The fitting room.

Um, it was a strange night at work. First, let it be said that I am the jean queen. Maybe I should capitalize that. Jean Queen. I found proper pants for countless folks, all leaving with spectacular bottoms and long-looking legs. So I spent most of tonight in the fitting room. By the way, there's a divide between calling it "fitting room" and "dressing room" that I wonder could be like the "stuffing" and "dressing" divide. I may do research on this.

But I digress.

I spent tonight with customers. One-on-one. And that's my favorite because you get to see them all the way through their experience. One fellow came in looking for jeans. A middle-aged guy already wearing jeans and a tucked in polo. Shaved bald head. I'm guessing he works in sales. Maybe upper management, but not corporate. Anyway, he wanted jeans, and I found him two pair. Then he wanted a shirt to try on with the pants, so we looked around for that. I had his jeans in my arms, two shirts, and I said, "Can I start a room for you?"

He looked at me Crazy Eyes. Then he giggled. "A room? What do you mean?"

"A fitting room," I said, and tried to control my "What the hell kind of room did you think I meant?" Eyes.

*NOTE* I have an expression-y face. I can't help it. When I try to keep things neutral I look sinister. Now you know.

"A fitting room," he laughed. "Right!" Then he laughed again (creepy) and patted me on the back.

And then I really wondered what kind of room he thought I was starting for him.

*NOTE PART 2* My company provides fitting (dressing) rooms for our customers who would like to try on clothes. That's the extent of the services we provide in said rooms.

I pretended like I didn't know he'd thought I was offering a "special room" for him, and ha ha smiled my way through the rest of our interactions.

In return, he bought everything I suggested.

Listening to: the dishwasher.

xo. kb.