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Win

Heather Rae Nelson

    I shuffled into the mall, hood up, sunglasses on and earphones blaring, the universal collegiate sign for fuck off. I did not really expect anyone to bother me until I was at least clocked in and on the floor. I had been on a chemistry bender for the last few days and was punch drunk on theorems. I was awake on sheer will and Rockstar energy drinks. I did not want to fucking be here. I did not want to be in heels for six hours, my boobs up to my chin and a smile shelaqued to my face as I measured some old lady’s sagging rack. Jesus Christ, some of these women’s tits looked like a deflated balloon animal. They wouldn’t pop if you stepped on it. I walked into the store after a quick hit of pixie sticks, crack for kids who can’t afford heroin, and was immediately assaulted by blindingly bright lights and slutty perfume. Welcome to Victoria’s Secret, what can I help you find? I hate people, like humanity in general. Not a great combo when coupled with my sociopathic tendencies. How did I end up working in this whore haven, much less ascend to the heights of upper lower management astounded me. Cathay was working today, a sweet and moderately dim girl. Thanks god she was a born trophy wife and self aware enough to admit it. She would never find another legal job that would allow her to wear her current ensembles. She was quite a feat of mammary engineering and Maybelline. She mouthed the word “hungover” to Myra the stock lead. I flipped her off behind my back as I walked to the backroom. I put my fourth energy drink of the day into fridge and locked myself in the office. I logged in and checked the computer system to see how we were doing for the day. Well shit. We were down almost a thousand for the day and it was barely four o’clock. The mall was empty, no way we could make that up. A few more clicks to the payroll screen, and it seemed that neither could payroll. Someone’s day just got a lot shorter. Fifteen minutes, a push up bra and some mascara later I was on the floor, jangling my keys like some retail leper. I was ready to diffuse emotional fires and irate old ladies. Fucking bitches. I hate my life. I comfort myself with an inner monologue that chastises almost every woman that walks into my store. What is it about this mall? Does it emit some pheromone that attracts damaged people? These women need to stop raiding their teenage daughter’s closet. You look like a twelve inch hot dog in an eight inch bun. I hear Jackie at cash wrap start to sound a bit desperate. She has a return. Hopefully it is just over her limit and she needs a quick key turn, but I know it’s not. Because it is me. I am academically hungover, I will have to cut someone from payroll which means I will be here until ass o’clock making sure every fucking panty is in order. Sweet, there goes any shot in hell of a break. It’s going to be some toxic panty set, I can almost smell the must in the air. The client does not fail me, A bleach blonde of indeterminate age and race awaits me. She looks fifty but could be a ridden hard and put away wet thirty five. I make a mental note to never sleep in my makeup again. Her nipples are being pryed in by that tank top and the store is obviously a bit chilly. Chipped fuschia talons tap irritatingly on the black formica and I had to shudder. A quick reboot of my smile and let it begin. “Ok Jackie, what do you need?” She gives me the look, awesome. The look means that there will be latex gloves and Purell involved, and not in a fun way. I peek inside the bag and see what might have once been a bra and panty set. I look at the client. She seems to be almost daring me to say something. Oh it is on bitch. Making sure there are some teeth in my smile I ask if she had a receipt for her return. “No, it was a gift.” Of course it was, I crack my knuckles, enjoying her wince, and prepare for battle. “I am very sorry ma’am, but our new return policy clearly states that we are only able accept new, unwashed, unworn merchandise with the tags attached.” I pick up the bra straps with a pen, unwilling to let it touch my hands. The tag twists away from it, writhing away from its abusive owner. 34B, girl in your dreams. Unless you think muffin top is a cute look. Which judging from your Daisy dukes, you do. I can’t tell if the skin above your shorts is ass or really tragic back fat. “It was a gift” she repeats. Yeah, I know, I heard you the first time and I know you heard my answer. “I only washed it once and it fell apart.” A quick and regrettable sniff informs me that is has indeed been only washed once. I know my next comment will blow her top, the red flag to the bull. I lower my voice so at least the inevitable call to HR will not say that I yelled at her. “I am very sorry but this merchandise is obviously used and I will not be able to return it.” That did it. Her foundation cracked, the purple eyeshadow creased. For a terrifyingly fanciful moment I thought she was going to erupt into some skanky monster and rip my face off. “This is wrong. I just got this few days ago. I want to speak to your manager. I demand a full refund.” She leaned over the black counter and started to get in my face. I would have gone toe to toe with her but I was afraid of her nasty feet. “I am the manager right now” I pulled out the bra again, there was no way I was going near those panties without a pair of tongs. I laid it out on my register. “Ma’am, this bra is obviously worn. The cup is wrinkled and is quite stained.” There was a suspicious white stain on the corner. Jesus, if you are going to return it at least get him to try and aim. She looked at me, trying to find a crack. I stared her down with my thousand mile stare that deters slutty little girls and shop lifters alike. She grabbed her vile merchandise and stuffed it into her bag with a huff. “I want your customer service number and I will be talking to your manager about the customer service at this store.” She flounced out, jiggling as she went. I went to the back to warn Veronika about the tirade coming her way and took a victory sip of my Rockstar. Round one to me.



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