Thu Nov 14 2002
There were so many strange, annoying, and unbelievable things that happened during my days in retail that, dear reader, you can expect, over time, more recollections like this.
In case you need a catch-up, I worked in a Roots store in Vancouver at the very start of the 1990's, and previous episodes detailing the methodical and brutal erosion of my humanity were documented here and also here.
. . .
One evening, when it was just me and the Friday night staffers, a woman came in to look at our men's shoes. She was alone, shopping for her husband.
"Can you sell just one shoe?" she asked.
"One pair, you mean?" I replied.
"No-no. No. One shoe. A single shoe. I need just one right shoe," she paused, "my husband has only one leg. It's very difficult to find places that will sell only one shoe. Will you do it?"
Well this was a 'stumper', and a new one on me.
"Well, we've never done that before," I said, looking for the diplomatic channel, "and, unfortunately, that's not really something we can do."
"Well surely," she said, raising her tone a bit, and pausing, I think to gather her argument, "surely there are other amputees out there who could use a left shoe?"
Statistically, I didn't doubt this for a second. I expected there could be legions of left-legged potential Roots customers out there. That wasn't my worry. My worry was finding those people and selling them the perfect match to the one shoe this woman didn't want.
"Well you could always buy the pair and just throw out the left one, right? I mean, you don't have to keep it around," I said, thinking I'd pointed out an obvious solution she'd overlooked.
"Oh. . . you're not understanding. I want to buy one shoe, for half the price of a pair. It's not my problem if you can't sell the left one. I just want the right one."
Conversations in retail often take a jag like this, that, in all your combined lifetimes you could not have predicted.
"Let me understand this. You'd like me to sell you just one shoe, right?"
"Yes."
"But you don't want to pay full price, right?"
"You're catching on!" she chuckled.
"And I will be left with one left shoe, and the burden of trying to sell it to your husband's mirror self, who we should assume is out there, in this city, right now, desiring the other shoe that your husband can't use?"
"Now you're just being abusive," she said.
"Forgive me," I said, because I was being snide. "Let me step back a bit. Have you had any luck buying single right shoes from any other stores?"
She paused. "Well no."
"So what do you do with the left shoes?" I asked
"We give them to the Salvation Army."
"But now you're hoping Roots can - and will - sell you just one right shoe?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, we just can't do that."
The rest is, unfortunately, how most insane retail situations end. It's both extremely entertaining to be witness to, but tedious as hell to be involved in.
"Well. . . this. . . is. . . just. . . nuts!" she started yelling. Before storming out, she added, "Well fuck you and fuck Roots! And you can be good and goddamned sure I will never - I mean never - shop in your shitty little store ever again."
Her patronage was sorely missed.