All We Ask . . .

Almost every woman I know loves to shop. But we are picky about what makes shopping great. (Pass this along if you know anyone in the world of retail.) Here is all we ask of salespeople:

•  We expect them to discontinue their conversation when we -- their bread and butter -- are within range of service. We expect them to stop folding scarves when we’re searching for someone who works there.

•  “Do you have this in a larger size?” “If we do, it would be in that rack over there.” Wrong. They should know what they have. They should be willing to find it and bring it to me.

•  My sister has ordered clothes on-line that were, in reality, sadly different from what was pictured in the catalog. We have concluded that the “stylist” tricked everyone by using clothespins to make the clothes look flattering on the models. (Does the company like dealing with returned merchandise?)

• Hey, no fair! Why is this gray skirt on sale, but that black one isn’t? Probably because the grays aren’t selling, and they want to get rid of them. But that shouldn’t be my problem. Sell me the black for the same price.

•  Salespeople often knock on the dressing room door when I’m only halfway out of my street clothes. “How are you doing in there?” “Um. I’m undressing?” Quit rushing me. 

•  Or how about when the salesperson abandons you? You’re struggling with trousers that are two sizes too small. Should you do a quickstep onto the sales floor, hoping to snatch the right size without looking pitiful and neglected? Or should you don your own clothes, as if you never meant to be shopping in the first place?

•  “I don’t like ruffles.” “Oh, but you have to try this! It doesn’t look like much on the hanger, but wait till you see it on!” “But it has ruffles.” “I know, but . . .” We want salespeople to listen to us.

•  After confidently (or recklessly) signing my credit card slip, the moment is diminished when the salesperson hoists my bag over the counter with neither a smile nor a thank you. We like it when she honors the We Love to Shop ritual by taking six steps around the counter and gracefully, smilingly slipping our bag, with its gratifying tissue-wrapped treasures, over our extended forearm.