April 1st, 2010

On How The People In My Life Aren't Always The Ones I Love

I thought about calling off work today because the weather is so nice. I was going to say I cut myself shaving really bad but then I'd show up tomorrow with this lumberjack beard on my face and my alibi would fall through.

Working in a retail job I get the pleasure of interacting with many personalities I'd never have a chance to otherwise, like the crew from West Virginia who drove all the way to the big city just to go shopping at the crappiest of the big three malls in Columbus. The mom wore a giant yellow t-shirt sarcastically exclaiming, "LET ME DROP EVERYTHING I'M DOING TO WORRY ABOUT YOUR PROBLEMS" which is kind of awesome because she's a mom and that's sort of what mom's are supposed to do. She also kept her youngest son on a leash.

Then there's the compulsive shopper. We'll call her Cyndi because that's not her name and I like Cyndi Lauper. Cyndi has a problem. She has rung up massive credit card bills almost resulting in the destruction of her marriage. She can't stop buying things. She has undergone therapy to help curb this appetite for consumption and part of her one-day-at-a-time plan is to put things on hold instead of buying them.

Cyndi shops at every location in this town, despite the fact that each location carries more or less the same product. Everyone knows who she is and everyone can't stand her, myself included. She isn't friendly. She isn't grateful. She views our employees as nothing more than elements of her recovery process. I find myself putting items on hold for her at least twice a week knowing these items will not be purchased. I would love to just disregard the phone calls from other stores to put back a size medium for Cyndi, but she will come in to look at that size medium and while she most likely won't buy it, if it isn't on hold for her she will lose her mind and call customer service to complain.

Cyndi is now a part of my professional life because of her condition. I'd love to find her therapist and punch that person in the throat for volunteering me to be part of the treatment. The only nice thing about having Cyndi in my life is that when I buy those John Varvatos shoes or that incredible pair of A.P.C. selvage jeans, I don't feel as guilty. I'm not the one with the problem.

Thanks Cyndi for being worse than me!
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