Sunday, March 20, 2011

Nicole Foo, this is for you...

One of the major advantages of working in retail (of like, two advantages) is the discount. Most major retailers will offer employees their products at a discounted price to tempt them into sporting the clothes or using the products in their own lives. Thus, they sneakily turn their employees into loyal (and big-spending) clients as well as knowledgeable sales associates. For the big corporation, it's a win-win situation. For the destitute employee with the maxed out store card, it's a daily struggle of I must buy this now/I kinda like that now even though I thought it was ugly when I pulled it out of the box/Should I buy that just because it will be so cheap with my discount?

Along the same lines, sometimes companies will run contests in which free products are offered as the reward. Recently, our store ran a pant contest for associates. Pretty straightforward: sell the most pants, win some free pants. As exciting as this was, I don't really like pants. Not that I don't wear them. I do. I promise. I just don't like dress pants... or chinos... or cargos (unless they're slim!)... or shorts... you see what I mean. I'm pretty much in some variation of denim at all times. Sometimes I throw a pencil skirt into the mix when I'm feeling snazzy. Anyway, I'd much rather have been winning a free blouse, but since I like to be the best at things, I sold a lot of pants. In turn, I won some free pants. I was excited.

I took a week to choose my freebies. On the very last day of the "voucher redemption period," I chose a new pair of boyfriend denim as a pant last resort. Not that I needed more jeans. I've got like, 15 pairs, and I have two of all of my favorites. However, my favorite, ultra-lived in boyfriend jeans have holes dangerously close to the crotch area and a knee flap the size of Mars, which makes them a tad inappropriate for the sales floor. So, new boyfriend jeans it was.

Today, I pulled out my free pants for the first time. I ripped off the tag and pulled off the size sticker and yanked them on. With my chartreuse pocket tank and navy cardigan with white baby polka dots, I thought I looked pretty darn cute. Some rose gold accessories topped it all off.

I went to work and got on with my day, which passed in a flurry of stocking the store and working with clients, a few of which were close personal acquaintances. Consider that at a job like mine, there is lots of reaching upward and bending over for things... The outfit moves. Consider also that my cardigan was not of the longer variety. Just regular hip-grazing length.

I came home this evening and immediately stripped down (as always). As I flung my free boyfriend jeans onto the bed and reached for my PJ pants, I noticed something peculiar... And then I realized what I was seeing.

I'd left the giant "size 14" cloth tag stapled right there to the back pocket. All day. We saw 118 shoppers today, and not a single one of them took it upon themselves to let me know that I was confirming the size of my rear end to the world. Nor did any of my co-workers, of which there were three. Now even if I could convince myself that perhaps none of the other associates saw, I simply cannot believe that not one of 118 clients (some friends!) failed to notice. It seems to me that more than a few people are walking around with some bad shopping ju ju now. That's what you get when you don't tell someone that they have a booger hanging from their nose or a "size 14" stamped across their bottom.

So next time you get a pair of free pants, take a moment to inspect them as you put them on... Just because they were free doesn't mean they're going to do the work for you and cut off their own tags.

1 comment:

  1. That's really funny Key!! Although, I must admit that I've had co-workers and golf buddies alert me to tags on suit coats and dry cleaning tags on golf pants/shorts so you get it honestly!