Oz Whiston writing as Oz Drummond (birdhousefrog) wrote,
Oz Whiston writing as Oz Drummond

The Personal Stuff and Salespeople

Switching gears...let's just look at a picture of the blueberry bushes in the fall, shall we?

I have not done a good job lately of keeping my jeans loose. In fact, it was so frustrating the past couple of weeks that I decided (reluctantly) that I needed a new pair one size larger. Just the one pair, mind you. I have no intention of staying here. But I was tired of restretching my jeans each time I washed them.

So. Argh. I made a quick trip to X store where I could pick up a pair of jeans. The last time I was there they tried to tell me I wouldn't fit the style of jeans their advertising said I should wear. The salesperson was wrong. The advertising was right. I have a definite drop between waist and hips. So I assumed they would still have this crazy new system where they sold 3 styles of jeans in weird sizes that made no sense. I walked in and checked a 3 foot by 5 foot banner affixed to a pillar. Yup. They still had the same crazy 3 styles.

One step later, I was greeted by a salesperson.

"How many I help you?" she asked.

"I'd like a pair of size 2 Curvy, average length," I replied.

"You'd like a pair of red jeans?" she asked brightly.

I was stumped. I hate red. No, I wanted your standard blue jean jeans. I looked confused. I am good at looking confused when I'm not scowling and looking intimidating. On rare occasions, I flash a salesperson a winning smile. But not just now. I am confused.

"We sell jeans by color," she informs me brightly.

Good grief, I think to myself.

I backed up 5 feet and looked up at the banner again. It is in three colors, yellow, red, and blue. How very primary of them.

I walk 5 feet forward.

"I'd like size 2 Blue, average length. But it says Curvy, right up there on the banner, you know."

She is not convinced that I have any clue what I'm talking about. She walked to the wall rack and found the pair of jeans I requested and handed them to me. Her disbelief that these would fit me was palpable. I was clearly supposed to be a "red" not a "blue."

To clue you in, it's a question of her genetic background and of mine. I am not supposed to be shaped the way I am shaped, apparently. But honestly, there are some curvy Scots and English women and apparently they gave me their genes.

I paid for them and left. I was cranky when I entered the store that I was buying a pair of jeans a size larger. I was even crankier when I left and kept repeating to myself (and eventually, to The Dude) "we sell jeans by color. we sell jeans by color." And there it was up on the pillar, what the significance of the colors was. She only saw it all day, every working day. Which might explain why she only sells jeans by color.

And none of this has anything to do with writing, except that it still rankles 24 hours later. And to complete the scene properly, I was wearing "country" clothes, not "suburban" clothes. I usually change when I go 30 miles east, but was in a hurry to pick up Miss E from the airport. So I was still in old jeans, black top and a padded flannel shirt with my hair pulled back. I looked like I just walked off a country farm. Which is about right. But they don't really get that in the suburbs. So to them, I looked like a bag lady, I think. The saleswoman was really well dressed, nicely put together. So there might have been some classism in all this. Not that I care. My money works too.

But I definitely did not flash the winning smile yesterday.

Frog Out
Tags: house, misc, stuff

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