Retail Hell: How I Sold My Soul to the Store

by Freeman Hall

  Retired Virginia earned the title of Jabbermouth because of the way she would corner a salesperson, deluge them with her verbal diarrhea, and chatter for hours about inconsequential things in her life that none of us wanted to hear.

  The bunions on her feet hurt. She ate a sandwich at The Big Fancy Restaurant that gave her indigestion. Her son was having an affair. She was tired but couldn’t sleep. Jabbermouth Virginia ran one subject right into the next like a demolition derby.

  Crazy Virginia, on the other hand, had liar-liar-navy-sweatpants-on- fire mouth and chattered for hours incoherently about her life as a corporate lawyer and about how the Good Lord told her things.

  The clients she had were nagging her. She was late for court. Local law enforcement was harassing her. The Good Lord said not to eat any muffins that day. Crazy Virginia spurted out jumbled lies like she was running for office.

  The Two Virginias came to The Big Fancy Department Store every day. During the course of their daily rituals, they passed each other constantly. They were like cars with tinted windows speeding down the freeway, ignoring each other. For hours on end they’d wander all over the store, sucking the life out of everyone. Whatever lives the Two Virginias used to live had been traded for marbled floors, mirrored columns, track lights, and the involuntary attention of Big Fancy salespeople.

  Jabbermouth Virginia sauntered down the main aisle as if she was tipsy. Crazy Virginia steamrolled down it as if she was power-walking.

  It wasn’t until a week into my position that I actually conversed with one of the Virginias.

  “You work in Handbags?” Jabbermouth Virginia asked one morning while looking at some new Isabella Fiore bags.

  “So I’m told,” I replied.

  “Since when do they have men workin’ in purses?”

  “Since now, and they’re called handbags.”

  “I know that,” she replied, “I was testing you.”

  “Did I pass?”

  “Suppose you did. How’d you end up in Handbags?”

  “It’s where they put me.”

  “I guess it’s as good a place as any. Don’t try and sell me another handbag. I need another handbag like I need a hole in the head. Got a closet full of handbags. I can’t wear them all. Why the hell did they change the powder in the mocha lattes at the Coffee Bar? It tastes like chalk. My feet are killing me today, I need a footbath. I have two bunions, one on each foot. Makes walking a bastard. I’m starving. I think I’ll get a pizza from Mario’s. They make the best pizza in town, but sometimes they put on too much sauce. Their sauce gives me the runs. Is there something wrong with the lighting in here? Seems darker than normal. They tryin’ to cut back on electricity? It’s so windy outside. I paid seventy-five dollars to have my hair done, and now the wind is gonna rip it to shreds. I don’t even want to get out of my car. Wonder what’s on TV tonight. Nothin’ but all reruns. Maybe I’ll just go read something at Borders.”

  Verbal diarrhea.

  I just stared at her.

  What the fuck is wrong with this lady? Does she have Alzheimer’s? Should I call someone?

  Luckily, the phone rang and saved me. Jabbermouth Virginia wandered off to bother some other person. Over time, I came to understand that she was simply chatty, a walking open book. Jabbermouth liked me because I’d stand there and let her gab my ears off.

  Sometimes she’d chat about current events, but most of the time it was all about Virginia. Past and Present. I’d heard all the intimacies regarding her life. More detailed than a six-hour King Tut special on the History Channel.

  Jabbermouth was born and raised on a farm in Wisconsin; had eight brothers and sisters scattered all over the U.S., some dead, some alive; and she loved babbling about them. “My oldest brother, Jerry, has been dead for ten years,” she reminisced, “But when we were kids, he loved cheese. Used to eat blocks of the stuff. Even as an adult. He’d have nothin’ but cheese and crackers for dinner. His favorite was cheddar. Suppose that could have been the thing that killed him. Too much cheese. I can’t eat a lot of it. I get all bloated and gassy.”

  Okay, you can stop now, Virginia! That’s way more than I want to know.

  “My sister, June, lives in Utah. She’s married to a jerk. I don’t see her often, cause I can’t stand him. I told her if she divorced the bastard, she could come live with me.”

  Jabbermouth had been married for forty-three years to a man named Larry, a produce manager at a grocery store. Oddly enough, she didn’t talk much about him, but she did have a lot to say about her children, their spouses, and her grandchildren.

  “They’re all driving me nuts. David is cheating on his wife, I’m sure their two teenagers are on drugs, they’re zoned out every time I see them, my daughter, Samantha, works way too many hours at her law firm. She’ll never find a husband. She has no life. I told her to go out and live a little. My other daughter, Karen, is a baby machine. Her husband is a dealer at Toyota. They have six kids! She needs to have her tubes tied. That’s a total of ten grandkids! Can you even imagine? Love ’em all to death, but I can’t keep them straight!”

  Jabbermouth resides a few miles from the store in a four-bedroom condo she shares with her divorced son, Rick, and his two small children, Jacob and Julie.

  “I don’t mind that they live with me, but geez! They’re like pigs. Always eating. Bowls of leftover cereal everywhere. I’m constantly cleaning up after them in the kitchen, and I have a cleaning woman. Can you even imagine? She’s good for nothing. Lupe is her name. I asked Lupe to wax the kitchen floor, and she tells me no ’cause she doesn’t like my mop. There’s nothing wrong with my mop! Lupe is lazy. Now I’m gonna have to do it myself.”

  Jabbermouth constantly updated me about her physical condition.

  “Just came from the doctor’s today. Got a clean bill of health. The gall bladder is fine. Thank God they don’t have to remove it. They did some sort of ultrasound, like I was pregnant. Can you imagine? At my age? Still don’t know why I’m having indigestion. Must be the food from the restaurant. I’m so sick of the food down there. Did I tell you that I have a bruise on my leg the size of Kansas? Have no idea where it came from. I think I’d remember if I fell.”

  Jabbermouth Virginia complained a lot.

  “Nothin but crap on TV nowadays.”

  “They came to fix the air conditioning in my condo and got dirt on my carpet.”

  “Every time I go to the supermarket, the prices keep going up. Five dollars for cereal!”

  “I don’t like that new girl in Accessories. She’s a spoiled little princess.”

  “I have so many aches and pains, I can’t keep them straight.”

  “The girl at the salon did not do my hair right today. It’s horrible.”

  But the thing Jabbermouth Virginia complained about the most was the parking.

  “The parking is horrible. I drive around and around trying to get a spot up front. You’d think a mall this size would have better parking. The other day I had words with the parking attendant. I don’t know why, but anyway, he made me mad, and he said where’s your handicapped card after I got out of the car and found a spot up front. I said see, right there. I told ya I’d go around and around until I found a place to park up front. He thought he was being funny by asking where my handicapped card was.”

  “Virginia, why don’t you just get a damn handicapped card,” I said one day, after I’d tired of her parking gripes. “It would make things so much easier for you.”

  “That’s what my daughter keeps telling me: ‘Mom, why don’t you get a handicapped card from the doctor?’ I could get one from my doctor if I wanted. Well, I’d have to go and get a thing from the insurance companies, but yeah that’s a good idea. I got a parking ticket once cause they were cleanin’ the damn streets and I got Tuesday and Wednesday mixed up. Eighteen-dollar ticket. Sheeez. That taught me a lesson. Every time I’m parking on the street now, I read the sign as soon as I get out of the car.”

  Jabbe
rmouth Virginia wouldn’t even stop talking after you’d ended the conversation.

  “Gotta get the phone, Virginia,” I’d say while it was ringing, “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay, Freeman, I’m going home. Think I’ll sit in the sun. Maybe read Janet Evanovich. I can’t read her books fast enough. I’m only on Hard Eight and she’s already up to twelve something. How can a person write so fast?”

  I’d be halfway to the phone and Virginia would still be talking.

  While she walked away.

  “The grandkids are having a recital tomorrow. That will be exhausting, but my daughter won’t be happy if I’m not there and I don’t wanna upset the little ones, but all those kids everywhere, running around, screaming. I’m exhausted. My nerves can only handle so much. I need to water my plants when I get home. Lupe won’t do it. How hard is it to water a few plants?”

  I’d pick up the phone and she’d still be talking, halfway down the aisle, her back to me.

  “I’m hungry. Maybe I’ll get some dinner from Mario’s. I hope they’re not busy, the parking is horrible. Need to be home by 4:00 though. May not have time.”

  Even though Jabbermouth Virginia yapped me into a coma with her torrent of talk just about every time I saw her, sometimes my sympathetic social skills paid off.

  She’d dig into her retirement money and pop for a handbag. The first handbag Jabbermouth ever bought from me was a $254 black Isabella Fiore satchel with a big red leather flower mounted on the front of it. Pretty pricy for a retired bank teller. I think she was excited to buy from Big Fancy’s first male handbag salesman. But the sale did not come without a price. I had to listen to Virginia chatter for an hour, and she hemmed and hawed for days over whether or not to buy the Fiore bag.

  “I want you to know this is it for me,” Virginia said as I handed her the shopping bag, “I need another handbag like I need a hole in the head. I have a closet full of handbags.”

  The Fiore bag was the only handbag she ever bought at regular price, and she wore it proudly until sale time, when she bought a red Kenneth Cole satchel.

  Although Jabbermouth did buy periodically, Judy couldn’t stand her. She saw Jabbermouth talking to all of us for lengthy periods of time, taking us away from waiting on other customers and doing departmental duties.

  “You need to not waste so much time with her,” the General said.

  “I can’t help it. I have to give Big Fancy customer service.”

  “You better start helping it, because talking to Virginia is not going to save you from Misfiring.”

  Everyone else on the crew tolerated Jabbermouth like a pimple, rising up painfully, blistering to a whitehead, and then slowly disappearing. On any given day, I’d observe her from a distance talking to one of the Women’s Shoes guys, then a short time later to Marion in Hosiery, then to Suzy Davis-Johnson, then to Robert in Men’s Sportswear, and then to Marsha in my own department.

  A lonely old woman. Bored with life and her family, Jabbermouth Virginia came into The Big Fancy every day to run her mouth, finding casual friendships with a handful of ears that were forced to listen. She made The Big Fancy her home away from home.

  Getting to know Crazy Virginia wasn’t as easy. It took a while to make a connection. At first I didn’t even know her name was also Virginia. She was known by everyone as Teddy Bear Lady. I watched her for weeks marching down the aisle, wearing the same shabby clothes, carrying the same old decrepit bear.

  Looking like Curious George, the monkey . . . if Curious George were a crazy fifty-year-old woman with frizzy gray-brown hair.

  Getting to know Teddy Bear Lady took some time. She rarely stopped and looked at the merchandise; she was always on the move, always headed somewhere.

  “Hon, you better stay away from that one,” warned Marsha one day, when I told her I was captivated by Teddy Bear Lady.

  “It’s so bizarre,” I said,“She goes in and out of the store like twenty times a day.”

  “You know what I heard?”

  “Spill it, Marsha.”

  “Michael in Men’s Furnishings talks to her sometimes and he said she goes over to the phone by the elevator and pretends to be talking on it for hours.”

  “No fuckin’ way.”

  “All true. Brenda up in Customer Service said the same thing. Teddy Bear Lady pretends like she’s arguing with someone from a company or something.”

  “How do they know she isn’t really talking to someone?”

  “Brenda saw her walk over to the pay phone, pick it up, and start talking without dialing.”

  “That’s so insane. I wonder what her story is.”

  “You stay away from her, sweetie. She’s already stalking Michael.”

  “I’m not afraid of her. She looks harmless.”

  “Harmless? Hon, are you kidding? If you don’t stay clear of that nut job, I guarantee you, it will end in a restraining order.”

  I really didn’t want Teddy Bear Lady stalking me, but she was so bizarre, I couldn’t resist. I had to find out more. I decided to dive into the world of Crazy Virginia.

  Barricaded safely behind the Corral, I yelled out a greeting to her one day as she stormed on by. “HELLO! HOW ARE YOU TODAY? HAVING A NICE AFTERNOON?”

  Teddy Bear Lady stopped, turned, and squinted at me curiously, as if the sun was in her face. After a couple of seconds, she’d had enough and continued her stride toward the escalator.

  I’ve spooked a wild animal at The Big Fancy! Too bad I don’t have any treats to throw. Maybe that would soften her up.

  A few minutes later on the return trip, Crazy Virginia’s black eyes met mine.

  I wanted to put my hand out and say, “C’mere girl, it’s okay, I won’t hurt you.”

  Instead, I shot her the biggest shit-pleasing retail smile ever and said, “HI THERE!”

  Teddy Bear Lady stopped in her tracks.

  “Hello?” She said the word as if she was learning it for the first time.

  The fingers on her left hand were twitching. The other hand had a firm grip on the teddy bear. The worn-out stuffed teddy looked even worse up close. He had an eye missing.

  Teddy Bear Lady’s first words weren’t like Jabbermouth Virginia’s. No questions on why a man was working in Handbags. Nothing about her closet full of handbags. Her first words to me were about my hair.

  “You sure do have spiky hair,” she said.

  I quickly glanced at myself in the mirror.

  Damn, Teddy Bear Lady is right.

  I could have won a jousting match against Ty Pennington. My hair was way sharper and pointier than his has ever been. “I use superstrength cement,” I replied, teasing.

  Teddy Bear Lady said nothing, squinting at my stiff hair. She may have been trying to figure out how I cement it. Then she was off again, back down the aisle without a word.

  The next day Teddy Bear Lady sat at a table by the coffee bar, watching my every move. It was kinda creepy, and Marsha’s words echoed in my head.

  “It will end with a restraining order.”

  After she was done, Teddy Bear Lady came up to the counter and squinted at me while I looked at our sales figures from the previous day. “Your tie sure is bright,” she said, gazing at my billiards tie with colorful pool balls all over it.

  “I always wear fun ties,” I replied.

  From that moment on it was easy to talk with Teddy Bear Lady. Every day she’d want to see what kind of tie I wore. After commenting on my tie, I might ask her a question (which is how I found out her name was Virginia), or she’d just hit me with an avalanche of chitchat, just like the other Virginia.

  But Crazy Virginia’s ramblings made no sense at all most of the time, and I suspected there was a plethora of lies covering up her real life.

  Like the one about her being a corporate lawyer.

  “I have my own corporate law practice, you know,” said Crazy Virginia, “and I’m semi-retired, but it’s all about keeping busy and being on the move,
and I says to one of my clients the other day, ‘You gotta do what you gotta do, it’s going to be fine, you know,’ and he says, ‘I don’t think about that,’ and I says,‘you better think about it, because you have to know it before you do it.’ I’m not going to court so much, you know.”

  “I thought you went to court a lot,” I said, egging on her craziness, completely fascinated.

  “Oh please, Freeman, you know it amazes me. I’m a lot happier now than I was in July. I was told not to plow through all my work, like I normally do, and I don’t have to go to court for my practice, you know, my clients all come to me, and I says, ‘It’s all fine, it all works out,’ you know what I mean?”

  “But, Virginia, how can you practice law from home?”

  “The Good Lord says I can practice my law anywhere.”

  Yes, Teddy Bear Lady had her some spirituality, as the little gold cross around her neck suggested. The Good Lord guided her on everything. In fact, it often seemed she had the Good Lord on speed dial.

  “The Good Lord says to me, ‘Have faith, you’ll win that trial.’”

  “The Good Lord says to me, ‘Have milk today, but don’t drink it tomorrow.’”

  “The Good Lord says to me, ‘Don’t go to the other side of the mall next week.’”

  After many of her ramblings, she would finish up her chatter by ending it with a signature Good Lord phrase.

  “The Good Lord works in wondrous ways.”

  “Don’t you mean mysterious?” I asked, after hearing her say it for the first time.

  “I’ve heard mysterious. But I don’t believe that. That’s not right, you know. But wondrous ways, I mean, that’s the way it’s supposed to be, you know.”

  “I think the phrase is mysterious ways, Virginia. The Good Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  “You know he says to me, he works in wondrous ways. Mysterious is wrong. The Good Lord is not mysterious, you know, he says that to me all the time. ‘I work in wondrous ways, Virginia,’ and he says, ‘Don’t forget that.’”

  “Then he must be right,” I replied, giving up.

  Who am I to judge on how the Good Lord works? Wondrous is a perfectly good adjective. Like Jabbermouth Virginia, Crazy Virginia is always complaining about someone crossing her or something going wrong.