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May 13, 2013 | by  | in Opinion |
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Weekly Rant – Thank You, Please Come Again

Don’t get me wrong, most of the time (or a bit of the time), I quite enjoy working in retail. I get a sweet discount on clothes, and never have to work late nights. But sometimes it really sucks, and if you have ever been into a store, you are probably to blame. You’re like “Oh, I’m not a dicky customer,” but you probably are, and here’s why.

Keep in mind there are several things good retail assistants always do to make you feel like a fucking boss when you walk into our store. These include, but are not limited to, saying hello when you walk past us or make eye contact, never letting you put stuff away yourself, and always making sure we are near the fitting rooms to relieve you of your piles so you may carry on your merry way without having to try to awkwardly put your unhung clothes onto a returns rack (looking at you, Glassons).

In return for this service, retail assistants would love for you to return the favour, and practice a few common courtesies. For starters, don’t fucking glare at us when we politely greet you like we just tried to sell you some camo arm warmers (which are in, apparently). You would be the first to complain if we ignored you while not occupied with another customer (and now I am looking at you, almost every store on Cuba St).

Don’t say “No, I was too fat for it”, then wait for our reply. We didn’t see it, for all we know you were too fat for it, but we can’t agree, and we will not indulge you by telling you that you’re not. Likewise, if you try on something a shop assistant is wearing, don’t say “Oh, it looks way better on you.” It probably does, but that is because the whole reason we got our jobs is because we are supposed to be able to dress ourselves in a way that flatters even the most ten-tonne-Tess-esque thighs like mine.

Don’t make snide remarks about the music to your friends, and then look at us like, “Yeah you heard me retail bitch, why’d you choose this shit?” You think I personally compiled this daylong playlist comprised entirely of Carly Rae Jepsen’s lesser-known hits, Céline Dion, and the occasional saving grace of Destiny’s Child? If listening to this shit all day had been in my contract, I may not have signed it.

Most of us personally do not have the power to change an item’s price just for you, so stop being all diva up at the counter, and accept the fact that in any given store, at any given time, some stuff will be on sale, because it was a bit shit, and all the cool stuff you actually want won’t be.

And last, but for the sake of the sanity of every shop assistant ever, definitely not least, don’t leave your tissues on the floor in the changing room. Real talk. Not a big deal to you when you drop it, but who the fuck do you think picks that shit up?

When the roles are reversed and I venture out for a little retail, I do expect to see in practice what I preach. Sometimes, retail assistants, I make a special trip just to visit your store. So don’t look me up and down like I walked into your living room while you were eating dinner. Are you open for business or open to patronise me while I patronise your store?

Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of povo scum when I only look at the sale rack. Especially if you work at Supré, ‘cos then you’re the grosser one, full stop. That’s moot anyway though; I’d never be in Supré.

If a customer says no to joining your loyalty club, don’t start to talk about the benefits of your loyalty club. If I say no to your loyalty club, it’s because I’m not loyal. Probably because your stuff is too expensive, but I’m a first-year whose parents are buying them a coat; or your stuff is a bit heinous, but I have a dress-up party.

Shopping can be amazing. Better than sex. Better than one-dollar wines. Better than sex while drinking one-dollar wines. But there are standards, and they go both ways. If you’re a dicky customer, go on Walk In Wardrobe with other dicks and buy stuff virtually. If you’re a dicky shop assistant who can’t handle people, get a job on the StudyLink phone lines. But if you don’t want to become a recluse, stop being a dick in the first place.

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