Realizing my normally mellow manager was wound up like a top (I was clued in by her constant arm flapping to forestall pit stains and an incessant urge to spritz herself with vile perfume), I went along with the morning search for dust bunnies and virtually invisible specks of lint. I dutifully donned my magnetic pin identifying me as a store employee -- as if the head to toe brand insignias on my clothing weren't enough -- and made sure my cell phone was tucked out of sight. I didn't really believe the experience would be all that intimidating, but I played along, even getting swept up a little bit in the anticipation.
And then Ray (not his real name) the regional manager arrived with his sidekick, the district manager, whose real name truly escapes me, so we'll call her Trudy. Ray was dressed exactly as I had been told he would be, in his metrosexual slacks with a shirt tucked in and two buttons open to reveal just a touch of what appeared to be coiffed chest hair. Ray was very serious about his duties as regional manager for a chain of yoga apparel stores, as he should be, given that the decisions he makes on a daily basis are as life and death as decisions can get. I had never realized until this morning how crucial mannequin placement can be; how moving a plastic, headless chick a few inches to the left can literally change the world.
Ray didn't miss a beat when I appeared without my magnetic identify tag (I had removed my sweatshirt, and since we never wear the tags in "real life," I forgot to transfer it). "Jill," he said, eying me with utter disdain and tapping his forefinger on the spot where he would have had a lapel. I gasped. All the sales figures in the world weren't going to save my reputation with the big wigs.
Trudy, new to her elevated position and eagerly sticking her tongue up Ray's ass whenever possible, beckoned to me and the other salesperson after we had situated two women in fitting rooms. "It's time to double team them," she urged. "Bring them tops. Once they're naked, you have 'em where you want 'em." Did she think we were lesbians? My colleague explained to me that we were supposed to grab tops off the racks and push them on the unsuspecting shoppers who really just came in for some workout pants. So we each grabbed an armful of tops, asked the ladies if they wanted to see any (of course they didn't) and deposited the sight unseen rejects in some empty dressing rooms. Then, after waiting a respectable amount of time, we proceeded to return the tops to their rightful racks. At least I know how Trudy has made it so high up on the corporate ladder.
Sales picked up once the muckety mucks departed and we went back to giving customers the space and dignity they seem to crave. Ray and Trudy returned just as I was preparing to leave, just in time to give me one more lesson in how to succeed in business: treat your employees as if they are petty thieves. My manager had to check my bags and practically frisk me before I went out the door, and we both had to pretend this was standard operating procedure.
If I'm ever going to be a self-important muckety muck, I sure have a lot to learn.
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