Adventures in retail

I'm usually a pretty easy-going sort, and I do try to take into account that officious idiots are usually the way they are because of some bureaucratic ass somewhere issuing them directions to do whatever it is they do. I really do. I should also preface this by saying that everybody but the person I dealt with today was really quite helpful and pleasant.

That being said, Red and I went today to purchase some new items of clothing in the "professional attire" category, since she's in need of such things. We went into a retail outlet that will remain nameless (but which is located here). I was given the full monty there, and I'd like to express my appreciation today to Vicki, who went the extra mile for me today.

Retail outlets almost universally have dressing rooms of one sort or another. Usually, these are accompanied by chairs set about in various locations for accompanying members of the same party to sit whilst the person-who-wishes-to-purchase-things tries things on, comes out, checks the mirrors, gets the opinions of their party, and then repeats as necessary until the proper item is found. One would think, generally, that in a retail store selling to one gender only, that the chairs set out would be open to accompanying husbands. This, apparently, is not quite the case.

Red went into the dressing room with at least 5-6 items, and of course, it takes a while to try all of these things on, adjust them, and whatnot. I located the only remaining seat, a somewhat comfy plush fabric affair, and comfortably ensconced myself there, which happened to be both within eyeshot of the dressing room doors, but also right next to a table which had a number of signup things on it for one sale or another. I sat there, offering opinions on each item as it was presented and chiming in with the Male Viewpoint when I was asked from a couple of ladies who were trying on evening gowns. Nobody seemed discomfited in the least, at least until Vicki came trundling in.

"Sir...? Um, they really don't like men to be sitting here," she informed me. Obviously, this was intended to be impressed, and I was supposed to immediately be intimidated by Them.

"Ah. I see. I take it since you didn't say we that you don't share that opinion. Who, exactly, are they?" I replied, somewhat confused. (Somebody didn't want me sitting there, but it wasn't clear who....the government? Aliens? Beancounters from Area 51? Who, I ask you?)

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to move," she said, adroitly dodging my question.

"Okay. I'm sorry you have to do that, but go ahead." I replied, attempting to be sympathetic. She appeared confused.

"Well, it's just that the ladies using the changing rooms tend to feel somewhat intimidated by a man sitting out here," she hedged. I looked down at my terrifying 5'8", 160 lb self in sandals and shorts, and immediately began to feel better about myself. It's not every day somebody tells you that you're scary on a Saturday - at work, I get to be scary all the time, but on my weekend?

"Okay," I said pleasantly. "You see, there was only the one seat here when my wife and I walked in. I suppose we could put the several hundred dollars' worth of clothes she's currently trying on back, and take our money elsewhere. Will you be the one explaining that to your manager, or shall I?" I stood up and picked up the several bags of things and my wife's purse and began to walk out. She stopped me from getting far.

"Well, sir, you don't have to leave. Let me just find you another chair," and off she bustled, coming back in a moment with what turned out to be a fantastically uncomfortable folding metal chair, and setting it down less than ten feet from where I was currently seated. "There you go! How's that?" she said, attempting to be perky and patting the back of it several times. Rather than make a scene, since Red was currently between blouses (in the dressing room, of course - mind you, I couldn't actually see into a one of them without getting up and moving).

"Rather like being evicted, actually. I can only hope that your pay reflects your professionalism," I replied, and sat where I was requested to. She appeared pleased at the compliment and trundled off with an armful of some godawful green monstrosity to the next customer.

I said nothing to the management at the store, since Red's business requires a close working relationship with that establishment's business...complementary services and all that. I wasn't pleased, however, and if I were a woman, I certainly wouldn't be shopping there.