For the past three years, I’ve spent my Thanksgiving and winter breaks working seasonal retail at the mall and for the past three years, I’ve dreaded my day every time I pulled into the parking lot of the Park City Mall.
By Daniella Choynowski
Center Spread Editor
For the past three years, I’ve spent my Thanksgiving and winter breaks working seasonal retail at the mall and for the past three years, I’ve dreaded my day every time I pulled into the parking lot of the Park City Mall.
True, part of that daily dread has been due to the fact that my car does not have heat. The car is so cold that it is actually painful to touch the steering wheel, but the majority of that foreboding was because of what lay beyond the sets of those automatic doors.
I really have nothing against the mall in general, but the mall at Christmas time should be avoided at all costs. Seriously, save yourself while you can.
The worst job was at a Victoria’s Secret. I dubbed myself “Lord of the Panties” because I had to (I’m not kidding) guard the panty bar. Not only did I have to refold them every time a customer “messed them up”, but I had to arrange them by style, color and size.
There were about a thousand panties in the bar.
Another important part of the “Lord of the Panties’s” duties was to watch for shoplifters, a.k.a. teeny boppers. That was a useless job, because those of us who have worked in the retail world know, for “legal” reasons, that you cannot stop shoplifters because they could sue you for defamation.
Then there were stupid people who would leave things in the panty bar that shouldn’t be there. I found used gum, a Saladworks cup, candy wrappers, Auntie Anne’s pretzel sticks, and a chicken finger. What I wanted to do was stick a cactus in the panty bar, so that when the customers reached for a pair…..but that would have gotten me “taken off the schedule.”
My favorite moment at Victoria’s Secret was late at night when we were setting up for the Christmas sale. I had the task of restocking this perfume called “Sexy Little Things.” The only thing worth mentioning about the perfume was that the bottle purred whenever it was moved or touched. And when 30 bottles of purring perfume are knocked over at 4 in the morning, it’s the funniest thing in the world. Especially when you’ve been there since 6 p.m.
The best customers I ever had were a stereotypical Jewish couple from Brooklyn named Morty and Silvia. Morty asked me about the sale the store was having, but Silvia had to put her two cents in:
Morty: “Miss, the sale, which candles can I buy?”
Me: “Sir, the sale only applies to these thr-”
Silvia: “Morty, that’s what I was telling you! See, he never listens.”
Morty: “Excuse me, but I am trying to have a CONVERSATION!”
Silvia: “You are not listening to what she is saying!”
Morty “How can I when I’m talking to you!!! See how she gets! Women…”
Silvia: “What is that supposed to mean?!”
Morty: You know exactly what that is supposed to mean”
Silvia: “You are embarrassing me in front of the saleslady”
Morty: “I’m embarrassing YOU! I’M EMBARASSING YOU???!!!”
I would like to inform the readers that this argument was going on in a Yankee Candle store, which was smaller than the computer lab on 4th Admin. Everyone could hear them. You try keeping a straight face when you’re listening to two people that sound like they walked out of an episode of “The Nanny” shout at each other.
There was one time last December that a very strange and nervous-looking man walked into the store all jittery, looked around as if to check to see that no one was watching him, and proceeded to walk up to the counter and ask me the greatest question ever:
“Do you have anything here that catches on fire?”
What I wanted to say to him was, “Yes, sir. Everything here catches fire. It’s a CANDLE STORE.”
In a weird way, I’m going to miss the quirky holiday shoppers this season. There is no more retail holiday hell for me. I just can’t do it anymore.
Ladies and Gentlemen, you have just read my final article for The Setonian. That’s all she wrote.
