us, and Revlon is in the next aisle over."  I begin to walk back to the fragrance, because by now who knows, someone could have walked away with every goddamn bottle because of the time I have spent with Mrs. Beige.  "Well show me Revlon I guess. I'm not going to wear Cover Girl!"  All of the sudden she's a makeup snob.  

We walk over to Revlon, "Here are their foundations, but none of them are mouse... so really I don't think that you would like any of them"  "This is not a foundation!  You don't just slop it on your face like foundation!!"  "I understand that you don't use it as a foundation, but that's what it is. " And Mrs. Beige's meltdown starts in, three, two, one... "I waited 10 minuets for parking for this!  You don't even have its and you are just a smart-ass know it all.  You're right, you're right, I wrong.  You know everything.  I know nothing."  FINALLY! This lady is getting it!  "Ma'am I'm sorry if you think I am trying to be rude, but I don't mean to be..." She cuts me off and says: "Oh no. No. I don't think that you are trying to be rude, being rude just comes naturally to you."

And with that I took one step towards her, but then turned around and headed back to fragrance, because a good undercover detective doesn't lose her cool.  However I will say that telling me being rude comes naturally to me, was an amazing, an amazing thing to say.  I don't think that being rude comes naturally to me, I think it's something that I have acquired over the years, but I will say she really had me pegged when she said I was a smart-ass know it all... I will give her credit for that.  That comes naturally to me.

Why you're rude...

Like many people I work in retail, and have for many years. I also work at a hotel, so I am constantly working with customers and guests. For the most part I genuinely enjoy my jobs. I like the people that I work with, I get a lot of cool discounted/free stuff from both my jobs, so as crappy as it is to work two jobs, I do realize that I am lucky to have both.

However, there are days when I want to quit one, or both jobs. There are days when people that I get paid to treat well, are such ungrateful assholes, and I want to punch them all in the face. After all of these years I do not understand what makes certain people think that they can get away with treating someone so horribly. Why they think everyone who works there needs to bend down and kiss their ass. Why they usually assume that people who work in retail, or are waitress are usually uneducated high school dropouts. It is with this spirit that I am starting this blog. I am starting this blog as a way to share all of my (and yours if you wish to share) stories, and honestly they are all usually pretty funny.

I will begin by posting two recent encounters that I had at my retail job (let's call the place Flta). In case you don't know Flta is a store, for women basically, that sells makeup, shampoo, perfume, ect. Best way to describe it is, imagine if CVS and Sephora had a baby. The baby would be Flta. Both of these stories take place there, during a weekday, between the hours of 9am-3pm.

An Attentive Boyfriend:

A heavy set man came into Flta talking on his cellphone, he asked someone I work with to help him with hair straighteners, while still talking on the phone. My co-worker helped him, and when she was done showing him the straighteners she left him there, so that he could continue his conversation. This guy stays over by the straighteners for about 10 more minuets, and yes he's still on the phone.

I get it, I know that he's buying his girlfriend or whatever a straightener, and that's really sweet. However, if you are in a store and you are asking for help, either ask the person to hold on, or call them back.

On this particular day I was the cashier, so I waited for him at the cashwrap. He picked out a shitty hair straightener, and said to whoever was on the phone "I think it's the one that you have at home. You are going to look so pretty tonight baby". Gross. I ask him if he found everything okay, and he didn't say anything to me, he kept talking on the phone. I realized that this conversation was clearly way more important than anything I had to say to him, so i just continued the transaction silently, only telling him what his total was. While I was ringing him up, an attractive guy in a suit got in line behind him. I handed Mr. Talkie-Talk his bag and smiled goodbye, and the man behind him stepped up to the register.

As I am beginning to ring-up Mr. Suit, Mr. Talkie-Talk opens the door, turns around and says to me "You know, you are very rude. You shouldn't work here. You are too rude to work here. You should be a security guard or something!" I lean over the cashwrap and say "YOU WERE ON YOUR PHONE!" His response, as he wagged his finger at me "You are very rude" and he finally left. Oh, and don't worry, Mr. Talkie-Talk was still on his phone.

This was the first time I had ever, spoken back to a customer. Okay, it's at least the first time I intentionally spoke back to a customer. If you cannot take three minuets away from your conversation to treat me like a human being, then I am not going to talk to you! Shit! I'm doing you a favor! I am going to try and ring you up as quickly as possible so that you can continue this conversation in your car and then get in a car accident. Because let's face it, this conversation is way more important than that oncoming traffic. Plus when cops are questioning you, you'll just have to tell them that you were talking to your girlfriend with self-esteem issues, who's too lazy to go and pick out her hair straightener, that she is beautiful. But in reality, we a know she isn't beautiful, and also 20 bucks, you're cheating on her.

After the verbal throw-down with Mr. Talkie-Talk, Mr. Suit looked at me, confused and just said "What!?!" Exactly, Mr. Suit. Exactly.
........


She is stupid.

At Flta we have many, many makeup brands, and I'll be honest, I know shit about like 70% of them. Though there is one brand that I know forwards and backwards, and that's Benefit.

An older woman with a short dyed blonde bob, wearing a light blue matching track suit (hot), came in looking for help. Ms. Bob walks up to me carrying all of this one type of foundation, she asked me to help her find her color, and she says to me "because I usually get it at Bloomies..." (at the point I just want to tell her to go fuck herself). I take the foundations from her and tell her that there is only one color, which was the one that she was looking for. She was glad that I saved her the trip downtown, and I was happy to sell some Benefit, and we walked away from one another. "You know there are two colors of this?" she says to me. "Yes, but we only carry the light one, which is the one that you wanted. So you're good." She walks over to the cashwrap, and I look over and see my GM, who is ringing someone else up, talking to her, and I hear her say the following "Well she gave me the wrong information.." Now there are few things I hate more than people thinking that I am stupid, or that I don't know what I am talking about, especially when I actually do know what I am talking about.

I approached her again, and she showed me her old foundation, and the new one, and said "See this one isn't the same color, you're wrong." I take a deep breath and say "Ma'am it's the right color. See the compact is exactly the same, same codes on it, same logo. Its the one you are looking for." She walks back to the register, and then I notice she leaves very quickly.

I went to talk to my GM, and she informed me that the woman called me "stupid". My GM stood up for me and said, "Ma'am please do not call her stupid, she is not stupid." Ms. Bob said to her "Well she gave me the wrong information so I think she is stupid. It's a free country, I can say what I want." To which my GM replied, "Yes it is a free country, that's why I am telling you she isn't stupid."

They had their little battle, and finally my GM began to ring her up. Ms. Bob wanted to use her coupon, well we had to tell her that you can't use coupons on Benefit, because they are excluded on the coupon. She stormed out. Had Ms. Bob been smart enough to read her coupon in the first place she could have saved her self three trips, the trip to Flta, the trip to Bloomies, and of course the trip that she will be making to hell.
....

So that's my first post. I will be posting things that I find worthy of sharing with you, and by all means please e-mail me and I will post them.

Until my next post remember to tell people: no, you're rude.