by Freeman Hall
441064 verified time worked: 441064 failed to clock back in from lunch properly.
441064 also appeared on all official Big Fancy paperwork: Please sign your employee number stating you understand the company’s sexual harassment policy.
To the store’s computerized systems, Freeman did not exist. Only 441064. Like the half-man, half-machine beings on Star Trek, I had been assimilated by 441064.
Having to remember 441064 melted at least 50 percent of my brain cells. It’s the reason I can’t recall birthdays or how much I have left in my checking account. I fully expect medical research to one day identify this dreaded retail disease. They will no doubt call it END — Employee Number Disease. Millions of sales associates will be diagnosed with this horrifying numerical memory-loss condition. Because of END, we won’t be able to recall what year it is, our age, our shoe size, or on what channel to find American Idol. This is the END of the road for your brain, Freeman. You’ve spent too many years in retail having to recall employee numbers. Your brain cannot take any more. It’s fried times four.
When I became 441064, there was no special ceremony like a graduation or bar mitzvah and I did not receive a 441064 official certificate, engraved necklace, fashionable tee, henna tattoo, or bumper sticker. The number 441064 was presented to me illegibly scrawled across a small piece of orange scratch paper that wasn’t even a Post-It. HR Manager Tammy unceremoniously handed 441064 to me and said, “Memorize it and never forget it. Those six numbers are connected to everything you do, including your paycheck.”
I stared at my beastly mark like it was part of The Da Vinci Code.
How will I remember this? I hate numbers. It took me months to remember my cell number. If my paycheck is riding on this number, I’m in deep shit.
The first few days of trying to remember 441064 were worse than trying to remember my locker combination in high school. Within hours, I lost the slip of paper and mixed up the order of the numbers like a blender on purée. Every time I tried to enter them into the register it beeped loudly while my customers sighed impatiently.
Was it 460144? BEEP! 446014? BEEP! No, that’s not it. Are the double 4s at the beginning or the end? 440164? BEEP! 406144? BEEP! 441046? BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Why can’t my employee number be 12345? Or 420? Or 666? Or 8675309? I can remember those numbers! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The register noise and impatience of Douche standing behind me, ready to ring up half the department, alerted General Judy, who was on me like some freaky ninja-manager.
“FREE-MAN!” she yelled, “YOU NEED TO REMEMBER YOUR EMPLOYEE NUMBER! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU? Don’t force me to write it down and pin it to your tie.”
Fearing humiliation, I took to writing 441064 on my palm with a red pen. As it turns out, this was not such a great idea. The heat from the handbag department coupled with my nerves produced enough sweat to fill up a Marc Jacobs satchel. I ended up smearing red ink all over a pink DKNY leather tote that a customer was about to purchase. “What are you doing?” she snapped, “Your hand is red! My God, you’re bleeding on my new bag!”
Thank God Marsha in the Corral was with me at that moment and not Judy. “Oh, it’s nothing, hon,” she said, quickly opening a drawer and producing a bottle of magic leather cleaner. Seconds later, the red smudge disappeared. Then Marsha opened another drawer and pulled out a 5"×7" card that had a list of all the department’s employee numbers — including yours truly, 441064.
“We use this for reference when ringing up holds and whatnot.”
“Why didn’t Judy just show me that?” I asked, feeling my retail blood start to boil.
“Because she’s a nasty bitch and likes to yell at people,” Marsha replied. “Now ring up your customer, dear.”
From that point on, I never forgot 441064. I also ended up unwillingly memorizing everyone else’s numbers, including the General’s.
Ultimately, I think stores like The Big Fancy should let sales associates create their own employee numbers. Then they could choose easy-to-remember digits that have personal significance, like birthdates, anniversaries, favorite Super Bowls, or dates of loss of virginity. If I had been given creative control of my employee number, I definitely would have made some retailicious improvements on 441064.
For instance, I’d have cut the 1, 0, and 6, making it 444444! How sweet is that?! Nice and easy on my number-challenged brain. Or, 242424 because it’s three 24s in a row and 24 is the Fox TV show starring Kiefer Sutherland, whom many say I look like. (Dumbass Customer: “Are you Kiefer Sutherland?” Me: “Why, yes, I am. I’m selling handbags to make extra money between explosions and tortures.”)
What if my employee number were a countdown number, like 654321? After entering the 1 on the register, I would do something dramatic, like yell, “BLAST OFF! You are about to get rung up by the Jack Bauer of handbags!”
If I’d had a more attractive group of numbers like 323232, they could be a decorative border for my business cards. 323232323232323232323232323232. Employee number art!
I can’t help but think that my number might have been luckier if it had been 123456, a straight flush, or a big jackpot number like 777777. I also would have loved 1313 as an employee number because it’s The Munsters’ home address on Mockingbird Lane, or 111111, because it looks mysterious like an X-File.
But as far as employee numbers go, I guess 441064 isn’t the worst set of Big Fancy employee numbers to ever grace the top of a receipt. I could have been given something really fucked up like 392754186. What a bitch that employee number would have been to remember.
As The Big Fancy days turned into years, and 441064 saturated my very being, the thought of actually becoming 441064 crossed my mind more than once. I’m 441064 at The Big Fancy; why not in life? Prince did it when he changed his name to that symbol. Why not me? No one has the name 441064!
Eat your heart out, Moon Unit, Apple, Moby, and 50 Cent.
Not only would it confuse the shit out of the IRS when they got my taxes, but can you imagine the look on a cop’s face after he pulls me over and reads 441064 on my driver’s license? And if annoying telemarketers ask to speak to the man or woman of the house, I could proudly respond, “There is no man or woman here, only 441064.”
It would certainly be strange living as 441064, but I suppose I’d get used to it, like 007 did. My friends would say, “Hey 441064, s’up?” They could also shorten it to an affectionate nick-number and say, “You rock, 44 . . . props, 44!”
But there are times, I fear, when being called 440164 would have major downfalls. My tombstone would read, “Here lies 441064”; my full signature would take forever to write: Four four one zero six four; I’d have no last name; and I’d hate it during sex when my boyfriend called out, “Oh, yes, 441064! You are the stud among studs, 441064!”
Maybe being 441064 wouldn’t be such a good thing after all.
As END ravaged my brain on a daily basis at The Big Fancy, making it difficult for me to play Sudoku and sing 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall, one thing was for sure. The number 441064 left an indelible mark. A hideous, permanent graffiti stain. Like the name of a cattle ranch branded on some poor steer’s ass.
441064 is forever.
The Customer Is Always Right
According to corporate America, The Big Fancy, and consumers everywhere, “The customer is always right.”
Even when they’re not so right.
The way I saw it?
If the customers were always right, that was fine by me.
It was my absolute pleasure as a sales associate of The Big Fancy to provide them with the most outstanding customer service I could and let them act however they wanted to.
“Hi. Can you help me?” asked a woman with wiry black hair so out of control and full of static, she must have French-kissed an electrical outlet. The bitch looked completely insane.
“I’m looking for a handbag in a purplish brown color,” said Electric Hair.
“Purplish brown?” I r
eplied, unsure of what she meant, although the visual of a black eye did pop into my head.
“Yes, a brown with purple.”
“You mean like an eggplant color?”
Like a shiner?
“No. Brown and purple.”
“Like a Bordeaux?”
“No, more brown.”
Like dog poop?
“Like a cordovan?”
“No, more purple.”
Like purple dog poop?
I’m really confused now.
“Is the brown chocolaty?” I asked.
“Yes, but with purple in it,” replied Electric Hair.
Like your alien blood?
“Is the purple a deep purple?”
“Yes, very deep.”
“Chocolaty brown with deep purple in it.”
“Yes! Exactly. That’s what I’m looking for. Do you have it?”
If we do, I don’t know where it is.
“I don’t know,” I said, hoping she would go back into the mall’s wilds.
“I really need to find something,” Electric Hair pleaded, “it’s for a very important event. Can’t you please help me find something?”
Against my better judgment of helping freaky-looking women with dangerous hair, I put Queer-Eye Handbag Guy into action and gave her a Brown Handbag Tour.
“It needs to have purple in it,” she said after seeing each one.
So then I gave her a Purple Handbag Tour.
“It needs to have brown in it,” she said after seeing each one.
I showed her every handbag that looked like rotting eggplant.
“Not the right shade,” she quipped, “Almost, just not quite right.”
I showed her every handbag that looked like freshly dumped doggy poo.
“No, there’s not enough purple,” she groaned, “I need purplish brown.”
Then Electric Hair went all high-voltage hell bitch on me:
“I’m frankly surprised you don’t have anything in that shade. It’s the hottest color of the season! Your buyers need to be more on top of what is going on in the fashion world. This color was all over last month’s WWD. Why aren’t you salespeople better educated? This is such a disappointment. I was planning on buying my purplish brown handbag today. They shouldn’t have a man working in Handbags who knows nothing.”
I’d had just about enough shock therapy from Electric Hair. She was full of static shit.
Even though The Big Fancy had never sent me to New York’s fashion week, I decided to pretend like they did, and tell her what she wanted to hear.
“Oh, I know what you are looking for!” I said overly dramatic, “You want burple. I could not agree with you more. Our buyers are so out of it. Burple is HOT!”
“Burple?”
“Yes, burple! It’s all the rage in handbags!”
“It is?” she said gazing at me like I had just given her a key to the power company.
“That’s the color you saw in WWD. It’s what all the designers are calling a mix of brown and purple. I personally think it’s fashion accessory genius. Burple bags are going to be huge.”
“I know, I know,” said Electric Hair getting excited, “That’s why I want to get mine now.”
“There will be burple shoes, burple clothing, burple makeup, burple everything. Hey did you see last month’s In Style?”
“No, I missed it.”
“Madonna and J-Lo are already wearing burple. There was a whole spread about it.”
“Wow,” said Electric, completely mesmerized.
“You know it’s pretty sad, we should have it in by now, but we don’t. My suggestion would be for you to try all the other stores. Just make sure you ask for the color by name: burple. That way salespeople will know exactly what color you’re looking for and everyone will be so impressed that you’re on the cutting edge of fashion!”
CUSTOMER: “I know what I saw! It was a white handbag with black stripes and purple dots. It was about this tall, there was a handle and a strap, it wasn’t too big or too small, and it was right here on the counter. On this very spot.”
No clue what she was talking about.
Her self-proclaimed photographic memory seemed to be crashing.
ME: “I’m sorry, ma’am, we’ve never had anything like that.”
CUSTOMER: “It was right here on the counter. I saw it last week!”
ME: “Perhaps you were in another store.”
CUSTOMER: “Are you calling me a liar? I know what I saw. Are you new?”
ME: “No, I’m not.”
CUSTOMER: “Then how long have you worked here?”
ME: “Longer than last week.”
CUSTOMER: “Well, then, I’m sure you must have seen it. Maybe I’m not describing it right. It was stark white with black stripes and big purple dots. Kinda big with a long strap.”
ME: “There was no white bag with black stripes and purple dots here last week.”
CUSTOMER: “You’re lying to me or maybe you just don’t know your merchandise very well. I know what I saw and IT WAS RIGHT HERE ON THIS VERY SPOT!!!”
In Big Fancy Retail Hell I found there was only one way to deal with a Black Stripe Purple Dot Hallucinating Psycho Bitch customer like this.
Tell her she’s right.
ME: “OOOOOOOh, that bag! I remember it now. It was a white bag with black stripes and purple dots. Really big, long strap. I think it was sitting right here on the counter. On this very spot!”
CUSTOMER: “Yes! That’s it. You remember it now! I knew I wasn’t imagining things.”
But you were. That’s what smoking too much angel dust does.
ME: “Yes, I remember it very clearly now.”
CUSTOMER: “Well, it’s about time. Where is it? I want to look at it.”
ME: “I’m so sorry. It got marked down to 50% off yesterday and I sold it about fifteen minutes ago. You are just fifteen minutes too late.”
Because I’m such a service-giver to those Always Right Customers, I offered to go above and beyond.
ME: “If you want, I’ll call our Long Beach store. I hear they have one left. They can hold it for you. I know it’s a long drive through rush-hour traffic, but it would be so worth it for you to get that cool white bag with black stripes and purple dots!”
CUSTOMER: “Yes! Please! I want to take a look at it.”
ME: “My pleasure.”
The Do’s and Don’ts of Shopping
Whether you’re a Retail Slave or not, one thing we all have in common as humans is that at some point or another, we are all customers. Whether we’re looking for shampoo, cheeseburgers, designer shoes, or fishing rods, there will come a time when we need to go in search of stuff.
Having experienced hell as both a salesperson and customer, I’ve put together a few Do’s and Don’ts to make your shopping experience one that doesn’t end up feeling like a root canal. You don’t want to end up the joke of the day in a store breakroom, or even worse, the subject of someone’s angry rant on a blog somewhere.
Know what to DO as a good customer and when to keep your douchebag customer in check with a DON’T!
DO smile and say hello after a store greeter has acknowledged you are an actual person and offered up a friendly, “Hello. How are you today?”
DON’T act like you don’t speak English, turn your head away, and walk by silently as if greeters are dead people you can’t see. When you have a question or need help, you might just become dead people they can’t see.
DO use shopping sense when you need assistance. Example: You’re in the hardware department and you see someone wearing a uniform, nametag, and headset doing stock work. Walk up, say hello, and ask an appropriate question (e.g.: “Where are the hammers?”).
DON’T be a dumbass and ask, “Excuse me, do you work here?” followed by asking an equally annoying question in the hardware department: “Do you know where I can find cherry red lipgloss?”
DO be friendly, polite, and patient. You’ll
reap rewards you didn’t know existed. People behind the counter have the golden key to your savings and shopping experience. Kissing their ass will get them to use it for you.
DON’T be a Bitchista. Otherwise, no discounts or mentions of upcoming sales for you! Your douchey rude ass took care of that. Remember: Nice customers always walk away with the best service and deals from a store.
DO go shopping in a decent mood and with a sense of respect for humanity. The people working at stores and restaurants do have brains and some may even be smarter than you. Being condescending will only encourage them to use those brains to find a way to give you the worst service possible.
DON’T go shopping when you’re in a rush, off your meds, feeling frisky, stricken with swine flu, hours away from giving birth, seeking psychotherapy, or basically feeling like you want to kill someone. You are not making a contribution to society going out in the world like this. Stay home and shop online.
DO shop with your cell phone. Text and chat away as long you’re not disturbing the peace by loudly discussing your mother’s bowel movements or blocking busy aisles while texting like a teenage girl.
DON’T yammer away on your cell while being waited on! End that call. NOW! And the same goes for texting. Retail Slaves everywhere are fed up with rude cell phone behavior and have been known to actually stop helping customers who are engaged in cell calls.
DO be an amazing parent by paying attention to your children every moment you’re in the store. Administer parental discipline when they start to turn into Hell Spawn and throw shoes like they’re baseballs and run up and down the escalator.
DON’T be a shitty parent by turning your back and pretending you don’t hear the screaming or loud crashes from two aisles over. Watching your little monsters will save you from dirty looks, paying for destroyed merch, lawsuits, being banned from the store, and having to explain to the police why you were shopping for frilly underthings at Victoria’s Secret while your kids were destroying Twilight books at the Barnes & Noble across the street.
DO save your receipts for returning!!! Consumers are constantly complaining about returns. The only problem with a return is when you DON’T HAVE A RECEIPT! Save your receipts, people! Or expect to fight like Rocky and then be told NO when you try to demand a refund for your pastastained dress.
