Funk-ed up retail. Yay or Nay?

It has been brought to my attention that I suck at blogging regularly. You're all correct, and I apologize profusely for my lack of dedication to my craft. It's not that I don't want to tell you the sordid details of my existence, it's more the number of people I could potentially piss off if I was honest about all of the crazy shit that happens in my life.

I've been told that I should start a blog about my work. Not necessarily about what I do on a daily basis, because I don't want to bore you with my tales of standing around aimlessly, hiding my venti caramel macchiato from my manager and texting anyone who will entertain me when no one is looking, but rather about all of the strange incidents that occur within the walls of Bloomies.

I'll give you a little taste of the weird, strange, and downright disgusting, and you tell me if you'd like to hear more, and I will incorporate "Funk-ed Up Retail" into my daily (yeah, right) bloggings.

And away we go...

One of the first eye-opening experiences I had was learning about the going-ons of the men's bathroom on my floor. Believe me folks, its not your typical public restroom (or maybe it is, depending on what you're in the bathroom for). There's a website for men looking for anonymous gay sex. It's called cruisingforsex.com, and it's chock full of interesting (public) places to find a glory hole or two. Taken directly from the website, this is the add for the men's bathroom on the first floor of Bloomingdale's:

>> Lenox Square, 3393 Peachtree Road NE, Buckhead. Cruisy toilet in Bloomingdale's mens department. Add Comments

New comments added September, 2009:
"Easy to suck a cock through the toilet paper holder between the stalls."

It's gross, yes, but I guess it's the nature of the beast. After all, I do work at Lenox.

Next, there's "Coke Girl." Apparently, she works at Aveda in the mall, and every day she saunters through our department to use the restroom. Not a problem because our bathroom is often inhabited by mall employees whose stores don't have a private restroom, and there are plenty of people who take advantage of our clean (minus the men's room, of course) facilities. Blonde stringy hair and a 24-inch waist actually weren't what gave her away as a cokehead. It was her schedule. Everyday, like clockwork, she makes four to five visits to the bathroom, walking like a woman on a mission, head down, avoiding eye contact (so of course I choose to stare at her and shake my head disapprovingly). One day I follow her into the bathroom to witness her routine: Pee, flush, (wait for it) snort. Did I just hear her do a bump? I verified the story with a coworker who said she heard the same series of events. Awesome. Sex in the men's room, cocaine in the women's. Classy establishment we're running.

Shortly after the discovery of Coke Girl came (no pun intended) an incident of underage public sex in the Polo fitting room. Overheard by a customer, two 14-year-old white trash children were exploring exhibitionism, and not very quietly. Our 6'7", 350lb, ex-college football playing security guard politely escorted them out of the store. Housekeeping immediately went about sanitizing the entire fitting room, but I'd still avoid the third stall if I were you.

I once walked into the restroom and witnessed a homeless woman sitting on the counter washing her feet in the sink. Numerous times I've seen dog-owners let their maltipoos and puggles (and whatever other ridiculous miniature hybrid dogs exist) shit on the floor and then just walk away as if its perfectly commonplace to let someone else step in your dog's feces. I've been asked "where yo' boyfriend at?" more times than I can remember. I once helped a male customer into a fitting room, and he (intentionally) closed the door and started changing with me still in the room. I've met more creeps, jerks, douche bags, and assholes in the last five months than I did my entire four years at the University of Georgia (and that's saying something).

Above and beyond all of the crazy and weird is just the day-to-day activities that keep me wondering why the fuck I do this job. So if you want to hear more, let me know.

Don't call it a comeback...

After three longs month, I've finally returned. You've probably been concerned about my absence (and if you haven't, eff you)... The long and short of it is that my laptop broke, I got a job, and I moved, and sadly that combination left little time for story-spinning. Fortunately, things have settled down and my new laptop is ideal for blogging. So prepare yourself for an update on the last three months of my life.

In May, my internship ended with JEZEBEL. After five long months (three of which I knew there was no future employment to be had), I couldn't have been happier to leave. I found that it was a lot easier to work for free when there was the hope of getting a job at the end of the torture. When I finally spoke to my editor (who is a real peach, lemme tell ya), she made clear that when the internship was over, so was my time at the magazine... At that point I began the big girl job search.

For as long as I can remember, I swore I would never work retail. My justification was that I wasn't going to college (and getting two degrees) to be a sales associate at some second rate boutique. It took me a year after college graduation to finally succumb to this horrendous economic state, and apply for a retail position. My first stops were the Bloomingdale's and Nordstrom websites. I figured if I was going to stoop to retail, at least I was going to do it right. (Sidenote: For anyone reading this who works retail, please don't be offended by my attitude toward the profession. After being within the field, I have a newfound respect for my fellow sales associates, and begrudge you nothing for working retail too.) Shortly after sending in my applications, I scheduled interviews with both stores and found myself in an unfamiliar situation: Both were interested in offering me positions.

After weighing the pros and cons of positions at both stores, specifically the ridiculous difference in pay between the two, I opted for Bloomingdale's. I started working in the men's department in mid-May, and was thrown into the deep end without so much as a lesson on sizing, product knowledge, or how to work with complete douche bag know-it-alls. And while at first I was frustrated by the lack of preparation I got, I have to say looking back that on-the-job training is some of the best. I taught myself how to measure a guy's neck size and sleeve length, both of which are important in determining shirt size (another tidbit that might have been crucial to know before I started selling dress shirts). I learned all about the differences between Canali, Zegna, Boss, and Abboud, and quickly picked up the concept of inter-selling (bringing your customer to more than just your own department, so that you can sell shoes to go with that suit he just bought, and a pair of jeans to wear when he gets off of work and meets friends for drinks at the Tavern). Now, two months in, I find myself happy to be in the men's department, as opposed to frustrated and confused like I was at first.

In addition to the new job, I've undergone another significant change in my life. Like any normal 23-year-old, moving out of your parents' house is an important step in life. Now, I got lucky. I very easily could have been stuck at home for another year (as if one wasn't enough), but thanks to Craigslist and an overwhelming need for independence, I was able to find an incredible place to live so that my parents can once again be empty nesters. One month ago, I moved into an adorable house in Virginia Highlands with two friends, and I honestly couldn't be happier. Yes, I'm now completely broke (having to buy a new laptop so that I could blog for you obsessive freaks didn't help with my financial situation), and yes, complete independence has its disadvantages (i.e. no more mooching off of mom and dad's refrigerator), but I wouldn't trade it for anything. I live less than 15 minutes from work, a mere hop, skip, and a jump compared to my previous commute of nearly 40, I'm walking distance from the center of Virginia Highlands, and when I come home, no one judges me if I want to drink half a bottle of wine while lounging on my screened-in porch. All in all, life is pretty damn good.

Fact: Working for free can be fun.

In my entire life, I have had maybe four jobs that I actually got paid for, minus the occasional "freelance" styling job or PA gig. I worked as a gift-wrap girl, a cashier at a chicken finger restaurant, and even sold massive amounts of Pad Thai working at Mama Fu's. Yes, it was as glamorous as it sounds. Every remotely respectable position that I have ever held has been unpaid (a fact that I hope to soon remedy). My newest "volunteer" venture is remarkably wonderful though, and I don't even mind working there for free. Allow me to elaborate:

A month and a half ago, I started working three days a week as an editorial assistant at JEZEBEL Magazine. I graduated from college with degrees in Fashion and Journalism, so working for a fashion magazine is pretty much ideal. There are honestly very few things about this job that I don't like. At the current juncture, I actually can't think of anything at all.

Every day when I walk in there, I experience something new. I get to do actual work, and the work actually means something there (as opposed to making cold calls and feeling completely replaceable). On my very first day, I was actually writing. I called my mom on my way home in complete and utter disbelief. What a great internship! They were actually taking advantage of all of the skills I had instead of dumbing me down and making me feel entirely overqualified. It's a very refreshing feeling, let me tell you. Since I've been there, some really awesome things have happened to me. 

First, my boss is one of my sorority sisters, and although we were never really friends while in college (she is two years older than me), I find myself glad, if nothing else, that I got this internship so that we could rekindle our friendship. She is incredible, and I can't imagine doing this job without all of her amazing support. I often epitomize the saying "there are no stupid questions, only stupid people," and even when I ask something retarded, she still makes me feel valid, and proud that I was smart enough to ask instead of making a dumb mistake. She has challenged me, given me the opportunity to prove myself, and for that, I am truly grateful.

On that same note, the work that I have gotten to do has been pretty exciting. Maybe not for the seasoned magazine veteran, but for someone who continually is trying to break into the field, its a big effing deal. I have done everything from writing to copy-editing, and I've even caught a couple crucial fact-checking errors. I'd like to take a moment to thank my English teacher mother for instilling good grammar in me. I think my bosses would probably thank you too. I have run errands (even smoothie runs, which amazingly, I do not mind in the least), made copies, and sorted and collated. And I've loved every second of it. Most recently, I spent my days helping style the products for the upcoming Spring Fashion issue. My boss was thrilled to have my help (a fact that she made abundantly clear, and I again thank her for letting me know that I was appreciated) and I was thrilled to be there. 

Another perk of working for JEZEBEL is that our office is right next door to the offices for 680 The Fan, an AM sports radio station in Atlanta. Just a week or so into my time at the magazine, one of the producers for Chuck and Chernoff, one of the station's talk shows, came into the office seeking a fashion advisor to go on-air with the guys. My boss was busy, so I was nominated for the task (my fashion degree helped), and they brought me into the studio with Matt and Chuck. Allow me to tell you a little more about these gentlemen... Matt is 31, Chuck is 41, and they are both nice Southern boys. Naturally, they loved me. 

The talk started with my qualifications for doling out advice about clothes, and then Chadd, the wonderful producer that he is, had to point out my age. Chuck asked, and I told them that I was "almost 23." Now, allow me to say that I really was about to be 23. And I truly feel that saying I was 22 really wouldn't have done me any justice. Granted, I made my own bed so I had to sleep in it, but those guys just wouldn't relent. Until my actual 23rd birthday a couple weeks ago, I was known as their "almost 23-year-old friend from JEZEBEL." Since that first little spot on the radio, I have been on with them three other times. Somehow I even divulged that I am single, and they are currently in the process of trying to find me a nice Jewish boy. 

So, basically that's my life right now. I loathe the beginning of the week, pray for Wednesday (when I finally am back at JEZ), and find myself not wanting to leave come Friday afternoon because I know I won't be back until the following Wednesday. For an unpaid position, I sure love doing it. I guess if you have to work for free, you might as well enjoy what you're doing. 

If you'd like to check out my work in the newest issue of the magazine, the January/February issue is currently on newsstands. Check out page 75 for some doggie couture written by yours truly.

Who needs independence when you can live at home for free?

It has been brought to my attention that I haven't posted in quite some time. I'd like to thank those of you who actually want to read about my more-often-than-not boring life and have requested that I keep you in the know. So, here goes nothin'. 

About a month ago, I started an internship with a tradeshow production company. Basically, if you have ever been to The Mart in Atlanta, we recreate something like it in Miami, but way cooler, obvi. For those of you not in (or interested in) the fashion industry, a tradeshow is an opportunity for brands from all over the country to come together in one location (in this case, South Beach) so that retailers can come and see what those brands have to offer. The retailers then place orders with the brands at wholesale prices, and then, voila! Everything shows up in time to be sold to the (un)suspecting public at twice the price the retailer paid for it.

So this is a relatively small company I am working for, but I am not the only intern. In fact, I think there are more unpaid interns than there are actual employees. I am one of seven minions who got suckered into working for free (so I feel slightly less bad about it). Since we started, the majority of the work we have done has been going through shoeboxes of business cards (some more than 4 years old) and determining if the contact info on the card is correct, and then if it is, putting them in our database. This seems like a pretty straightforward task, but somehow this process took 7 interns almost 3 weeks to complete. I choose to blame this too on the economy. Here is why:

The economy has gone to shit. Shitty economy equals businesses closing. Businesses closing equals extra work for me. Why? Because if I call the phone number on a business card and it is disconnected, I have to spend an extra 20 minutes trying to Google the nonexistent company to see if they are actually defunct or if their number has just changed (and 99% of the time, it isn't the latter). So I spent a good chunk of the last month becoming best friends with Google. We're on a first name basis.

Moving on. Now, we finally made it through the mountain of business cards, and we all got promoted (yeah, right) to new tasks. One of us (who will remain nameless) spent four days scanning brands on retail websites like ShopBop.com and Bluefly.com to see if they were in our price point and would be appropriate additions to the show. A few others (including myself) have spent more time on the phone talking to retailers. We have been calling all of the stores who came to the show in September to pre-register them for our upcoming show in March. Again, you would think straightforward, but nonetheless, it couldn't be more of a pain in the ass. 

For some reason, there are people who we have in our database as having come to the show just mere months ago, and yet they have no idea who we are or what our show is. Maybe it's just me, but that makes no sense whatsoever. 

Me: Hello, Nancy? How are you? I see that you came to our show in September.

Idiot: Yes, I did! It was wonderful.

Me: Are you interested in pre-registering for our March 09 show?

Idiot: Wait, what show? Who did you say you were again?

Fucking retards. I think I've had that conversation 27 times.

The other problem we are coming across is (again) the economy. Retailers who live in LA can't afford to fly out to Miami for a weekend of fun in the sun/fluorescent glow of the Miami Convention Center. It's sad, but true. Maybe by the time I get a job that actually pays, these companies will be able to attend the show again. Sigh.

There are other miscellaneous aspects of my job (all of which I prefer to calling idiot retailers and confirming contact information) but they aren't nearly as entertaining to complain about, so I will refrain from boring you.

Above and beyond my internship, I actually have some wonderful (or horrible, depending on how you feel about my blog) news. As of next week, my time for blogging will be be severely depleted. Heavens, no! Say it isn't true! Alas, it is true my loyal followers (and I love you all dearly). 'Where is the wonderful part of this news?' you may be asking. Well, I got another internship (yes, I will be doing two internships at one time). And this one is a doozie: JEZEBEL Magazine. My ideal. Be still, my beating heart. I'm actually going to get to write. For real! Not this blogging nonsense (though I do love that I get to say things like 'fuck' and not get in trouble for it). 

But fret not. You can't get rid of me that easy. Honestly, just tell me you love reading what I have to say, and I won't be able to stay away for long.

Things are looking up... and interesting.

Contrary to my recent (and not-so-recent) posts, there are actually things happening in my life lately. Of course we had Thanksgiving, and everything that goes along with it, but I've experienced a few intermittent adventures along the way. Come along as I regale you with my slightly more interesting life.

About a week ago, I got an internship! Not quite a job, and no, it doesn't pay, but it's one step up from Beer Bitch, so I'm happy as a pig in slop. I've only worked one day, but so far I think it might be my key to happiness. I'll keep you updated as I get deeper into it.

Last week was full of unusual sightings. First occurred as my mom and I were pulling out of the Trader Joe's shopping center. We are at the stop sign when we notice an older gentleman standing on the corner. When he moves away, we see one of those signs advertising yard work (professionally printed on waterproof stock, mind you), and our first inkling is that he has put this sign into the ground. Then, we inch closer, and I notice that the last four digits of the phone number are covered by a white rectangular sticker. We get closer still, and my 20/20 vision does not fail me as I see the word "DOUCHEBAG!" obscuring the latter part of the number.

After laughing (and taking a picture, obviously), we came tothe conclusion that this poor old man had used this lawn care service in the past, and had been slightly more than disappointed. Talk about brilliant. I want to shake that man's wrinkly old hand.

Second out of the ordinary sighting of the week occured in my neighborhood. I had noticed a dead squirrel in the street directly in front of our yard earlier that day, but really thought nothing of it, since I usually try not to think about roadkill. Later, my mom is taking the dog out, and I am upstairs getting the house ready for a showing (turning on lights, opening doors, etc.) when I look out the window and see my mom, with the dog, talking to a car at the end of our driveway. Perplexed, I try and figure out what they are talking about. I see them pointing in the general direction of the roadkill I mentioned earlier, and I shift my gaze to the squirrel, only to find something moderately larger standing over it. There, in the middle of my neighborhood in East Cobb, is a gigantic vulture. I mean, this thing was probably three feet tall, and ugly as hell. I was so shocked by it, that I actually took pictures.

Luckily, he also carried the dead squirrel away.

So, yeah. Things have been a little weird, a little kooky even, around here. I could tell you more, but then what would I have to write about later?

Last night I made (from scratch) roasted tomato soup. It is without a doubt the most delicious delicacy in my cooking repertoire, the top tier of my metaphorical wedding cake of recipes (I honestly don't know what that means). No joke, you should come over to my house right now and try it. You will never go back to La Madeleine for tomato basil soup ever again.

To be perfectly honest, I'm not a gourmet chef. I do very little cooking without a recipe in front of me, but I truly enjoy cooking, and I think that is the first, and most important, step. I'd like to thank my lovely college roommate for instilling this new-found love of cooking in me. She's an awesome chef and introduced me to a plethora of new things (i.e. fried catfish), a gift for which to her I am forever indebted. Thanks dude.

So now, I cook. Mostly with my dad (yes, I live with my parents). It's amazing what being unemployed does for your creativity. He has an entire binder full of recipes, most of which we still haven't tried, and foodnetwork.com is our new favorite website (2nd only to Facebook and Blogger, of course). I'm trying to find a new recipe that inspires me as much as the tomato soup (seriously, it's fucking awesome), so if you have any suggestions, I'm open to them. Let me know.

Want to do something meaningful? Try this on for size.

I hyper-extended my knees in the fight against breast cancer. Don't believe me? You try walking 60 miles and see how your knees fare. That shit is hard. I may be gimping around the house for a few days, but it was worth it. Allow me to regale you with my journey:

Friday morning I woke up at 5:30am to join three thousand women and men at North Point Mall for the opening ceremonies of the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer 3Day. The walk is 60 miles, spread out over the course of a weekend, 20 miles each day. Each participant is required to raise $2,200 to support breast cancer research. The entire balagan (Yiddish for "big fucking mess") is organized by the National Philanthropic Trust, and the 3Day staff travels from one city to the next, walking all over our country in support of a cure.

We were to begin our walk at 8am, and everyone was armed for the unexpected bad weather. Yes, Georgia is in a drought, and yes, October is notoriously the driest month of the year in Atlanta, but God decided to test us with a torrential downpour (maybe slight hyperbole, but there was a steady rain all day long) on the first day of the walk. Now, let me paint a picture for you. It's 40-something degrees outside, and the rain is amazingly horizontal. I am dressed in a multitude of layers, including leggings, shorts, a dri-fit shirt, tshirt, windbreaker, and poncho. Did I mention that I have shower caps on over my socks (and duct taped to my ankles) to keep my feet dry? Before opening ceremonies even start, my shoes and gloves are completely soaked.

Opening ceremonies were emotional (and freezing) and I cried my way through them. Jenne Fromm, the national spokeswoman for the Breast Cancer 3Day, is so inspirational, and her words have me wanting to walk, even in this horrendous weather. The crowd is a smorgasbord of women and men, all there for the same reason, all with different stories to contribute to the cause. Hearing the stories gives even more incentive to walk, as if we didn't have reason enough. The ceremony ends, the gates open, and we are on our way, pushing through the rain for a cure.

I walked with my friend Sydney. She and I were, what we thought, appropriately decked out for such weather conditions. We were wrong. Apparently there are entire rain suits (pants and jackets made out of poncho material) for just such occasions. The typical poncho just does not do walking 20 miles in the rain justice. I think the only good thing about them was when a gust of wind blew Syd's poncho up over her head and we got a brief moment of laughter out of it (Sydney did not think it was as funny as I did).

About 10 miles into day one, we finally reached our lunch stop. After walking such a distance, particularly in the rain, one would pay good money to sit indoors, dry off and warm up, while eating her lunch. Sadly, no such lunch situation existed. Instead, we continued to freeze our asses off in the marvelous outdoors while we tried to stomach what I think was an attempt at a chicken sandwich. The highlight of lunch? I finally got to see what the underbelly of a Mac Truck looks like, as I sat underneath one in order to stay "dry" while I ate. Yay!

After lunch the walk continued in a residential area where hills were commonplace and the rain continued in an annoying drizzle. Sydney and I, joined by our friend Jeremy, trekked along, mostly in silence (because we were more focused on the rain and cold than anything else), with the occasional random thought being voiced. It's amazing what pops into your head when you have nothing to do but walk.

My day ended at mile 13 when I could no longer force myself to walk. My kneecaps felt like they were about to explode, and I wasn't going to risk hurting myself badly enough to keep me out of the rest of the walk. Syd and I took a sweep van (they drive along the route picking up people who need a break or can't walk anymore) to the next pit stop, where her dad picked us up and drove us to our hotel. Now, try not to judge me here. Most participants in the 3Day choose to stay in a tent at the campgrounds. I initially had no problem with the tent idea, but Sydney did the walk last year and stayed in the tents and she refused to do it again. So that's why we stayed in a hotel. In the long run, I am eternally grateful that we did so, because due to the rain, the campers spent the first night sleeping in what appeared to be an abandoned office complex. While they were doing that, we were drinking hot chocolate, ordering pizza delivery, and soaking our feet in the hotel's hottub.

Day 2: Cold, but DRY. Thank you Jesus. The previous night I had been icing my knees in the hopes that I would actually be able to walk in the second day. Luckily, I felt much better when I woke up, and I did my best. I got out there, made it to the second pit stop (about 5.5 miles) and had to call it a day. I decided it wasn't worth ruining my knees on day 2 and not being able to walk through the finish line on day 3. I hobbled onto a SAG ("Safety and Gear") Bus where I met some incredible women. Joann, the bus liason who was a volunteer crew member, is a 6 month breast cancer survivor. She'd had a complete mastectomy and was proud to be boobless. Her daughter was walking for her, and she was doing her part by being a crew member. Annita has five sisters and is a survivor, 27 years cancer free. One year after she was diagnosed, so was her younger sister Gail, who now too is cancer free. Their team shirts say "Sisters in Pink." I made my way back to the hotel, two life stories richer, and spent the rest of the day icing my knees.

As a Day 2 sidenote: We started walking at around 8am. If you are walking at a normal pace, you should be able to walk about 20 minute miles, so about 3mph. So if you include time allowed for pit stops, stretching, and lunch, it should take the normal human being about 7 to 8 hours to complete a 20 mile walk, so finishing the day around 3pm, if they start walking at 8am. When I arrived back at camp at 1:30pm because of my knees, there were women finishing. FINISHING. Not a joke. They must have been bionic, because that shit is ridiculous.

Day 3: I woke up feeling refreshed. The sun was shining, my knees weren't throbbing, and the end was in sight. I kept telling myself that I had to complete at least one whole day. And I did.

For any Atlantans, here is the route, so that you can imagine just how far we walked: We began at Chamblee High School (which, as our friend Carrie who went to Chamblee told Sydney, "is a place of champions" and we "would do great") on Chamblee-Dunwoody Rd. From there we walked straight up Peachtree, right into and through Buckhead. We stopped at the Ritz for a bathroom break, and I cannot even tell you how good it felt to actually sit on a toilet seat instead of hovering in a porta-potty. From there we continued down Peachtree until we hit the numbers (i.e. 26th Street) and began the countdown. Sydney had hurt her foot, and my knees were killing me, and each block seemed an eternity away. We passed the High Museum and Colony Square, turned onto 14th Street and made our way into Piedmont Park for lunch, where we sat barefoot in the grass and enjoyed a few moments of bliss as we stretched and wiggled our toes. After lunch, we exited Piedmont Park at 10th Street and made our way back to the traffic of Peachtree, W. Peachtree, and Cenntential Olympic Park Drive. As we reached our final pit stop, we realized that we were just 1 mile away from the finish line (The Georgia World Congress Center). With a new burst of energy, we got back to walking, and as we walked passed CNN Center, I felt like I had truly accomplished something great.

As we walked towards the GWCC, crowds of people had formed, cheering us on, telling us we were almost there. Tears began to well up as a little girl put out her hand to give me a high five and thank me for walking. Suddenly, I no longer felt any pain in my knees. I wanted to walk through that finish line, get my victory tshirt, and put it on proudly. And I did.

So, that's my 3Day story. Right now, I'm sitting here reminiscing about the good and the bad, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I met some incredible people, heard some inspiring and terrifying stories, and completed something difficult that I never thought I could. I'm proud of me, and I hope that you are too.

If you'd like to know more about the Breast Cancer 3Day, visit http://www.the3day.org.