Scarred and Stacked Neatly

My name is Caitlin, and I’m a former Gap, Inc. employee. For two fulls years and two extra summers, I wore a headset, a frumpy, fire engine red T-shirt emblazoned with OLD NAVY and discovered the horrors of retail.

Aside from the finagling penny-pinchers, the unruly kids and the occasional sociopath who frequented the store, the greatest horror of all was The Truck.

If you frequented an Old Navy between the late 90s and early 2000s (and, appallingly, even at some stores now), you are acquainted with The Truck. That hulking blue monstrosity with the glazed-eyed prop dog gathering dust in its stripped cab. Yeah, that one.

Where customers saw the infamous Flag Tees or the latest round of knock-off men’s “vintage” tees (Gettin’ Lucky in Kentucky, people.), we employees saw the tenth circle of Hell.

At least one person dedicated their entire eight-hour shift to the tumbling piles of once-neatly-folded shirts that surrounded The Truck. The delicate balance never held. After an employee defensively guarded their orderly stacks of shirts, perhaps leaving their post for only a fifteen minute soda break in the back, the customers (and their children) would come in hordes to The Truck.

The questions would follow:

Where did The Truck come from? How much would we take for it? Where could they find one? Could their son just climb in the cab for a picture? It wouldn’t take but a minute and the camera’s all charged and ready to go, so please?

We’d watch, devastated, as the piles would come crashing down. At 9:05, the folding table was retrieved from the back, rolled to The Truck and the toil began again. Left corner sleeve to middle third. Right corner sleeve to middle third. Lower hem folded one third up. Bottom folded refolded to shoulder. Stack. Repeat.

In the hours I spent at The Truck, I never thought The Wall Street Journal might dedicate an article to the art I learned there. It turns out that I’m not the only scarred Gap, Inc. employee out there.

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Miracle on Cincinnati Avenue...

And that miracle would be that I got my car ALL the way up my driveway.

After Ohio got bitch-slapped by mother nature herself all day Wednesday and into Thursday afternoon with a little over a foot of snow, we kin who be unaccustomed to such likened weatherins have been done shovelin ourselves outta it for damn near three days.

No really.

Granted, a foot or more (or even less) of snow is substantial. Especially when most of it hits an area in say, a twelve hour period. But for Ohioans, who are used to only about three or four inches at MOST at a TIME, the preparation is not there and thus, we suffer all the way into the weekend.

I worked Wednesday from 9 am til 6 pm. My way there was a near white-out on the highway, where I crawled at about 25 miles per hour or less the entire way. I grimaced every time I looked out the storefront window during my day, dreading that some maniac mother in her SUV would come flying around my car and slam the parked QTPUH2T in the rear. Fortunately, no lunatics destroyed anything and I was able to dethaw my car in about a half hour and leave for my way home. The three to four lane I-71 (home and highway of many an eastern traveler who journeys between Florida and the northeast) had become a one or two lane highway for most of its duration between work and my house. The snow was still falling heavily and aside from narrow, limited lanes and terrible vision, the lanes that had been more or less carved out of the snow were lined by ice that grabbed as I drove and threatened to pull me into the ditch.

I got home and faced the beast that is my driveway. The Family driveway is an uphill battle, lengthened at about, oh, a good 100 yards from street to house. As I attempted to get up the drive, I got no further than three feet up and away from the street and decided I'd park elsewhere for the night. I chose Michael's Pest Control down the street and prayed to the extermination gods above that Michael would not tow my car in the morning.

He didn't.

In fact, he shoveled my car out of the snow for me. Thanks, Mike and your pesty friends.

Thursday, I got my car up our drive by about fifteen feet and left QTPUH2T there for the day.

Today I jumped in the car with an hour to spare before work.

"Meh... if it usually takes me fifteen to twenty minutes to get to work, it'll take me about a half hour to forty minutes today with Christmas shoppers. That'll leave me with a little time to run into Best Buy, grab a few last minute things and then go to work."

Yeah, that's what I was thinking.

But no. Instead, it would take me over an hour and a half to get to work. AN HOUR AND A HALF.

Most of the highway had become a tundra, barren ice and packed snow with still only two-lanes of moving traffic where other cars had carved lanes out of the snow (with no particular care to where the lines HAD been painted). Like a battle between nature and machinery, carnage of wrecked cars rusted and weathered in the shoulders and in snow-banks. Scared for mine and my car's future, I gripped the wheel and fought the grip of the ice and snow as the willy-nilly lanes ebbed and flowed from their nonsensical directions.

I sat in stopped traffic to exit I-71 for over forty five minutes and also spent twenty minutes in the parking lot, fighting for a space and getting stuck in a line of cars where there was no thru-way. (We all had to go in reverse one by one in order to get out of our rubix cube jam.)

I clocked in a half hour late, at 1:30, worked only until 6:30 and still got a half hour break. Rock on, Christmas Eve.

I love working Christmas Eve. It's so hectic, and, at least at Old Navy, I thrive on chaos. The busyness lasted for about two and a half hours before our traffic slowed to just about nothing. Unfortunately, I encountered no unusual customers or extremely angry customers this year as I have in years past.

Customers of note on Christmas Eve:

1. Creepy guy 12/24/02 8:30 am:
Bought only socks and underwear.
Said he "liked my hat" (didn't wear Santa hat after that year to work), worked some lame come-ons in, then cut to the chase asking:
"You know, my friend was supposed to come with me tonight to Florida for Christmas but he can't make it. ((slides plane ticket across counter)) You wanna come instead?"

Uh...Well, uh... That's nice of you, but I think my family is expecting me for dinner.

"Are you sure, baby? I can come back for you later. What time you off work?"

That's really okay. I'm busy.

2. The If-You've-Worked-Retail-You-Know-Which-Last-Minute-Customer-I'm-Talkin'-About Bitch 12/24/03 6:05-6:25 pm

Yeah, that's right. The bitch who not only doesn't have a single penny on her, but has emptied the entire store in her shopping cart and now expects you to take her business check. PERSONAL CHECKS ONLY, PLEASE. After yelling at me, throwing merchandise in my face, and asking for a manager, she requested use of our phone, talked to her husband for ten minutes and at 6:20 pm (we closed at 6 pm), decided she didn't want to buy anything and before leaving yelled, "DON'T YOU GUYS KNOW PEOPLE WANT TO SHOP ON CHRISTMAS EVE? WHY DON'T YOU STAY OPEN LATER??!"

3. The Mom with Eight Kids early afternoon 12/24/any-year

I'm pretty sure this is the same mom every year. She just shows up and wreaks havoc on the store. The same kids. The same hijinks... tearing down posters, throwing ornaments, tossing recently-folded shirts off of tables, wearing the dog-reindeer-ears... And the mom, comatose, deaf, dumb and glassy-eyed.

That's one-hundred eighty-one dollars and thirty-two cents, ma'am.... Ma'am?............. Ma'am?!

Don't bother. She's gone, her kids have taken control of the front half of the cash-wrap and her husband is probably at home, piss-ass drunk and watching football. Let her stay in that silent, safe place that only Old Navy can provide.

Other customers are generally just happy dads who don't give a rat's ass how last-minute their shopping is and give you smiles of encouragement and ask how late you have to work. Others are moms with daughters who are aware of how late they are shopping and just look bug-eyed with the fright and thrill of it. These guys I don't mind at all. But if it weren't for those crazy Christmas Eve customers, could I ever have the claim to fame of having been offered a trip to Florida from Creepy McCreepersons?

Back to the miracle that occured this Christmas Eve...

Once I braved The Tundra--I-71 North, I returned back into safe Lebanon, Ohio, where LaRosa's Pizzeria was open, and in small suburban homes, upper middle classers huddled around their Christmas trees to open Old Navy fleeces from Gramma.

Piddling my way up Cincinnati Avenue, I decided that this bitch of a driveway was not going to get me tonight and so I shifted it up into second gear as I turned and gunned it all the way up, my car shuddered and spitted over the ice and lurched to a halt where the snow heightened into a bank that no shovel nor plow could sunder.

As reward for my excellent driving, a (practically) normal family Christmas Eve was had in the Family household. Complete with a nice dining-room-worthy meal, half-Christmas present unwrapping and PJP2, formerly known as the Pope, giving his Midnight Mass. (The true family tradition, watching Midnight Mass on TV.)

And although there would be no late-night holiday light driving due to the road conditions, the Christmas spirit glowed warm in the Family household that night while they were all nestled in bed with plans of really late sleeping-in danced in their heads.

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Are YOU a BAD SHOPPER???

It's about time I rant about retail. I've done it oh-so little.

CASE 1:

Sometimes, stores close. This unfortunate calamity, in fact, happens every day...in EVERY store...except for, perhaps, your local Kroger.

When stores close, it's not the employees' faults.

We, the employees, do not choose when we are open and when we are closed. If we could, we would, but we can't.

So, please. Do the employee a favor... Don't throw slut-phrases around like:

"Weeeehlp, mah daughtah an' I travel ah who' hour tah get 'ere. Y'all didn't make yer announcement thatchy'all were closin' like y'always do."

Well, ma'am, I'm sorry. We do close at six.

(NOTE: there is NO announcement, nor has there ever been one. I'd gladly get on a loudspeaker and tell people to "Kindly make your final (damn) purchases and make your way (haul some freaking ass up) to buy your items (shit).")

"Weeeeeehl, that geeeeeeerhhhllll back dere in y'all's fittin' room done said mah daughtah can't try her clothes on."

Well, ma'am since we do close at six, we can't let anyone back after closing since the registers will close. And you have the option of returning all your items and receiving the full price for which you paid them, should you keep your receipt during the 90 day return period.

(NOTE: "the registers will close:" A white lie told to all customers. The registers cannot actually be closed until the last customer leaves the store and the doors are locked behind him and/or her. Don't believe retailers who tell you that load of crap.)

"Weeeeeeehl, none of this 'ere clothin' will prolly fit mah daughtah. An' we all live an hour away from this 'ere Old Navy."

Well, ma'am, I'm sorry (you live out in the middle of nowhere and) our store is inconveniently placed (in this suburban shopping center. God knows that it's never ever shopped at ALL and we constantly get complaints about how its location directly between Best Buy and Barnes and Noble marks its desolate position.)

CASE 2:

Location: That inconveniently-placed Old Navy

Day and time: Sunday, 6:15-6:35 pm

Regular closing time on said day: 6 pm.

Number of customers still in said location: 1

Location of said customer: Register 6

Time said customer has spent at said register: 20 minutes

Brief transaction description:

--customer began transaction, requesting use of expired coupon

--customer said she did not need gift receipts

--after half of transaction is rung up, customer requests gift receipts for certain previously rung items

--customer requests cashier's assistance: "What size would a girl who looks like she's 30 in the face, 12 in the body, but she's 16, wear?"

--customer returns to store floor to grab new sizes in girl's size based on cashier's compromise suggestion of a size 14, since the girls' department does not carry a size 30, and clothing sizing is never based on faces.

--customer returns with new items, changes mind on some as they are rung up

--customer comments that she does not, in fact, know her own son's size, asks cashier if she would know

--cashier responds, surprisingly, that she does not know the customer's son's size

--customer's cell phone (with loud annoying song) rings at approximately 6:30, mystery-size son calling

--customer asks son following questions: "What size do you wear? I already chose a bunch."..."What's your favorite color denim, the one blue or the other blue?"..."Does Sissy like pants?"

--when transaction is totaled, customer attempts to use expired coupon again

--cashier takes coupon, throws it away

--6:35, customer leaves

CASE 3:

Character description: The BAD PARENT, (usually accompanied by one to three BAD CHILDREN)

-BAD PARENT is male or female, usually parent to young BAD CHILDREN

-Most likely, BAD PARENT is dressed very nicely, while his and/or her BAD CHILD is dressed in rags

-Discipline for BAD PARENT involves combat and/or screaming

-Misbehavior from BAD CHILD involves combat and/or screaming

Sample scene 1:

OLD NAVY CASHIER: Hi, ma'am! Did you find everything you needed today?

BAD PARENT (not listening to ONC, yells at son, age 8): Joey!! Get your butt over here or else we're not having dinner tonight!

JOEY (enters from stage left): MOOOOOM!!!!! You SAID I could get a DOG BONE! I WAAAAAANT a dog bone!!!! YOU SAID!

BP: Shut your mouth, Joey! THAT'S IT!! You're done!!!

ONC (while ringing last item): And is that it for you today, ma'am? Did you want to open an Old Navy Account and save ten percent on this and your next purchase?

BP: Shit. No. Yeah, that's it. No credit cards for me, thanks. (pauses, watching son who is currently sticking hangers in electric outlets and kicking over piles of clothing) JOEY!!! Get over here NOW.

J: I HATE YOU, MOM! YOU SAID!

++++++++++++++++

Sample scene 2:

PREGNANT BP stands in line at register with shopping cart in front of her. Her three-week old INFANT/NOT-YET RUINED CHILD is in the built-in car seat of the shopping cart. Her BAD CHILD/TODDLER is running around the front display, grabbing shirts and throwing them.

PREGNANT BP is distracted by ONC and turns back on both INFANT and TODDLER.

TODDLER runs around display twice, then at cart, jumps on end of cart, sending cart tipping over on its end, pinning TODDLER underneath and sending INFANT sailing six feet in air and landing on head on concrete floor.

++++++++++++++++++

Now then. I'd, unfortunately, be lying if I said any of the above wasn't true. So I just would like to make a plea.

I know you're the customer. You come first. We all do because we're all customers.

But please.

Take pity on the poor salesperson, who hath giveth his soul to the dark demon of Retail. He knoweth not what he does and what dark lord he serveth. Easeth his suffering with quick responses, a kind smile in return to the one giveth to you, and every once in a while, openeth a credit card account. He will feeleth your mercy.

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Eight Points of Importance

1. Work today was actually kind of fun and flew by, despite little cashiering. Shocking, I know.

2. I am reading Word Freak, the book of Scrabble drama. I'm really excited to play Scrabble again...maybe even Speed Scrabble.

3. I went out with Abby from Old Navy after work to Fridays for a really late dinner. It was nice. I also made plans to hang out with Cat and Matt Zito to discuss F9/11 next week or so. The prospect and reality of hanging out with fun people from work after hours is wonderful.

4. Tonight I drove by Kings Island as the fireworks crowds were dispersing. It was surreal because I:
a. always go.
b. didn't go this year.
c. saw the traffic and remembered EVERY other year I've gone with Brandon, Michael, and company, leaned out the windows of the bug in dead-stop traffic and sang overly patriotic songs to people in other cars, getting them to sing along with me and my friends. There's nothing quite as wonderfully abnoxious as three lanes of traffic singing "Fifty Nifty United States."

5. I work on the Fourth. I am:
a. half sad (because I'll be working during part of my FAVORITE holiday, and I'll not get to drive around and shout overly patriotic things at people who are out in their frontyards or on their porches.)
b. half happy (because I get time and a half and can be overly patriotic to customers instead. i plan to wear some horrendous red, white, and blue outfit.)

6. Possible breakfast party with Brandon and Michael tomorrow to watch Roddick and Federer. Who's siked? I am!

7. Speaking of "siked," I watched the "Las Vegas Wedding" conclusion to Saved By the Bell: The College Years, yesterday. I never saw it before, and only now is life worth living.

8. I miss school. (Bunches.)

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As taken from my December 12, 2003 journal entry

Tonight I concluded two things:
1. Work sucks.
2. Mice run the hard drive of my home computer.

Let me elaborate…
1. Work sucks. Tonight was your run-of-the-mill Friday holiday night at Old Navy. You had your usual customers:
Exhibit A:
Crazy ass bitch who hits her children with one hand while pointing her finger at you with her other, screaming about how “Y’all better give me my ten percent off, ya hear??” These bitches come by the dozens.
Exhibit B:
Dumb ass bitch who pays for her ninety dollar total purchase with all ones. Let’s just say that Florida didn’t have this many recounts. Damn.
Exhibit C:
Damned annoying kid who knocks over entire new display. Somebody needs to shatter that kid’s face with the plastic dog that’s propped up in the signature Old Navy truck. Shit.
Exhibit D:
One hot guy who is buying his girlfriend a gift. Damn… and shit. Both… At once.

Now I know what you’re thinking… You’re a normal shopper. But you’re not, and neither am I. When I cross paths with a normal shopper, I want to jump over my register and shower him or her with love and praise: “MAY GOD LINE THE PATH OF YOUR LIFE WITH ROSES AND BLESS YOU WITH GOOD FORTUNE IN ALL SURPLUS STORE DISCOUNTS!! GO IN PEACE AND GOODWILL.”
If you are a normal shopper, talk to me and I’ll see what I can do for you.

And now onto number 2...
2. (Ha, were you expecting THAT?) Mice run the hard drive of my computer. I can hear them all the time in their little mouse workout wheels, grinding away. I know that this computer is Windows 98, and by my calculations, you are almost six years old, which must be like 190 in human years, but really, could you guys keep in the fuck down?? Seriously you guys, you make such a ruckus. I’d spell-check that in Word, but I don’t want to wear out your little mice legs by opening a new window, so I’ll let it go. Keep on truckin’, lil mice friends.

Your Cinderella-esque Old Navy Slavin’ and Mouse Lovin’ CC

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