Sauntering with scissors
one girl's life at a discount fabric store.
one of the best parts of working retail is that you get to work with people. one of the fucking absolute worst parts of working retail is that you have to work with people.
after a while, you begin to sense patterns. great customers, customers who just show up, pay, and leave, and customers you want to stab with a rusty seam ripper, they all follow certain characteristics:
THE GOOD-
the goofball: quick-witted and cheery, they usually come in to get materials for their next crazy project, such as a purposefully absolutely horrible, tacky trophy (sequins everywhere, oh god) or an Abe Lincoln-riding-a-dinosaur costume. they usually pick up on my and my coworkers' jokes and sling them right back, even launching into an impromptu cardboard-tube-fight or three.
the wunderkammer: not only do they make amazing stuff, they bring it in to show it off. from ballroom dresses to art dolls, I have been amazed more than a few times by what people do with our humble fabric. sadly, not very many people bring in the fruits of their labor to show off. I've heard of some costumes that sounded incredible.
the family: they're friendly, caring, and see us as more than just a drone behind a register or a yardstick. they get into conversations, smile, laugh, ask us how we are, ask after other employees who are pregnant or sick, and even sometimes bring us treats.
the enthusiast: they started with sewing simple halloween costumes for the kids, now they're reupholstering settees and making their own curtains. and the best part is they freakin' LOVE IT. few things make my day more than when someone's face lights up upon finding that *one* fabric they were looking for, or describing their current awesome project while I'm measuring out fabric.
the cute-bringer: seriously. bring in a good-natured baby or a purse dog, (hell, a lady even brought in a bearded dragon once) and we will drop our shit and say hello to the nexus of cuteness that just came in. most of the customers don't mind, because they're too busy baby-talking themselves.
THE BAD-
the life storyteller: ma'am, while I enjoy personal histories, I don't need to know the minutiae of what you're making and for whom, especially if I'm on the phone with you while there's a customer standing in front of me needing to be rang up. there's a difference between "hey, do you have something see-through, kinda like netting but more substantial?" and "well, I'm making this curtain for a play, it's the nutcracker suite, actually, so it's more of a ballet than a play, and I need it so that you can see some light shining through it from behind, but I'm going to paint on the front of it so you'd need to be able to see that, too, and not in any sort of weird color or anything like chartreuse because who ever heard of a chartreuse nutcracker castle, and I need it by next week because I placed an order with Fabrics dot com yesterday and they won't ship it before two weeks from now and that just won't do..."
(bonus answer: for a curtain described above--also known as a scrim--I'd go with black organza. good body and sheer enough to work with lighting. also chiffon, but that's more flimsy.)
the remote shopper: we are a vast warehouse of fabric, notions, trim and ribbons, with multiple customers who have spent their time and gas money coming down here in person to shop. I will not make them wait any more than they have to because you have a phone and want me to go look for purple rhinoceros print. your time is not more important than the person in front of me. I understand calling ahead to make sure that we have, say, fake fur or zippers or whatnot, but I'm not going to drop everything and sprint off to find you that orange paisley sequinned organza for your darling chihuahua's spring coat.
the conveniently sign-illiterate: no, the line begins over there. over THERE. by the big sign hanging from the ceiling with glitter-covered arrows and the accompanying floor sign wrapped in sequins and sitting on a bright yellow floor cone saying "LINE BEGINS HERE." (yes, we have both those signs, seriously.) no, that fabric is $12.95 a yard, not $5.99. the $5.99 fabric are the two styles that have been stapled to either side of the "now $5.99" sign. they are not just there for decoration. no, we have no public restroom. it's on the sign at eye level on the door. no we do not do returns or exchanges, it's on all the other signs in the store that I haven't just told you about.
the can't-hold-it: we have no public restroom. that's it. we used to have one, but a lot of people abused that privilege, repeatedly wrecked the plumbing, and now everyone has to suffer. yes we have a bathroom for employees, but that's because we're here 8 hours a day, five days a week. you can leave and find your own bathroom. we can't. if you have some sort of problem, I hear there's some wonderful new prescriptions available for just that.
the threatener: "you just lost a $piddly amount of money sale!" "I guess I'll spend my money elsewhere!" "I'm a paying customer, how dare you not treat me preferentially!" here's a news flash: you're not the only customer in here. we'll manage without your five-fifty. this is a shop. people spend money. you're not some incredible god who decided to grace us with your wallet so we can stop sitting around picking lint from our navels. you see everyone else here? yes, they're paying customers too, and I'll tell them the same thing if they do something that goes against store policy. no amount of money you spend will give you VIP access to our dust-filled back room and employee restroom.
the high-and-mighty: similar to the threatener, they think that because we work retail for a living, we're merely urchins. when they do acknowledge us, they expect us to give them special deals, let them into the back and give them run of the store because they're some hot-shot fashion designer or business owner. usually calls the employee "rude" when they tell them store policy.
the haggler: this is a discount fabric outlet. yes, I know it's stained. that's why it's here, and two dollars a yard. no I will not do anything about it, the signs say all merchandise sold as-is. want to pay ten dollars for the same fabric at jo-ann? be my guest. let's see you try to haggle there.
the wanderer: ma'am, policy dictates that when you are COMPLETELY READY, then you haul all your stuff up here to get cut. you do not bring up one spool of ribbon, ask for a few yards, and then disappear for another twenty minutes, expecting me to follow you and bring things back with nothing but a vague idea of what you want. if you change your mind kin your wanderings, you're stuck with this yardage I've cut specifically for you. there are a bunch of other customers in line with an armload of stuff and I don't have the time to wait for you.
the jumper: line's over that way, ma'am. I'm just the cashier. I KNOW it's not fabric, but there's a lot there and it's more efficient for the store if you get it counted at the yardage counter-no, no, there's a line back there, you can't just go dumping your things on the counter right there and expect to be helped immediately. wait your turn.
THE INDIFFERENT-
the asker: they can be good or bad, depending on what they ask, how they ask it, and they expect of me. from simple math to design and embellishment advice, I'll try to help the best I can, but if it's 5:25 and you're still deciding on what patches to go on your jeans, I'm gonna start handing you the crappiest ones imaginable. otherwise, I'll tell you how many inches or feet are in a yard till I'm blue in the face, just as long as it helps.
one of the best parts of working retail is that you get to work with people. one of the fucking absolute worst parts of working retail is that you have to work with people.
after a while, you begin to sense patterns. great customers, customers who just show up, pay, and leave, and customers you want to stab with a rusty seam ripper, they all follow certain characteristics:
THE GOOD-
the goofball: quick-witted and cheery, they usually come in to get materials for their next crazy project, such as a purposefully absolutely horrible, tacky trophy (sequins everywhere, oh god) or an Abe Lincoln-riding-a-dinosaur costume. they usually pick up on my and my coworkers' jokes and sling them right back, even launching into an impromptu cardboard-tube-fight or three.
the wunderkammer: not only do they make amazing stuff, they bring it in to show it off. from ballroom dresses to art dolls, I have been amazed more than a few times by what people do with our humble fabric. sadly, not very many people bring in the fruits of their labor to show off. I've heard of some costumes that sounded incredible.
the family: they're friendly, caring, and see us as more than just a drone behind a register or a yardstick. they get into conversations, smile, laugh, ask us how we are, ask after other employees who are pregnant or sick, and even sometimes bring us treats.
the enthusiast: they started with sewing simple halloween costumes for the kids, now they're reupholstering settees and making their own curtains. and the best part is they freakin' LOVE IT. few things make my day more than when someone's face lights up upon finding that *one* fabric they were looking for, or describing their current awesome project while I'm measuring out fabric.
the cute-bringer: seriously. bring in a good-natured baby or a purse dog, (hell, a lady even brought in a bearded dragon once) and we will drop our shit and say hello to the nexus of cuteness that just came in. most of the customers don't mind, because they're too busy baby-talking themselves.
THE BAD-
the life storyteller: ma'am, while I enjoy personal histories, I don't need to know the minutiae of what you're making and for whom, especially if I'm on the phone with you while there's a customer standing in front of me needing to be rang up. there's a difference between "hey, do you have something see-through, kinda like netting but more substantial?" and "well, I'm making this curtain for a play, it's the nutcracker suite, actually, so it's more of a ballet than a play, and I need it so that you can see some light shining through it from behind, but I'm going to paint on the front of it so you'd need to be able to see that, too, and not in any sort of weird color or anything like chartreuse because who ever heard of a chartreuse nutcracker castle, and I need it by next week because I placed an order with Fabrics dot com yesterday and they won't ship it before two weeks from now and that just won't do..."
(bonus answer: for a curtain described above--also known as a scrim--I'd go with black organza. good body and sheer enough to work with lighting. also chiffon, but that's more flimsy.)
the remote shopper: we are a vast warehouse of fabric, notions, trim and ribbons, with multiple customers who have spent their time and gas money coming down here in person to shop. I will not make them wait any more than they have to because you have a phone and want me to go look for purple rhinoceros print. your time is not more important than the person in front of me. I understand calling ahead to make sure that we have, say, fake fur or zippers or whatnot, but I'm not going to drop everything and sprint off to find you that orange paisley sequinned organza for your darling chihuahua's spring coat.
the conveniently sign-illiterate: no, the line begins over there. over THERE. by the big sign hanging from the ceiling with glitter-covered arrows and the accompanying floor sign wrapped in sequins and sitting on a bright yellow floor cone saying "LINE BEGINS HERE." (yes, we have both those signs, seriously.) no, that fabric is $12.95 a yard, not $5.99. the $5.99 fabric are the two styles that have been stapled to either side of the "now $5.99" sign. they are not just there for decoration. no, we have no public restroom. it's on the sign at eye level on the door. no we do not do returns or exchanges, it's on all the other signs in the store that I haven't just told you about.
the can't-hold-it: we have no public restroom. that's it. we used to have one, but a lot of people abused that privilege, repeatedly wrecked the plumbing, and now everyone has to suffer. yes we have a bathroom for employees, but that's because we're here 8 hours a day, five days a week. you can leave and find your own bathroom. we can't. if you have some sort of problem, I hear there's some wonderful new prescriptions available for just that.
the threatener: "you just lost a $piddly amount of money sale!" "I guess I'll spend my money elsewhere!" "I'm a paying customer, how dare you not treat me preferentially!" here's a news flash: you're not the only customer in here. we'll manage without your five-fifty. this is a shop. people spend money. you're not some incredible god who decided to grace us with your wallet so we can stop sitting around picking lint from our navels. you see everyone else here? yes, they're paying customers too, and I'll tell them the same thing if they do something that goes against store policy. no amount of money you spend will give you VIP access to our dust-filled back room and employee restroom.
the high-and-mighty: similar to the threatener, they think that because we work retail for a living, we're merely urchins. when they do acknowledge us, they expect us to give them special deals, let them into the back and give them run of the store because they're some hot-shot fashion designer or business owner. usually calls the employee "rude" when they tell them store policy.
the haggler: this is a discount fabric outlet. yes, I know it's stained. that's why it's here, and two dollars a yard. no I will not do anything about it, the signs say all merchandise sold as-is. want to pay ten dollars for the same fabric at jo-ann? be my guest. let's see you try to haggle there.
the wanderer: ma'am, policy dictates that when you are COMPLETELY READY, then you haul all your stuff up here to get cut. you do not bring up one spool of ribbon, ask for a few yards, and then disappear for another twenty minutes, expecting me to follow you and bring things back with nothing but a vague idea of what you want. if you change your mind kin your wanderings, you're stuck with this yardage I've cut specifically for you. there are a bunch of other customers in line with an armload of stuff and I don't have the time to wait for you.
the jumper: line's over that way, ma'am. I'm just the cashier. I KNOW it's not fabric, but there's a lot there and it's more efficient for the store if you get it counted at the yardage counter-no, no, there's a line back there, you can't just go dumping your things on the counter right there and expect to be helped immediately. wait your turn.
THE INDIFFERENT-
the asker: they can be good or bad, depending on what they ask, how they ask it, and they expect of me. from simple math to design and embellishment advice, I'll try to help the best I can, but if it's 5:25 and you're still deciding on what patches to go on your jeans, I'm gonna start handing you the crappiest ones imaginable. otherwise, I'll tell you how many inches or feet are in a yard till I'm blue in the face, just as long as it helps.