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redxdollxshoes) wrote2005-08-12 01:59 pm
redxdollxshoes) wrote2005-08-12 01:59 pm
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I've been slacking really bad with my writing and am feeling the need to start working on the project I started a while back. This is a chapter about the main character (Violet) going to her crappy job as assistant manager at a trendy resale store after a night of dancing.
Going out on Friday nights always seems like a good idea, except that I work on Saturdays. I don’t have to be there till ten, but it’s still pretty harsh considering I didn’t get home till two the night before and I don’t think I slept off all the alcohol. I dragged myself to RedSkirt feeling like a zombie in old jeans and an older sweater, bits of eyeliner and mascara from the night before dusting the already dark circles under my bloodshot eyes. I carried a silver travel mug with water and a fizzy vitamin powder to help remineralize my poor depleted body. I groggily remembered how at one in the morning Xandra suggested we do a lemon drop shot and I happily agreed. Now I was sure it was that last shot that was making my stomach still queasy this morning. This was the last place on earth I wanted to be, especially until six.
I hadn’t heard from that graphic art job, which didn’t surprise me. They probably hired some guy that looked good in a suit and tie and was much more gung-ho than me. Again, I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Even if I had hated it, at least it wouldn’t be this place. I had worked at RedSkirt for three years, which was two years too long. The good thing is that I liked the clothes and my closet was always packed, to the point where I’ve become a snob about paying more than $25 for any article of clothing. The bad thing was that I was bored, I hated being in my late twenties and still working a cash register, and I hated the customers, which were mostly hipster kids from sixteen to twenty-three who still thought acting bored and jaded meant they were cool. I didn’t necessarily hate my boss, but lately she’s been succeeding more and more at driving me absolutely insane.
“You look like hell,” Vicky said to me when I walked in.
I barely grunted. I hadn’t been expecting Vicky to be here till later. She was looking entirely too glamorous for first thing in the morning, wearing a pencil-thin 1940’s black skirt with a pinstriped button down blouse, her bleach-blonde hair pulled in a tight ponytail, and her makeup vintage-perfect with bright red bow-tie lips and thick black eyeliner.
“What are you doing here, Vicky?” I asked, swigging from my hangover elixir. “I thought you weren’t here till noon today.”
“Keith called me yesterday and said he’s paying a visit,” she said, her burgundy vintage heels click-click-clicking as she walked around the store, a flurry of too-early energy as she looked through clothes checking for price tags. “I don’t know what time he’s getting here, but the place is a wreck and I don’t want him to see it like this.”
“Vicky,” I said, knowing what I was about to say would only piss her off. “This is a resale store…resale stores are supposed to look like wrecks. It’s part of their charm.”
She shot me a death look. “Violet, there are certain standards that every store needs, no matter what kind of store it is. Here, look at this…I know Patty and Carolyn stocked these clothes last week, and half of them aren’t even priced! And look—there are pants mixed with the skirts and there are shirts falling off their hangers, and the shoes look dusty. I know you’re hungover, Vi, but if Keith sees the store looking like this, it’s just as much your head as it is mine.” She cast a quick up-and-down look at me. “You might want to change into something nicer too. You can pick some stuff in the back.”
I swigged down my vitamin water, knowing I needed every B vitamin I could get. I’d been counting on a lazy morning of nursing my headache and reading a book till Vicky got there at noon and customers started showing up. I was very ill-prepared for the high-stress day Vicky had planned.
“I’m not feeling much like changing, Vick,” I said carefully. “But let me go put on some makeup so I look a little more presentable, then I’ll help you price.”
Vicky nodded, her ponytail bobbing. “Thanks, Vi.” I hated when she called me “Vi.” A teacher I hated in grade school called me that and ever since then that name is like nails on a chalkboard to me, but I don’t like telling people that because then they only call you it more to tease you.
I threw on some lip gloss and mascara, then came out and started helping Vicky re-price. Once I got going, it wasn’t so bad…sometimes it’s less stressful to have something to do than to just sit around waiting for someone to show up. Vicky and I talked about our nights and she told me a story about a fight she and her boyfriend got into (they’re always fighting). This is when I remember that I like Vicky…when she’s relaxed and we can talk about our lives outside of the store. Vicky is an interesting person to work under because she isn’t necessarily a go-getting business-person, she’s just very high strung and is always paranoid about getting fired. She’d much rather design her own clothes, and wants her own store someday, but this is the most amount of responsibility she’s ever been given, and it gets to her head a little too much sometimes. She’ll get bossy if she sees me or the three salespeople slacking off, more to show off that she’s in charge than because she cares. That’s when I remember that I can’t stand Vicky.
I knew fun, relaxed Vicky was gone when I saw her glance out the door and her cheeks immediately flushed. I followed her gaze and saw a forty-something man in black jeans, motorcyle jacket, and a molester-stache walking our way. That’ll be Keith. Keith owns a whole chain of alterna-stores selling things like punk t-shirts, overpriced retro dresses and silver jewelry for all the punk/goth/rockabilly scenesters in Chicago. A few years ago he bought an extra space and had room for one more storefront so he threw in a resale store. RedSkirt is a cool little store, but it’s definitely not a typical resale store in that it has more money behind it than most resale stores could ever dream of. Keith has been doing this since the 80’s, and prides himself on being this rocker/businessman. He pisses me off because he bullies his employees and hits on all the girls. He manipulates Vicky all the time by simultaneously tearing down everything in the store, and then turning around and telling her things like she’s his “right hand girl.”
“Hey good-lookin’,” Keith said as he walked in, stretching out his arms for a hug.
“Hey you!” Vicky embraced him and went into hyper-enthusiastic mode.
He turned to me and asked, “So what’s new in Violet’s world?”
I shrugged and said, “Not too much.” That’s how I handle Keith…I don’t give him anything. This might be why I’m only assistant manager, but that’s fine because I wouldn’t be his manager for all the money in his bank account.
A couple of sixteen year old girls walked in, so I went to the cash register and checked their bags, giving them little playing cards as markers. Vicky gave me a thankful look because shoplifting is one of Keith’s pet subjects, and once when he came in and saw a couple customers holding bags, he pitched a fit.
“The store’s looking good,” Keith said, glancing around. That’s as far as the inspection went. So much for all the re-pricing. “So, gorgeous, how about if we go in the back and look at some figures.”
“Sounds good, Keith,” Vicky said, leading the way to the back room.
“Lucky me, I could look at your figure all day,” Keith wolf whistled. Vicky let out a high-pitched giggle while I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out behind him. The sixteen year old girls saw me and started laughing. Keith isn’t a total ass, he’d never lay a hand on anyone outside of demanding hello-goodbye hugs, but the flirty comments get under my skin anyway. He stopped saying things like that to me two years ago when I made a face and said, “Thanks, Gramps.” That’s about the same time I got passed over for manager. It was a win-win situation.
They were still in there an hour later when one of the sales clerks, Annabelle, came in. Annabelle is a tough little twenty one-year-old goth chick. I love her to death, she’s so snarky and I have the most fun with her. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed herself, but goth girls always take that to a whole other level. She had her blue and black yarn dreadlocks pulled out of her face with a rubber band, and there was black makeup smeared all around her eyes, but in her case it actually looked good. She wore a black taffetta ballerina skirt and a Skinny Puppy t-shirt that she had strategically ripped apart and safety pinned back together to make it form fitting. Her platform boots made her tower over me even though we were about the same size.
“I am so dead today,” she yawned to me.
“You’re goth, Annabelle, aren’t you dead everyday?”
Annabelle let out a fake laugh and relaxed her features back to disdain. “If it’s cool, I’m gonna take a nap in the back for an hour. Wake me up when it gets busy.” I think this gives you an idea of the type of assistant manager I am.
“Not today, Sunshine. Keith and Vicky are in the back going over her figure.”
Her face now contorted into sheer pain and annoyance. “That sucks! Why does the RedSkirt chaser have to come on a fucking Saturday? And now Vicky’s gonna be even more of a freak than usual. I was totally looking forward to just you and me today.”
“Me too. Auntie Violet is hung.”
Annabelle came behind the counter and signed herself in on the hours sheet, then we gossiped about our night outs. Annabelle was freshly twenty-one but had been getting into clubs with her fake ID for a couple years anyway. She told me about going to an industrial club and some aging yuppie guy (or maybe he wasn’t a yuppie…twenty one year olds always think anyone straight looking is a yuppie) trying to hit on her and just not leaving her alone, so she threw her beer in his face. A bouncer tried to kick her out, but she ranted about what a dick the guy was being, so they kicked him out instead. Cute young goth girls will always triumph over older guys (probably my age) with short hair and jeans.
“My night wasn’t that dramatic. We just drank and danced a lot and bitched about the lack of cute guys.”
“No kidding! Where do the attractive guys hide in Chicago? All I ever see are these old trolls.” At that moment Keith and Vicky emerged from the back and Annabelle said, “See what I mean?”
“Okay, you guys, what’s the joke?” Vicky asked as I collapsed on the floor with laughter, holding my stomach. Annabelle giggled hysterically, probably more at me than anything.
“I’m sorry,” I said when I could breathe again. I slid up the wall behind me, wiping away tears. “Keith, your staff is crazy.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” he said with a big grin. I had to force my mind to think of something else to keep from cracking up all over again.
“Okay, you little freaks, I gotta motor. Vicky,” Keith opened his arms for his goodbye hug. “Always a pleasure. Good to see you lovely ladies again,” he saluted us. We waved.
“Okay, so what was that about?” Vicky asked us when he left.
“Annabelle was telling me about getting some guy kicked out of Detour last night.”
“Well, I hope you’re ready to get serious now, because we’re in big fucking trouble.”
“What’s up?” Annabelle asked.
“What’s up is that our shrink is high and our sales are low. Keith says that if we don’t start making some money he’s going to convert this space into a coffee house.”
“Fucking dick.”
“Annabelle, this is serious. We could all lose our jobs.”
“Did he say what we should do?” I asked. “I mean, Vicky, we take everyone’s bags who come in here and we try to watch them, but this is a resale store. This isn’t like a J Crew where we can go around selling to people. This is cheap stuff and people look around by themselves. Technically we probably sell more than any of Keith’s other stores, but he can’t tell because here a shirt is five dollars and at Rage it would be fifty.”
“Well, first of all, we have to start watching these kids harder. I think most of the theft happens in the changing rooms, so I want one of you to stand there, check how many items someone brings in, then make sure they have the same amount when they come out.”
Annabelle groaned. “That sounds hideous!”
Vicky’s eyes widened. “Hey, excuse me for trying to save this business! Maybe you want to lose your job, but I really don’t! I also want to start checking employee’s bags when they leave. I’m betting that’s where most of the theft happens. Violet, are you with me?”
“Yeah, I’m with you, Vicky.”
“Good. If you guys need me, I’ll be in the back doing some paperwork.”
When she left Annabelle turned to me and asked, “So does this mean we’re going to have to start paying for our clothes now?”
I smiled and put my finger to my lips.
Any comments/feedback is appreciated.
Going out on Friday nights always seems like a good idea, except that I work on Saturdays. I don’t have to be there till ten, but it’s still pretty harsh considering I didn’t get home till two the night before and I don’t think I slept off all the alcohol. I dragged myself to RedSkirt feeling like a zombie in old jeans and an older sweater, bits of eyeliner and mascara from the night before dusting the already dark circles under my bloodshot eyes. I carried a silver travel mug with water and a fizzy vitamin powder to help remineralize my poor depleted body. I groggily remembered how at one in the morning Xandra suggested we do a lemon drop shot and I happily agreed. Now I was sure it was that last shot that was making my stomach still queasy this morning. This was the last place on earth I wanted to be, especially until six.
I hadn’t heard from that graphic art job, which didn’t surprise me. They probably hired some guy that looked good in a suit and tie and was much more gung-ho than me. Again, I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Even if I had hated it, at least it wouldn’t be this place. I had worked at RedSkirt for three years, which was two years too long. The good thing is that I liked the clothes and my closet was always packed, to the point where I’ve become a snob about paying more than $25 for any article of clothing. The bad thing was that I was bored, I hated being in my late twenties and still working a cash register, and I hated the customers, which were mostly hipster kids from sixteen to twenty-three who still thought acting bored and jaded meant they were cool. I didn’t necessarily hate my boss, but lately she’s been succeeding more and more at driving me absolutely insane.
“You look like hell,” Vicky said to me when I walked in.
I barely grunted. I hadn’t been expecting Vicky to be here till later. She was looking entirely too glamorous for first thing in the morning, wearing a pencil-thin 1940’s black skirt with a pinstriped button down blouse, her bleach-blonde hair pulled in a tight ponytail, and her makeup vintage-perfect with bright red bow-tie lips and thick black eyeliner.
“What are you doing here, Vicky?” I asked, swigging from my hangover elixir. “I thought you weren’t here till noon today.”
“Keith called me yesterday and said he’s paying a visit,” she said, her burgundy vintage heels click-click-clicking as she walked around the store, a flurry of too-early energy as she looked through clothes checking for price tags. “I don’t know what time he’s getting here, but the place is a wreck and I don’t want him to see it like this.”
“Vicky,” I said, knowing what I was about to say would only piss her off. “This is a resale store…resale stores are supposed to look like wrecks. It’s part of their charm.”
She shot me a death look. “Violet, there are certain standards that every store needs, no matter what kind of store it is. Here, look at this…I know Patty and Carolyn stocked these clothes last week, and half of them aren’t even priced! And look—there are pants mixed with the skirts and there are shirts falling off their hangers, and the shoes look dusty. I know you’re hungover, Vi, but if Keith sees the store looking like this, it’s just as much your head as it is mine.” She cast a quick up-and-down look at me. “You might want to change into something nicer too. You can pick some stuff in the back.”
I swigged down my vitamin water, knowing I needed every B vitamin I could get. I’d been counting on a lazy morning of nursing my headache and reading a book till Vicky got there at noon and customers started showing up. I was very ill-prepared for the high-stress day Vicky had planned.
“I’m not feeling much like changing, Vick,” I said carefully. “But let me go put on some makeup so I look a little more presentable, then I’ll help you price.”
Vicky nodded, her ponytail bobbing. “Thanks, Vi.” I hated when she called me “Vi.” A teacher I hated in grade school called me that and ever since then that name is like nails on a chalkboard to me, but I don’t like telling people that because then they only call you it more to tease you.
I threw on some lip gloss and mascara, then came out and started helping Vicky re-price. Once I got going, it wasn’t so bad…sometimes it’s less stressful to have something to do than to just sit around waiting for someone to show up. Vicky and I talked about our nights and she told me a story about a fight she and her boyfriend got into (they’re always fighting). This is when I remember that I like Vicky…when she’s relaxed and we can talk about our lives outside of the store. Vicky is an interesting person to work under because she isn’t necessarily a go-getting business-person, she’s just very high strung and is always paranoid about getting fired. She’d much rather design her own clothes, and wants her own store someday, but this is the most amount of responsibility she’s ever been given, and it gets to her head a little too much sometimes. She’ll get bossy if she sees me or the three salespeople slacking off, more to show off that she’s in charge than because she cares. That’s when I remember that I can’t stand Vicky.
I knew fun, relaxed Vicky was gone when I saw her glance out the door and her cheeks immediately flushed. I followed her gaze and saw a forty-something man in black jeans, motorcyle jacket, and a molester-stache walking our way. That’ll be Keith. Keith owns a whole chain of alterna-stores selling things like punk t-shirts, overpriced retro dresses and silver jewelry for all the punk/goth/rockabilly scenesters in Chicago. A few years ago he bought an extra space and had room for one more storefront so he threw in a resale store. RedSkirt is a cool little store, but it’s definitely not a typical resale store in that it has more money behind it than most resale stores could ever dream of. Keith has been doing this since the 80’s, and prides himself on being this rocker/businessman. He pisses me off because he bullies his employees and hits on all the girls. He manipulates Vicky all the time by simultaneously tearing down everything in the store, and then turning around and telling her things like she’s his “right hand girl.”
“Hey good-lookin’,” Keith said as he walked in, stretching out his arms for a hug.
“Hey you!” Vicky embraced him and went into hyper-enthusiastic mode.
He turned to me and asked, “So what’s new in Violet’s world?”
I shrugged and said, “Not too much.” That’s how I handle Keith…I don’t give him anything. This might be why I’m only assistant manager, but that’s fine because I wouldn’t be his manager for all the money in his bank account.
A couple of sixteen year old girls walked in, so I went to the cash register and checked their bags, giving them little playing cards as markers. Vicky gave me a thankful look because shoplifting is one of Keith’s pet subjects, and once when he came in and saw a couple customers holding bags, he pitched a fit.
“The store’s looking good,” Keith said, glancing around. That’s as far as the inspection went. So much for all the re-pricing. “So, gorgeous, how about if we go in the back and look at some figures.”
“Sounds good, Keith,” Vicky said, leading the way to the back room.
“Lucky me, I could look at your figure all day,” Keith wolf whistled. Vicky let out a high-pitched giggle while I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out behind him. The sixteen year old girls saw me and started laughing. Keith isn’t a total ass, he’d never lay a hand on anyone outside of demanding hello-goodbye hugs, but the flirty comments get under my skin anyway. He stopped saying things like that to me two years ago when I made a face and said, “Thanks, Gramps.” That’s about the same time I got passed over for manager. It was a win-win situation.
They were still in there an hour later when one of the sales clerks, Annabelle, came in. Annabelle is a tough little twenty one-year-old goth chick. I love her to death, she’s so snarky and I have the most fun with her. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed herself, but goth girls always take that to a whole other level. She had her blue and black yarn dreadlocks pulled out of her face with a rubber band, and there was black makeup smeared all around her eyes, but in her case it actually looked good. She wore a black taffetta ballerina skirt and a Skinny Puppy t-shirt that she had strategically ripped apart and safety pinned back together to make it form fitting. Her platform boots made her tower over me even though we were about the same size.
“I am so dead today,” she yawned to me.
“You’re goth, Annabelle, aren’t you dead everyday?”
Annabelle let out a fake laugh and relaxed her features back to disdain. “If it’s cool, I’m gonna take a nap in the back for an hour. Wake me up when it gets busy.” I think this gives you an idea of the type of assistant manager I am.
“Not today, Sunshine. Keith and Vicky are in the back going over her figure.”
Her face now contorted into sheer pain and annoyance. “That sucks! Why does the RedSkirt chaser have to come on a fucking Saturday? And now Vicky’s gonna be even more of a freak than usual. I was totally looking forward to just you and me today.”
“Me too. Auntie Violet is hung.”
Annabelle came behind the counter and signed herself in on the hours sheet, then we gossiped about our night outs. Annabelle was freshly twenty-one but had been getting into clubs with her fake ID for a couple years anyway. She told me about going to an industrial club and some aging yuppie guy (or maybe he wasn’t a yuppie…twenty one year olds always think anyone straight looking is a yuppie) trying to hit on her and just not leaving her alone, so she threw her beer in his face. A bouncer tried to kick her out, but she ranted about what a dick the guy was being, so they kicked him out instead. Cute young goth girls will always triumph over older guys (probably my age) with short hair and jeans.
“My night wasn’t that dramatic. We just drank and danced a lot and bitched about the lack of cute guys.”
“No kidding! Where do the attractive guys hide in Chicago? All I ever see are these old trolls.” At that moment Keith and Vicky emerged from the back and Annabelle said, “See what I mean?”
“Okay, you guys, what’s the joke?” Vicky asked as I collapsed on the floor with laughter, holding my stomach. Annabelle giggled hysterically, probably more at me than anything.
“I’m sorry,” I said when I could breathe again. I slid up the wall behind me, wiping away tears. “Keith, your staff is crazy.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” he said with a big grin. I had to force my mind to think of something else to keep from cracking up all over again.
“Okay, you little freaks, I gotta motor. Vicky,” Keith opened his arms for his goodbye hug. “Always a pleasure. Good to see you lovely ladies again,” he saluted us. We waved.
“Okay, so what was that about?” Vicky asked us when he left.
“Annabelle was telling me about getting some guy kicked out of Detour last night.”
“Well, I hope you’re ready to get serious now, because we’re in big fucking trouble.”
“What’s up?” Annabelle asked.
“What’s up is that our shrink is high and our sales are low. Keith says that if we don’t start making some money he’s going to convert this space into a coffee house.”
“Fucking dick.”
“Annabelle, this is serious. We could all lose our jobs.”
“Did he say what we should do?” I asked. “I mean, Vicky, we take everyone’s bags who come in here and we try to watch them, but this is a resale store. This isn’t like a J Crew where we can go around selling to people. This is cheap stuff and people look around by themselves. Technically we probably sell more than any of Keith’s other stores, but he can’t tell because here a shirt is five dollars and at Rage it would be fifty.”
“Well, first of all, we have to start watching these kids harder. I think most of the theft happens in the changing rooms, so I want one of you to stand there, check how many items someone brings in, then make sure they have the same amount when they come out.”
Annabelle groaned. “That sounds hideous!”
Vicky’s eyes widened. “Hey, excuse me for trying to save this business! Maybe you want to lose your job, but I really don’t! I also want to start checking employee’s bags when they leave. I’m betting that’s where most of the theft happens. Violet, are you with me?”
“Yeah, I’m with you, Vicky.”
“Good. If you guys need me, I’ll be in the back doing some paperwork.”
When she left Annabelle turned to me and asked, “So does this mean we’re going to have to start paying for our clothes now?”
I smiled and put my finger to my lips.
Any comments/feedback is appreciated.