After I left school I bummed around a bit, not knowing what to do with myself. Not having school to keep me occupied and having no job got boring real fast. I mean, what does a young lady do on a cold wintry day? Sit at home and knit? That'll be the day.
Fortunately I landed myself a job at the local mall in one of the bigger stores and I found myself being a shop assistant in the women's clothing section. The work was interesting enough and we got a store discount on the clothes, mainly because we were expected to buy them and wear them. I acquired several very nice outfits, paid for out of my own money. It gave me quite a fillip to know that I'd earned the money myself and wasn't depending on my parents to finance me.
I enjoyed the work. Most of the customers were young women about my age and most of our clothes were designed for that customer base. Sometimes we'd get an older woman in, buying things for daughters and nieces and I liked being able to advise them.
Sometimes there was the other sort of older woman who was buying the clothes for herself. You've heard the expression mutton dressed as lamb? Some of these women were more in the category of old cow dressed as lamb. They would look terrible and I'd have to smile and say, "Yes. It suits you perfectly," when I really wanted to say, "I know a place where you can get a good yashmak."
Not that the older women worried me as long as they were reasonably polite. Or even if they were not too rude. Some of them came across as very supercilious. A you're there to serve them and don't you forget it attitude, but even that type of woman can be polite.
There is the occasional customer who is walking hell on earth. If you see her in time, you hide, and let some other assistant get stuck. I didn't know this. I was an innocent little newbie, wasn't I. When one of the more senior assistants tapped me on the shoulder and directed me towards an older customer I just smiled and went over to help her.
Let me digress for a moment. We had a number of part-time staff who had a lot more experience than me. While not technically my superiors, me being full-time, I was quite willing to accept that they knew more about the business than I did and to learn off them. Most of them were quite helpful.
The floor manager was a man and, oh boy, was he a man. He was tall and handsome and very firm. One did not back-chat the floor manager, at least, not twice. While strict, and somewhat older than me, he must have been pushing thirty, he was fair minded and easy to get along with as long as you did your job. He was also quite a studly guy, not that I noticed that, of course, being young and innocent. Reasonably innocent, anyway. OK, being young and still learning some things and learning them with a certain amount of enthusiasm.
So there you have the situation. Nice job, friendly staff, and a decent manager. So when I was pointed towards an older customer off I went, a lamb to the slaughter.
When I spoke to the woman she had already picked up a number of items that she wanted to try on. I politely explained that the store only permitted a maximum of four items in the change-rooms at any one time. Boy, did I cop a mouthful. Was I accusing her of being a fucking thief? Who did I think I was, trying to tell her what she could and couldn't do? She wanted to try all these outfits and it was my job to let her.
She was loud, rude, and belligerent, but I kept insisting that it was store policy and that I had no choice in the matter. We did bend the rule sometimes, but only up to about six items and she had at least ten things. Eventually the woman dumped most of the outfits into my unwilling arms and barged into one of the change-rooms.
Oh, boy. Customer from hell. After she tried on each outfit she would toss it out of the change-room onto the floor, demanding I put that one aside as unwanted and let her have another one. I'm standing there, fuming, picking up each item as it came flying out and either hanging or folding it, putting them amongst the things to go back into stock. If I didn't hand in a replacement outfit fast enough I was sworn at.
Of the items she selected and tried on she liked none of them. She dumped the last item and came sailing out of the change-room, telling me to come with her. I trailed along behind while she returned to ravaging the shelves, stopping every so often to dump something into my unwilling arms. My customer, so I would be expected to put the shelves back in order. I looked around for help but not one of the rotten bitches who worked here would even look at me.
Then it was back to the change-room with more outfits and more abuse and more mess and no sales. Nothing she tried on was suitable and it was all my fault. The woman gave her opinion of the store, the clothes, and me, personally, in a loud and obnoxious voice, returning to the floor to forage for more outfits and more shelves to mess up.
After the third trip to the change-room I'd had enough. I was not going to trail along behind this harridan one more inch. When she turned and snapped at me to hurry up I said no.
"What did you say?" she demanded.
"I said, no," I repeated. "As in no, I am not going to hurry. No, I am not going to help you anymore. No, I am not going to serve you. If my service and the shop and the clothes are so terrible you'd probably be happier somewhere else. I know I'd be happier if you were somewhere else."
She went into full rant mode, swearing and carrying on. By a strange coincidence there weren't any other assistants around. Not one of them. I wouldn't put it past then to be hiding under the counter, not that I blamed them.
I stuck to my guns, though. I told her plainly that I was not going to serve her and she would have to find another assistant. And good luck with that, I thought. The rotten woman swore at me one last time, turned and barged out of the shop, swearing to never return. I'd lost us a customer and I didn't give a damn.
I didn't give a damn until I turned around and saw Mr Revans, the floor manager standing there, looking at me.
"Come and see me after your shift finishes," he told me. "Now I suggest you get busy and start tidying this place up. These shelves are a mess."
Mess was putting it mildly. That woman had been a one-woman wrecking crew. I got busy and started tidying the shelves. Strangely enough, with the woman gone the other assistants were back, and they pitched in with the tidying up.
I spent the rest of the evening sweating over what Mr Revans was going to do. I didn't think he'd fire me for a first offence, but I had been rude to a customer. I fretted and worried and served customers until it was time to shut up shop.
Even then I dithered and delayed, and I think I was the last person in the store by the time I made my way to Mr Revans's office. I knocked, hoping that he'd left, but no such luck. I entered when told to.
"I'm sorry, sir," I said quickly, apologising as soon as I walked into his office. "I screwed up, I know. I was rude to a customer. I'm dreadfully sorry. It won't happen again."
He didn't say anything, just giving me a thoughtful look. The suspense was killing me.
"Um, what are you going to do to me?" I asked, visions of summary dismissal in mind.
""Well, I thought I'd make an object lesson of you," he said quietly. "You know the sort of thing. Strip you, bend you over the desk and spank you, and then screw you until you can't walk straight."
I was appalled. And he said it in such a matter of fact manner. How many other girls had he taken advantage of in this fashion? But if I said no I'd lose my job. Then I thought of my clothes.
Oh my god. My top was new and it had these fragile lacy ruffles on the front. If he went pulling at that he'd tear it for sure. And I was wearing stockings with a suspender belt. Some of the customers wanted to know what they were like so I wore them to show. But the stocking did have a tendency to run. He could ruin them if he tried to take them off.
"Oh, no," I said quickly. "You're not taking off my things. You'd probably ruin them. I can take them off myself."
To demonstrate I was already undoing my blouse as I spoke. Mr Revans looked startled. I didn't care if it shocked him to have me do it myself. They were my clothes and I wasn't going to have him ruin them. I was rolling down my stockings, blushing furiously, when it occurred to me that my undies were a matched set. Light green and heavy on the lace. If he pulled at them he'd tear them, I just knew it. I'd have to take those off myself as well.
I put my clothes neatly to one side and stood there naked. What was I supposed to do now? Just bend over the desk? Mr Revans got out of his chair and walked around the desk and stood in front of me, looking me over.
"Ah, tell me, Cheryl," he said softly. "Did it occur to you that you looked terrified when you came in and maybe I was using a bit of sarcasm to shock you and make you stop and think?"
