Even Men Can’t Resist Cashmere

It’s time for another edition of “This only happens to Colleen!” (See: Even Old Women… or the naked old dude pissing in the ocean at Smith’s Point in “Maybe a Bright Sandy Beach…“). In today’s segment:

I’m at work at Ann Taylor & some old JAPs are asking me about cardigan sets. Old JAP Broad #1 is holding up a pink one, asking me if there are any more shells (the tank top/vest that one wears under a cardigan. I own 4, you’ve probably seen me wearing them at one point, as I tend to dress like a 35-year-old Republican woman whenever the temperature goes below 78 degrees). ANYWAY, I’m trying to tell her that we got new, wool ones in for the winter & that the only silk/cotton blend ones we have were already out (yeah, it’s sort of disgusting that I actually know shit like that now). Old JAP Broad #2 is apparently arguing with me, going forcefully & oh-so-politely, “NO!! Do you have any more of these tank tops?”

Again, I tell her I do not & gesture to the pink pile, dutifully offering to help her find a size. Again, Old JAP Broads start arguing with me. Finally, Old JAP Broad #1, who’s still holding a pink cardigan, snaps at me with punctuated syllables for the poor, socially unequal shopgirl, “NO. Do. You. Have. Any. Of. THIS. Color?” Old JAP Broad #2 finally holds up a teal cardigan.

Oh. GEEZ lady, why didn’t you fucking say so in the FIRST PLACE, instead of waving the fucking pink one in my face? So I’m taken aback by her tone/sentence structure & momentarily forget that I am merely a humble employee & she the always-right-costumer. I start to snap back, going tone-for-tone with her.

“Oh. Sorry. My. Mistake. No. We. Don’t.”

Then I snap back to reality – oh there goes gravity – & calmly add, “I got confused, haha, oops!” Bitch must’ve gotten the message, though, cause her attitude immediately changed. Then they quizzed me about my size (why the hell do people never believe me when I tell them I’m a small or size 2 in our tops & a size 4 in our pants? I didn’t try to insist to them that they couldn’t possibly be mediums, as they kept insisting that I couldn’t possibly be a small…)

So yeah. That’s a lovely story, but it’s not quite at “This only happens to Colleen!” level yet. Here’s the next part:

I go into the back room to chill for a second following this encounter. Two colleagues, Lisa & Ryan (no, Jenna, Kelly & Kalyn, not hot Ryan, unfortch), are on break. I relate to them what just happened and we joke about it. Then I move towards the door & say, “Well, I’m goin’ to wordrobing so I can go avoid a bitch or else I’m-a cut her! PEACE.” I open the door & step out.

No sooner have these words left my mouth when I look up and see some guy trying on our lovely green cashmere sweater.

I don’t even turn around. I walk backwards through the door, into the break room & exclaim, “WHAT IS THIS, THE FUCKING TWILIGHT ZONE?!” I begin laughing so hard I can barely get out the words, “Guy. Zone 5. Green cashmere. Trying on.” Ryan’s confused because he can’t speak crazy girl, but Lisa gets the gist, pushes past Ryan & RUNS to see. Of course by now homey’s got it off. My manager, Bill, comes over to see why I’m collapsed in a fit of laughter & tears on the floor. I finally get my act together & go back out, but have to walk completely around that area where he’s standing so that I don’t start laughing at him.

After a further look at the sweater that he’s holding, I can’t tell if it was ours or not (perhaps he just had a man’s version of a green cashmere sweater that he was taking off?) If it is and I saw what I think I saw, it’s definitely one of those “This only happens to Colleen!” moments.

At least it wasn’t as gross as the naked old dude peeing at Smith’s Point.

Shop Amazon - Hot New Releases - Updated Every Hour
Print Friendly, PDF & Email
This entry was posted in Story time, Work. Bookmark the permalink.