Cha Ching, Cha Ching

Apparently I am much more full of crap than I had thought. Yesterday was my first real day in retail (I had been my only customer on the day everyone stayed out of the mall in anticipation of the blizzard of historical and biblical proportions) and I was moving merchandise out the door like an old pro.

In the process, I heard life stories, made a few new friends who've promised to come back and shop some more, and never once lied to make a sale. Okay, once, to convince a woman to just try the extra large, I may have falsely claimed I had to go up a size in the same item, but sometimes a little white lie is necessary to help fellow potato heads overcome psychological barriers. And the woman's ample ass looked damn good in the bigger size.

Not surprisingly, my favorite customers were the ones who laughed at themselves. I gave a wide berth to the perfect looking ones who entered as if they were on the verge of a major, serious business transaction, examining yoga tops with furrowed brows before slamming them back on the rack as if some imperfection they had detected had just ruined their day. But the smiling young mother who came in from the bitter cold and asked me for those amazing "girdle workout pants" that her husband loves (on her, I think), or the eighty-five year old woman, out for a mental health day with her daughter, who agreed that the snugger fitting jacket made her look hot -- they were the ones who turned this meek potato into the super-saleswoman of the day.

It's actually kind of fun, this retail thing -- which no doubt explains the low pay. And it's much easier to sell clothing manufactured by somebody else than to sell myself. But I'm inspired, so I'm going to dig out the "yoga instructor" and "writing coach" business cards I ordered and start to distribute them to folks other than my blood relatives. Sure, there will be people who take themselves a little too seriously and don't react well to a yoga instructor who pokes fun at them, or kids who want to stick with the basic expository writing formula they learned in fourth grade and refuse to say something a little outrageous in a college essay, but I know I'll find my niche. There will always be someone who sees the humor in having someone sit on top of her to wedge her into a child's pose, or some kid who isn't afraid to be a bit unconventional.

An ample ass, encased in the proper size, can look fantastic, particularly when the cheeks on the other end are puffed out in a smile. And some of the prettiest yoga poses are the ones that would more likely end up on the cover of Popular Mechanics than Yoga Journal.

Listen to me; I'm hooked on sales. Anyone want to buy a bridge?