Store Rants

I’m a sitting duck. Part 2.

I’ve made some “friends” while at the store. They think we can collaborate and be perfect chums. There is a certain “friend” who keeps pressuring me to do some design work for her really cheap. She makes dolls. I hate dolls. Even really pretty delicate dolls. They freak me out. I don’t own one. (okay, I lie… I still have a cabbage patch kid somewhere). But, they creep me out. I will not sell them in my store, and I obviously do not want to do art based on said dolls. I think the doll thing goes back to a combination of three movies/TV shows: Poltergeist, assorted Twilight Zones and the Melting Man showcased on Elvira.

Since opening the store, I’m learning how to set up boundaries. I’ve never really had them before, and “no” was rarely in my vocabulary. But after getting burned too many times, I’m learning that enough is enough and my time… it is actually valuable.

I’ve been setting up boundaries left and right. I can only help you on tuesday, don’t call me on sunday… working with who I want to work with and when. No consignment, no buying anyone’s crap anymore, even well-priced crap unless I love it to death. It’s been fantastic.

While at the store, having a glorious day, a family member marches in and reminds me that I must attend thanksgiving this year because I didn’t go last year. What will actually happen if I don’t show up? I’m really bored with these false emergencies.

If you own a holiday-centric business, you must remind everyone you are surrounded by that if they have time off on their little calendar, chances are, you do not. They will continue to try to twist your arm during these times. Make sure to stand your ground.

Thanksgiving week is by FAR our busiest week AND it’s my very very very last day off for 30 days. I don’t wanna do nothing. I’ll come to work on thanksgiving day, clean up, set stuff up… say a prayer and go home and sleep aaallll dayyyy long. That’s become my ritual. Can someone explain why “the holidays” coincide with “Obligations”? Obligated to get presents, obligated to cool, obligated to hang out with your family, obligated to pretend you like them. The obligations… the guilt. And if I do grow a backbone and keep my own schedule, one or more family team members show up at the shop to put me in my place. The relentless cornering at the store. Like a caged animal. Everyone knows that when I’m in my store I can’t yell, use obscenities or throw things. I *love* to throw things… usually towards the head of those who oppose me. (Ooh, I’m having domestic violence lust). Again, this goes back to boundaries. I need strong great-wall-of-china like boundaries. I’ll put a few bricks down now. If you think you want a store, dear reader, I suggest you write down who would come bother you at your store and how you will displace your anger when they won’t leave. (And really, I’m not violent… nor do I really have a temper. Unless you are one of two people and to you I say… “duck”.)

When cornering you physically at the store didn’t work, one family member resorted to shock and horror via the phone.

me: me
OL: the old lady (family member)

calls me at work…
OL: are you with a customer?
me: no, but I’m busy
OL: well, you aren’t busy then… I was at a restaurant and saw this dog. (she loves dogs, gets irritated that I don’t bring mine to see her) her name is “Mary” (which happens to be my name, so she repeats it). Mary came over and I made love to her all afternoon. I pet her and…
me: what??
OL: (sounding like she’s reading from a script) I made love to Mary all afternoon and she just loved it…
me: ummmm… (okay okay… I know old people sometimes call cigarettes “fags” because that’s what they used to be called… but last I checked “making love” to a dog doesn’t mean what she is saying it means. Does anyone know why the urge to get attention would be powerful enough to prompt the purposeful misuse of verbs here???)

She then announces that she wants to come up to the store and “help” tomorrow. Help usually consists of insulting me in front of the customers then storming out when I get angry. It’s this cat and mouse game that isn’t cute nor special and I really don’t have the patience for it anymore.

I work in a fishbowl. Big, overgrown ape-like people come and tap on that bowl loudly which makes me swim in circles. I need ape-repellent.

I feel like I’m sinking today. No amount of lattes, kitten pictures or balloon animals will put a smile on this face. How do I get this attitude out of the gutter?

One-by-one they come in and annoy me. How is it possible that there are this many annoying people in this suburb? Bathroom use is at an all-time high. How can I reject the sad puppy face of the pregnant or recently stomach-bypassed woman? You just can’t. I can be heartless, but that’s an all-time low.

Then, there’s the sitting duck syndrome. Trying to limit contact with someone and own a store? Think again.

A lovely family member came in today… “you are TRYING to avoid me… why are you TRYING to avoid me??!?!?” and then proceeded to tell me all about her medical problems one by one. A laundry list, as a few customers listened on. This included removing more than one article of clothing to show me a bruise or lesion. I almost saw genitals. It was terrible. In the process, she threw in a few insults about my weight including the “you look pregnant” jab. Always in season.

About an hour later, yet another family member came in…primed and ready to throw some punches. Put me behind a counter and it might as well be one of those dunking booths at the fair. They just start throwing balls at your face.

Somehow, in the middle of all that… the bitchiest woman I’ve EVER met came in to sell her dirty “shabby chic” sh** to me.

let’s go back, if you will… to our first encounter a few days ago:
M: me
B: bitc*

B: (awkwardly comes in and stands at the door holding a large framed picture with “chippy” paint to cover up the fact that it just might be old… I’m with a customer. She steps up to the counter…)”My friend frames various french art and I think you would like to buy them. They are $25.00 each.”
M: “does he do more than these?” I’m a bit intrigued, but something doesn’t feel right.
B: “Yes, but he’s in (some city far away from me) and doesn’t have a catalog”
M: “does he have pictures?”
B: “no”
M: “Ummm… how do I know what he has?”
B: “I’ll bring them to you and you buy them.” She said robotically and semi-annoyed.
M: “But, I don’t want to buy just one, we usually like to have groups of things. I plan out displays, I know what I need, and we usually like little groupings. And my partner would have to see them. If he had pictures…”
B: She totally cuts me off…”When is your partner in?”
M: “sometimes on saturdays, but I can’t be sure.”

She leaves… I think nothing more of it, I’m actually relieved. Someone who is trying to conduct business with boutique stores really should have a catalog… this notion of door-to-door “this is what I have, take it or leave it”, isn’t exactly charming or normal. Usually, there is some kind of introduction or at least the “I’m getting a divorce, do you want my wife’s lamps for $20?” I need a story. Hers wasn’t convincing me.

Today…

B: (crushing my flowers by putting the frames on our expensive flower pots while trying to open the door.) “Here are three pieces, is your partner here?” She says this as she is looking around, not making very much eye contact with me.
M: “Ummm… no… she isn’t”
B: “Well, here are 3 examples. You said you needed 3, do you want them? I can leave them here for you to show your partner.”
M: “They are pretty. I don’t feel comfortable leaving them here (Points to mess absolutely everywhere…) it’s a huge mess, I would hate to kick them or hurt them… but… again… is there any way he can get pictures or I can snap a picture?”
B: “He doesn’t have pictures and he rarely makes the same thing twice, so these could be sold if you decide you want them”
M: “How do I contact him if I want to buy them? What if I want certain colors? Does he sell them anywhere? I don’t know how to buy something I can’t see. Does he have a business card?”
B: “He doesn’t believe in marketing! You can tell me the colors and I can bring them to you.” She’s starting to get irritated and is getting louder, which is making me really nervous.
M: “Can I contact you later?” (I slide over a piece of paper and a pen)
B: “Well, you aren’t going to call me or talk to your partner, I don’t think I should give you my information” (slides paper back at me with force)
M: “excuse me?!? What?” Now shocked by her tone
B: “Honey, if you aren’t going to buy them now, you aren’t going to buy them and you have no intention of buying them.” She says in a totally condescending grandma vibe.
M: “Well, sweetie, you don’t know how to do business, do you? I can’t believe you are trying to sell things this way! Why are you even selling these things for this guy if he doesn’t have any contact information or any way to sell them? Polaroid, anything?!?” The game was getting old and boring by this point
B: “It works for everyone else!” She huffs
M: “Umm, well, it doesn’t work for me.”
B: No words… just a dirty glare as she stumbles out…
M: “Good luck!” I barked, a little snarky…
B: “Good luck to YOU, you are the only one who hasn’t bought one!”

Normally, an encounter such as this wouldn’t bother me so much. But she obviously hasn’t done business before and she seemed really desperate. I wonder if she had a prescription drug habit to support and she was pulling art off of her walls. I didn’t see her get in or out of a car, but she was lugging quite a few banged-up art pieces up and down the busy street. Usually when we get art dealers they are greasy men who wreak of cheap cologne and offer to have your babies*. The well-dressed woman was something completely new. The pieces weren’t terrible, but they were really common. The old french posters and restaurants etc. You see them everywhere… $25.00 was a tad high for the wholesale price of such a thing you can find at Cost Plus. IF I purchased one or two, it would have been out of pity, not because it was a great deal.

Ever have someone just rub you the wrong way? Disrespectful, completely un-friendly. She just got to me… in a way that I can’t describe.

After-the-fact sidenote regarding the restroom thing…
Cleaning the bathroom was something I loathed. People would do horribly messy anonymous things in there… I mean horrible. I am not equipped with a stomach that can handle biohazards. Strange colors, fecal matter in the trash can. You’d expect that in the gas station bathroom, but not the loo of a sweet little boutique. How disgusting my customers could be in the bathroom became an obsession… one which I will revisit often in my journal entries. I apologize in advance.

*Okay, I had blocked out this story but it popped into my head when I read “greasy men”.
Once, a guido-looking vendor came in selling a concentrated cleaner by the gallon. Why I got suckered in and bought a gallon is beyond me. Well, as he was putting my payment in his wallet, a condom fell out. He looked at it, looked at me, and made that face as if he was shuffling a toothpick in his mouth from one corner to the other with his tongue… you know, to show off his tongue skills. You know exactly the look I’m speaking of. And the hairs on the back of your neck just stood up, too. Doesn’t matter if you are male or female, this is the universal sign for “gross! no! eugh!”

Anywho, he picks it up… all flat and smooshed (because you know you are supposed to carry your prize-winning condom in your hot, skanky squished wallet) and shows me a picture of a little girl adjacent to the prophylactic isle. She has the same vacant stare as he does. “This is my daughter. I got her while in Hawaii selling this stuff door-to-door. I carry a rubber now because… you never know when you can be of service!”

It’s like he rode up on a white stallion! And ladies, he’s virile! He has proof!

Seriously… this isn’t the first time. I have more of these stories.