“Can I set this here?”
“... I don't see why not.” I respond as a random person starts unloading a cart of random crap onto a counter. “You do realize, I don't work here, right?”
And so ends my journey to Value Village.
|You'll note my cat has on a red shirt and a name |
tag with her name on it. Odds are, she works at Target.
It seems like ever since I started working at Target nearly four years ago that everyone assumes I am some omnipotent retail deity who works in all, knows in all. Recently, I've been asked to help people in Best Buy, Old Navy, the library, the library (twice), Portugal and a 9-year-old girls dream about Justin Bieber (no, I do not have an extra backstage pass, they're ALL MINE!). I have worked in none of these place, except for that part about Portugal, but alas I failed at that because Eu não falo Português.
Making the Value Village questioning even weirder is I do not look like an employee there. For those that don't know, Value Village exists in some sort of weird middleground. It's not a Goodwill store, and it claims to not be a for-profit store, it's just some store. One that kind of exists. As a result, there isn't really a dress code for the employees. And as a result of that, someone who's wearing khakis probably doesn't work there. And I was wearing khakis, because I was on my way to actual work.
Yes, I do work in a retail store, but that doesn't mean I work in every single retail store/public municipality in existence. One thing this background does let me do is intuitively know where I need to go without having to bother the employees. I'd much rather listen to my MP3 player than talk with someone who's being paid to be there. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, in all of these run-ins, I'm almost always listening to music, earbuds firmly in the canal. Why these questioners think a store would allow that, I have no idea.
Since I'm showing this indifference to the employees and I seem to have my head on straight, people must automatically assume I'm working there. Even if I'm dressed like a hobo. An upscale hobo, but a hobo nonetheless.
|Note the lack of uniform on my other cat. Odds are he |
doesn't work at Target. Jury is still out on if he works for
I suppose part of the problem lies with me. The first time I was at an IKEA, not only was I incredibly lost in the labyrinthine maze of the store, I felt a bizarre desire to go up and help people at random. I figured I was confused, other people must be confused, and my retail background would let me know. But they actually wouldn't IKEA is a maze and a fortress from which there is no escape. If I had given into my whims and they asked me where the spatulas that are also meatballs were located, I wouldn't have had any clue. Hell, the IKEA workers probably wouldn't have known either. That is, if that person in the black pants and yellow shirts actually works there.
When I see people walking around my Target wearing red and khaki, a little song plays in my head. It goes like this “Bad choice of clothing / Bad choice of clothing.” I also synchronize a clap with the lyrics. Many people won't ask actual employees questions, but they'll zero in on these bad accessorizers to ask something this red-and-khaki-er wouldn't know.
Here's a surefire way to tell if a person actually does work at the store where you're shopping. They'll be wearing the store uniform, a nametag, they might have equipment, they're offering to help and odds are they're pilfering out large amounts of rutabagas in their pants pocket. At least that's what the guy I asked at Value Village claimed.