Stupid or ethical?

Though there are many horrid stories of the ugly behaviors of shopping customers, time to time comes a special person that walks into your day. He or she wants to purchase, but you end up with a meaningful and memorable transaction for life.



I am going to go old school. As I sip on my cup of joe, which is heavily medicated with half and half and Equal, an interesting story from a several years ago comes to mind. I was working at Giorgio Armani in Bal Harbour, FL at the time, and the day was a routine day until...



Like I did everyday, I stood on the carpeted floors with my 3 inch black heels and my black suit that cost most people three months of rent. As I mindlessly watched shoppers passing by, a lovely lady in her fifties strolled in. Her hair was mousy grey, pulled back into a low ponytail. Her voice was even yet gentle, and her figure, long and lean. Overall, she seemed easy to approach.

After hours of wardrobing her in countless one-button suits, cashmere sweater sets, flat front slacks, and silk tanks, she approached with the sweetest, and most generous gesture I will never forget. Before I tell, I have to mention she was single, no kids, and lived down the street from this extremely upscale, infamous, outdoor mall.

After the alteration pinning with the seamstress was over, she waved me into her fitting room. I eased inside, and listened to her sweet voice warm my heart. She took to heart how much I loved the one-button, navy with pink pinstripe suit she was buying, so she offered to purchase one for me in my size. WHAT! I was utterly speechless, here was this kind heart that wanted to share her wealth with a total stranger. A hot, Asian stranger at that. I was touched.

Except, I was raised by a Texan father and aunt, and a Filipina mama, and they instilled some extreme ethics into me and my sister. We were raised to say "mam" and "sir," offer gas money, write thank you notes, wait your turn, give to everyone, and the list goes on and on. So, in my world, this offer sent me into hysterics. I started to freak out that accepting this gift would be against the company's policy of no cash from clients.

Would accepting her heartwarming gift allow me to sleep with ease or would it torment me?

I, the young fool, decided that it would torment me and would be inappropriate and dishonest. So I graciously declined. She made it hard, by repeatedly offering, and appearing hurt by my dismissal. It was difficult, but I stuck to my ethics, even if it was foolish.

After she left I confided to my Department Manager the situation, and she listened and nodded her head to show compassion. The kicker, after listening to my whole story, she had shared the story with the General Manager, and he without hesitation said...... I should of accepted the gift!

For real?!! I could to this day, be wearing a three thousand dollar Giorgio Armani suit like it was no ones business. The amazing part, she continued to shop with me and would bring me random gifts that I couldn't decline, like a thousand dollar bottle of vintage red wine. Fart, I don't drink red wine.

So, in this industry you meet both angels and demons.

Lotion is the magic potion!

I am all for honesty. I promise I am not an honesty hater. I mean working in retail it is always a pretty good policy to be honest to customers. When the roles are reversed in a sick, hilarious, and extremely blunt manner it makes for pretty interesting memories.

An eclectic, boisterous, chubby, red-headed, woman in her late 50's was on a serious treasure hunt for jewelry. She reminded me of someone you would hate to go into public with in fear that she would embarrass you. She was moving throughout the store with ease, plucking an earring there, another there. I added my spunky commentary on a few of her selections, and she would comment with witty praise.

We did the rhythmic retail dance for about thirty minutes, when she decided it was time to narrow her choices down. Ten different earrings of various styles, colors, and lengths laid strewn on top of the cash wrap. Once she listened to my professional advice, I began to ring her out.

Let's get something straight. Grease is made for cooking, not for rubbing on flaky parts of your skin. When I hear or even think of lotion, I imagine globs of gooey lard being rubbed into my sensitive caramel skin. Eyck! Double Eyck! Since I am anti-lotion, the official leader of the ALM (Anti Lotion Movement) my skin tends to appear dry time to time.

Her eclectic chubbiness decided we were girls in the hood, homeys. So, she decided it would be best to point out the forgotten. She leaned over and tapped the skin in between my thumb and pointer finger, and casually mentioned, "Your a little ashy." There was no intensity in her voice, no guilt for bringing it up to a stranger, just very much matter of fact.

Honestly, I was hysterically laughing inside. Oh no she didn't. She not only touched me, she told me I was ashy. WOW! I was in quiet shock. It didn't stop there. After I gave my spiel on being a bonafide lotion hater, she added, "One should never be that ashy."

Come on. Is this not outrageous. I am an ashy bystander to her honest living. Argh.

Please don't hold back

As I start this blog, the first outrageous memory that comes to this saturated mind, is one of about a year ago. Imagine the opinions, hostility, excitement, and hope circling around the Presidential election.

For the sake and sanity of the retail company I work for, so HR doesn't track me down, let's call my current employer Ruckles. Please don't ask or inquire of my odd choice of name. It was the first word that came to mind.

I was dancing around the store like an Olympian ice skater, when I noticed an elderly woman waiting at the cash wrap. Cash wrap is the delightful word referring to the cha-ching register area. As I positioned myself across from her, I adjusted my Gucci, grey and black tortoise shell glasses on my obviously Asian bulbous nose.

She began to grumble about her merchandise and how she oh so desperately had to return the "dreadful" sweater. Mind you, she washed it, wore it, and then decided it looked "dreadful." She proceeded to voluntarily grumble and moan about Sarah Palin from Alaska. She ranted about how Palin was a sorry excuse for a woman, and how she was as dumb as a doornail.

I was raised in Kenai, Alaska from the time I was five years old to nineteen. I get stupid excited when someone speaks of my home state. So, I gleefully chimed in that I was from Alaska, and I continued to ask her if she had ever had the opportunity of visiting the majestic area.

Bad move. By correlating my relationship to Alaska, I invited a Crucifixion.

"No wonder, you are an idiot too! You look just like her! Glasses! Alaska! Idiots! Stupid women! No wonder, and finish my return! Humph! You look just like her with your glasses!"

Yeah okay nutty lady that forgot her prescription dosage. Just because you didn't read your pill box right, doesn't mean you get to be.....blind!

I am Asian. Palin is White. I am olive skinned. Palin is White. I am thirty. Palin is not. My hair is black and curly. Palin's is brown and straight. My glasses are Gucci. Palin's glasses are not. In case you missed it, I AM ASIAN! PALIN IS WHITE!

Sweet lady. What a peach. I finished her return, she grumbled out, and I was left with a juicy story to share for many, many moons.