...is what I should have told the customer today who tore me a new one.
I had just started my shift when I saw a coworker frantically waving someone over. I should have seen the look in his eyes; the look that says 'rescue me from this crazy-ass custie'. I went over, and he explained that this broad was looking for "high-rise jeans" in a 34. "in a 34" means men's jeans, so you can imagine my initial bewilderment. I try to explain to the lady that my extensive knowledge of the various jeans in the store is based mostly on the leg fit; relaxed, bootleg, slim, skinny, etc. She explains to me what high-rise means ("on your WAIST", pointing at my belt) as though I cannot understand english.
So I tell her I'm not aware of any particularly "high-rise" men's pant, but that we'll grab a bunch of 34s and compare the inseams. She goes off about how in New York and LA "high-rise jeans" are all the rage and had I seen the new Tommy Hilfiger denim? I admitted that I had not. She throws up her hands in exasperation and informs me that I'm not "with it".*
So I see the owner/manager in the shoe room. I go up to her and ask if she's aware of any particularly "high-rise jeans" in the store; if anyone knew, it would be her. She replies with a somewhat incredulous "no?". At this point the lady appears out of nowhere and tells my manager that "this one" (me) is giving her "attitude." That she knows what's up and that I don't. That she (get this) doesn't need to "take any shit" from the likes of me. She made this last point with both arms in the air, pointing downward at me, like she's dissing me in some kind of freestyle battle in the street.
So I'm standing there, mouth agape, while my manager tries to stifle a grin. Customers in the shoe room are staring and giggling. As per standard procedure, the manager leads the lady out of the shoe room to a less-populous area to discuss the issue. I went to the back and hid behind the stereo.
Co-workers marvelled that I took this verbal assault with silence when they know me to be... more confrontational. I can sometimes be an ass but I KNOW when I'm being an ass. In this case, I was not. If anything, having just started my shift, I was in a good mood and was willing to help this dumb-ass woman find what she was looking for, even if she was demented. I can return a beating that I deserve, but this wasn't such a beating. Funny how that works.
*- I'm no stranger to being told that I'm not "with it", that I'm "stuck in the 90s". I dressed up normally for Rex Manning Day last week and my parents likened me to mid 80-s Cher. I don't care; I can take it. I'd rather wear what works for me and my body that wear whatever the terrible style "du jour" is. Docs have been "out" for ever, but I'm wearing mine until they wear out. I could really give a fuck.
In the end, I guess my smile came off condescending and my cheery tone patronizing. Lesson learned? - high rise jeans for fellas. Here they come. Camel-toe city, straight from NY and LA.