While Felicity and Lazer watch Rent, (if you don't know, you probably shouldn't ask) I am going to tell you about my latest pet peeves/hilarious stories/general happenstances of Victoria's Secret. It gets better each day, I'm sure of this.
Today some girl walked in the store and proceeded in a very loud voice to tell her friend a story that started with the words. "Do you remember that douchebag I had sex with when I was drunk?" Now, in my expert opinion, any story starting out that way is bound to be beautiful. Imagine my excitement when she included me in the storytelling and asked me what I thought about everyone finding out during a game of Categories.
12 year olds are the most annoying customers ever. They go nuts over flip-flops. There was a sign above them that read $5 Flip Flops! with any pink purchase. Well, these 12 year olds weren't exceptionally bright. Because they thought they could just buy the flip flops. (even when Maddie, the ringleader of that circus, read the entire sign outloud) And when my dear Christine told them they could not, they threw them on the floor, yelled, "THIS STORE IS RETARDED!" and stomped out. I was embarass just to witness it. I was not that insane at 12.
Two girls are searching for underwear and one picks one up. "Do you think these would feel gross?" (Plain old, everyday underwear, nothing special about 'em) While I'm looking in amazement at her, her amiga goes, "Yeah. Especially if you washed them." IF?! Blog poll, how many of you have decided not to wash your underwear? Because that's the first I've heard of it.
A giddy, country-western couple that smells of cigarette smoke and cheap beer stumbles over to me holding hands. Obviously drunk, the wife smiles at me and yells, "WHERE ARE YOUR CROTCHLESS PANTIES?!" (she's at least 50) And her husband nods excitedly. Luckily for me and all the people in a 30 foot radius, we don't SELL crotchless underwear.
12 year old Little Brat picks up a 34 DD and goes, "THIS IS THE MOST GIGANTIC BRA I HAVE EVER SEEN!" Me and every sales associate in the area glared. Ignorant for two reasons. Half of our customers enjoy them, and some get implants for that very purpose. The other half are ridiculously self-concious about it. They don't need some pre-teen telling them they are gigantic. Can you tell I'm not a fan of preteens?
I also enjoy the packs of college guys. It takes them 6 or 7 guys strong to come into the store, and then while they are there, feel the need to make all sorts of manly jokes. ("This bra cup actually fits my head!" "This store is turning me gay." "Can you smell all that chick spray?" etc.) They leave without buying anything, but highfive each other on the way out for not falling under the influence of the panty tables. Boys.
No comments:
Post a Comment