The Plague of Locusts

Dear Retail Consumer,

Our store is very easy to navigate: fitting rooms are under the FITTING ROOM sign, restrooms are under the RESTROOM sign and womens sizes are located under the sign that says WOMENS. Now please get out of juniors because you are not a size seven. Put down the canary yellow leggings and back away slowly.

Your kid is not cute, and even if he was it would not excuse the fact that he is screaming, running, and making a general mess of the store. It would be very helpful if you would spend as much time corralling your child as you do wondering if that lime-green jersey knit dress that costs more than I make in a week will look good on you (it won't. For one thing, that's not your color and for another that style wouldn't look good on a size 00 model. It would make your ass look like a zeppelin).

And another work about your kid, because I know it was him. If I catch him spitting his half-chewed candy into purses, I'll take him out back and beat him myself.

I have enough to do every night without having to clean up after you. If there's an item you don't want, either put it on the reject rack of the fitting room or, better yet, put it back where you found it rather than hanging it off the collar of another item, draping it over a rack, or cramming it into a rack that is already overfull.

And before you ask, no, I am not bitter. Not in the least. I just spend 20-30 hours a week chasing after you and your ilk, cleaning up your messes and getting paid minimum wage for a job that is not even remotely challenging mentally, unless you count my ability to put up with you and your inane questions. If you can afford to spend $139.99 on an ugly purse just because it has a designer logo on it, then you damn well can drive the ten miles to make sure that the one we have is the one you wanted that the other store was sold out of.

Thanks,

Retail Associates Everywhere