I entered the upscale store in the local mall. The monotone sales people scanned me from head to toe. No doubt deciding if I was worth their time
They must have wondered if I had the cash or the credit to pay their commission. A wealthy appearance would have at least given me a pleasant greeting. Perhaps if I held an expensive purse or wore designer sunglasses it would have made a difference.
Instead I got a curt “hello.” No eye contact was made.
How did these minimum wage earners know from my appearance if I was a millionaire or a pauper? I could have had the capability of buying everything in that store and be dressed in rags. I could have been up to my ears in debt and have worn the latest trendy fashion.
I was appalled at being judged so quickly. I was embarrassed to be deemed unworthy of their service.
I raised my head high and I immediately strolled around the store. I asked questions about their inventory. I pointed and I inquired. I spoke in complete sentences and I pretended that I was the best thing that ever sauntered through their glossy doors.
Two of the employees glided over to answer my questions. I immediately asked to see a catalog. One was retrieved in seconds.
The catalog was all regular priced merchandise. I did not amble over to the sale rack. I did not eye the clearance section. This was exactly what those store employees expected of me.
I ran my hands through the fine materials on the wooden hangers. I was asked if I would like to have a dressing room.
“Oh yes” I responded.
A store associate introduced herself to me and whisked away the clothes which I chose to try on in the dressing room. The dressing room was bigger than my current closet and felt like a small living room.
Ginger was my sales associate and she knocked on my dressing room door every few minutes to see if I was “doing okay.” I think she smelled a sale. I think she saw me as the impending easy prey. Maybe she was letting me know that she was keeping an eye on me. Her constant tapping became annoying. She kept knocking on the door, as though she was going to open it. I preferred my modesty and privacy. I quickly covered myself as soon as I heard her approaching.
“Is everything alright?” she asked for the tenth time.
“Yes” I said.
“Is there anything else that I can get you?” She asked trying to be helpful. Ginger was almost too helpful.
“No, I am fine” I reassured and wished she would leave me alone.
I could hear the clicking of Ginger's high heels as she strutted away.
I had had enough. I got dressed and tried to slip out of the dressing room undetected.
I resented being ignored. Then I hate being worshipped. I loathed being treated as important simply because I had been deemed rich enough to deserve a little service.
I scurried away as quickly as possible. I couldn't wait to just slip through the doors without another clerk seeing me as a potential money-maker.
No such luck. One of the employees trailed me to the door.
“Are you leaving already?” She asked, as if insulted.
I thought of the mounds of clothes I left behind in the dressing room. I wasted their time.
Yet, I felt no guilt whatsoever.
As I exited, a woman dressed as though she stepped out of one of their catalogs entered the store. Suddenly the rush was on to meet and greet this movie star of a customer.
The woman waved the workers off like pesky flies. She then asked if they had a bathroom.
I did not stay to see their crestfallen faces. I walked briskly through the doors and I escaped.
I breathed in the cool night air. I vowed once again to win the latest lottery and never, ever shop in boutiques where customers are judged the minute they toddle through the doors.
