DNR - JTI: Retail Edition.

As usual, credit for "DNR - JTI" ("Do not respond, just take it") goes to the fabulous Mollie Erickson whose idea I totally plagiarized. 

When Jordan and I moved to Asheville in the summer of 2015, I had no jobs and no friends. I decided to take a part-time gig at a national retail chain (whose name I can't share for legal reasons -- theirs, not mine). I'd never worked retail, and I'd always kind of wanted to.

I've been working there almost a year and a half. I've learned some things. And I've seen some things. And today, I'm gonna share. 

Dear Shrill Woman Bossing Your Husband Around,
Hi. Over here! Right. I've been fifteen feet away from you for the past few minutes and have heard every single marching order you've yelled at this poor man. I think the whole store has overheard, actually. We really don't need to know that you think your husband lacks a butt to hold his pants up because he's "so weirdly shaped, like a potato with toothpicks." Also, please stop digging into the back o his pants to see what size they are. You literally have both your hands in the man's pants. We're all RIGHT HERE. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Middle Aged White Women,
You've done a really good job creating witch hunts about people of other races and ages being thieves, but now I know better. YOU are the thieves. I see you casually perusing the sale section, eyes darting around, before you stuff that bangle into your purse. I SEE YOU. I know what you're doing when you take too long in the fitting room. We see the tags you've cut out all over the floor. You assume no one would ever suspect you. Middle aged White women, you've pulled the wool over the world's eyes. But NOT ME. Prepare to be profiled. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Woman in the Fitting Room,
Are you doing okay in there? Anything else I can get you? OH. OH. Oh my goodness. You've opened the door and you're pants-less. And you're 90. You're now in the middle of the store yelling and asking why no one came to check on your sooner. You're having an Elaine Stritch moment and you're burning my retinas. Back into the fitting room with you. Shhhh. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Adult Man Who is Sweating Profusely and Shifting his Weight from Side to Side,
Yeah, we have a bathroom. Yikes, dude. Come on. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Teenager Messing Up a Perfect Pile of Sweaters,
I know you just saw me fold those. I know you did. I watched you watch me. And now you've not only knocked the stack over, you're going through each individual sweater, holding it up, and checking it for size. Cut the crap. You're not buying a sweater. You're 14 and you're carrying a skateboard. GET OUTTA HERE, KID. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Disgruntled Customer,
When you asked me to get different sizes of shoes for you to try on, it was my pleasure. Truly. It's my job.  When, however, after five tries, you decided that you "just aren't going to pay that much for flats," it got a bit irritating. On a similar note, I neither designed nor priced these shoes, so your disapproving glances are wasted on me. Hope you find what you're looking for, Cinderella. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Window Shoppers,

Dear Well-Intentioned Man,
It is so supremely thoughtful that you are going to buy your wife a gift with the leftover money from the return you just made. We've got some beautiful jewelry and some nice silk tops. But the spaghetti strap XXS black crushed velvet peplum top that you've chosen, while certainly fashionable, is going to miss the mark with your 45-year old wife who just had a baby and you told me is 5'11. I'm trying to help, here. Nope? Gonna buy it anyway? Mmk. DNR - JTI. 

Dear That Man's Wife,
Got a return for us? Yeah. I know. I tried to tell him. Let me show you the jewelry. DNR - JTI.