[Customer Service]

It’s a Sunday and I’m having a relatively bad day, all things considered. Sundays are always the worst for work, because A: We close early on Sundays so you’re working an open to close shift no matter what. B: Shoppers are needy and I fucking hate needy shoppers. And C: Your so sick of the people you work with that your jaw hurts from doing that teeth clenching thing you do when your trying not to kick people in the crotch. So like I say, all things considered, Sundays aren’t my best. Its about 5:00pm on this particular Sunday and I’m trying to get some of the clothes from the fitting room put away while my fools for coworkers are strutting aimlessly around the floor wondering if I’m watching them. In the middle of my jean folding and coworker death threat writing, a 15 year old girl in a white jumper with giant buttons wonders mindlessly up to my side and stares at me for a moment. “Do you work here?” she asks in some dreamy teenage girl language that I didn’t understand, even in middle school when all girls spoke in awkward giggles. “Um yeah,” I say. That was an accident, what I meant to say was, “No I just really like the way the jeans feel on my forarms, my name tag is just so I don’t have to introduce myself to my bus driver, a time saver really, and I need this walkie talkie that’s uncomfortably pulling on the back of my pants so I can easily radio my mom to pick me up when Im done molesting these jeans and avoid all those long distance charges, Oh and also, the buttons on your jumper resemble frosted doughnuts or large moldy pickles, did you know?” I can just tell her that latter I decide. She stares at me unblinking, oversharing her story of a friend who came in here yesterday for a skirt, and that she didn’t see the skirt, but the friend saw the skirt, which wanted the skirt, and she wanted to see the skirt, to see if she wanted to get the skirt, that her friend wanted, for the friend as a gift. “Um Okay,” I say a little to sassy for a weekday, but seeing as its Sunday and I get mad in general when people speak to me while I’m working, I thought it not completely uncalled for, I mean I’m clearly in the middle of sexing some jeans and this dreamy eyed 8th grader is wasting my time. “What does it look like? I ask, “I mean, I know youuu didn’t see it, obviously, but did she tell you what it looked like?”She stares off in deep contemplation, thinking much too hard on this question.“It was a short skirt” she says. “Oh.” I say, strongly annoyed at my decision to take this job. We have around forty short skirts scattered all over the store, I'll just look there for you real quick. “Does it have anything on it? Like a drawstring? Or Buttons? "umm," she pauses, this ones hard. "Maybe a drawstring, but I dont think so."Im frustrated, I can hear it in my voice but I cant stop it. "Okay..how short is it? do you know the color? Maybe a pattern?” She thinks for a moment then replies slowly, “She said it had pandas on it…..but I didn’t see it.” You’d like to think that mentioning the freak skirt had zoo animals on it would have been the easiest means for location, but if we put it in our panda section where we put our panda clothes and panda food for our pandas, the short skirt description would have come in complete handy. Good lookin out. So I bring her to the infamous skirt placed in plain view about 7 feet from the scene at which we’re having this life changing conversation. “This is the only panda skirt we have, its relatively new so all of the sizes should be there.” She stands there momentarily staring at nothing in particular. I contemplate reminding her what we’re doing at the panda skirt site, thinking that maybe the motion shook the glitter in her head to much on the walk over.“MY FRIEND SHOPLIFTED YESTURDAY!” She shouts in a half scream, half panicked mumble. ...........“Um, alright.” I say awkwardly.“She did it yesterday, she needed two dollars, so she just took it, and I have a guilty conscious so I had to tell you, my friend shoplifted." she says in what was the fastest shed talked since catching my attention...........“Oh, ok.... I’m sorry..about.. that..um.” “So you’re not going to do anything? She asks concernedly. “No..um, no Im not..I don’t know your friend, and theres nothing I can really do about it now.” I really need to get away from this freak show.“Oh good,” she sighs “It was that shirt over there, do you see it, that one on the table.”I follow with my eyes to the pointed direction imitating a good employee who cares about shoplifters and customers and all that crap.“Ok, well, thanks.” I say finally feeling the "we're done here vibe" and quickly make my way back to the jean pile.I see the girl about ten minutes later dreamily drifting towards the check out with a pair of sunglasses and a hat. My jaw hurts.