Never. Say. Cute

As of Wednesday, Nelson has been trained in the ways of the fitting-room, and already I feel more proficient  in the areas of (1) always suspecting customers of being potential criminals and (2) manipulating my language in order to beguile women into thinking of their shopping as an art, not just as a selfish, consumer activity.  But before I get to that, let me introduce another character to our growing Podiatry cast.

When I arrived at Podiatry's doorstep at 8am, Mama Skaggs introduced me to my training partner for the morning, a delightfully easygoing, pleasant person, the first who does not come across as an over-eager sorority sister.  Bad Bad Leroy Brown instructed me in her expert re-stocking ways for the first two hours of the morning (which involved me roaming around the cavernous interior of Podiatry trying to scrutinize every possible cranny in which clothes may be stuffed in order to find the pile containing the specific item I was restocking) and then gave me the scoop on fitting-room duties.  Let me explain the procedure below:

Step One: When any warm body holding clothes approaches the fitting-room proximity, snatch away the clothes from their arms as quickly as possible.  But do this while smiling and being amiable so that it won't look suspicious.  

Step Two: Hang their things (that they're definitely trying to steal) in the dressing room, and force them to tell you their name so you can write it on their door using a dry erase marker.  Also, don't forget to indicate how many items they have.  Because they are trying to steal all of the items and will definitely be shoving loungewear in their purses or stuffing v-neck camisoles down their pants or tucking decorative soaps in their bras.  

Step Three: Tell them your name, and tell them how much you can't wait to see them in that floral-print skirt and that you would be happy to get them ANYTHING they need, seriously, ANYTHING.

Step Four: Exactly three minutes later, approach their door and call out to them, using their name. "Ursula!" you would say, for example, if the woman's name were Ursula, "how are those sizes working out?  Can I get you anything?" A neck-massage?  A BLT? A gin and tonic?

Step Five: If they emerge to stare at themselves in the big, three-panel mirror, COMPLIMENT THE FUCK OUT OF THEIR OUTFIT but be honest.  TELL THEM HOW AWESOME IT LOOKS AND THAT THEY HAVE TO GET IT but just remember to keep it real.  Just say, "Oh my god that's so CUTE"

BEEEPBEEEPBEEEEPBEEEEPBEEEEP

NEVER.  SAY.  CUTE.  Bad Bad Leroy Brown very tactfully instructed me in this subtle but totally necessary trick.  After having a rousing discussion with a woman about how "cute" the sleeves were on an otherwise boxy, shapeless article of clothing that can only be described as a sailor-suit for adult, non-seafaring women, Bad Bad Leroy Brown informed me that, here at Podiatry, it's important to differentiate and diversify our usage of adjectives. Cute is a word that girls ages 7-15 employ on a regular basis to describe any and everything in the world.  Podiatry wants to make its customers feel as if what they are purchasing is special and adult.  We as fitting-room personnel are to play to their desires to be seen as intelligent, creative, and well-traveled by using words like "bohemian," "chic," "tailored," "vintage-inspired," etc.  Cute is out of the question.

Step Six: If they do request anything, tear apart the store to find it.  If unable to accommodate their request, lay your body across the wood-stumps that serve as fitting-room stools (I'm not kidding...I will describe these stumps at a later date), provide them with a knife, and offer up your body as a blood sacrifice for the indiscretion.

Step Seven: As they leave, dash into the room and search it thoroughly for any tags that they may have ripped off the clothing (that they are trying to steal).  The tags contain sensors that set off the alarm.  Ripped off tags allow for easy, undetected theft.  

Nelson now mistrusts all humans but will nevertheless cater to their every whim while speaking proper King's English.