The Shoe Doesn’t Fit

(I am in an expensive clothing store with my mother, shopping around for last-minute school clothing. We are in the women’s section and my mother wanders like she normally does while I watch the cart. Suddenly, this lady appears from around the racks and grabs my arm, dragging me to the shoe aisle. She snaps out demands to me, pointing to different shoe boxes and telling me to take them out for her to try on. She is rather brisk, snippy, and rude about my appearance. Finally, she decides on a pair and says I wasn’t very helpful. I have a speech problem. I can’t speak quickly, or rather, timely as everyone would expect. Almost like magic, my mother appears:)

Mother: “It’s time to leave.”

(An actual worker appears:)

Worker: *to the lady* “Can I help you with anything?”

Lady: *huffs and points to me* “She isn’t a very good worker, and didn’t say anything to be friendly as she assisted me.”

(Both my mother and the employee look bewildered before my mother laughs:)

Mother: “Well, she likes being helpful to everybody, even if she can’t say much. I trust she helped you find what you were looking for, even if she isn’t employed here?” 

Lady: *looks shell-shocked before looking to me appallingly* “You don’t even work here?!” 

(I shake my head sheepishly, unable to form a sentence to even describe what is happening. The employee notices this and laughs at the situation.)

Worker: “You thought she worked here? Our uniform does not consist of Metallica T-shirts, shorts, or doodled-on Converse. Our manager would send us out the door!”

(The lady looks so flustered as she storms away without an apology. By that time, however, I manage to compile a sentence:)

Me: “At least you’ll be sent out… in style.”