The assistant manager had just come by and informed us that one of the two of us would need to straighten the clothing (called zoning) in the women and little girl's section. Several of the associates scheduled for that area had called out, so they needed help from other areas of the store.
The only fair way to choose was to play a round of "Paper, rock, scissors" to see who would spend the day folding clothing and straightening the racks. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should have picked rock.
I trudge across the aisle from electronics over to the little girls clothing.
"Where do you need me?" I ask one of the associates who works in clothing.
She giggles. This is not a good sign.
"Can you...hee, hee...you're not gonna believe this...hee, hee...sorry. All we have left is...ha, ha, ha....sorry, Dave. All we have left is little girl's underwear...ha, ha, ha, ha!" She doubles over laughing.
"Are you serious?" I ask, sure that it's some kind of joke. "No, really. Where do you need me?"
She's still laughing.
"I'm serious...ha, ha, ha...I did everything but the little girl's stuff! You need to zone the little girl's underwear and swimsuits!" She's laughing so hard that she needs to lean against a clothing rack carousel. "Sorry...it's really not that funny....but ha, ha, haaaaa!"
"Why don't you zone girl's and I'll help somewhere else?" I ask.
"I'm going on my lunch break. There's an inspection this afternoon, so it needs to get done." She's wiping tears from her eyes. "Sorry, but it really needs to get done, and I'm all alone in the department."
Great.
So there I am, a 6'0 tall, 365 lb. grown man with a goatee straightening the little girl underwear rack. I'm trying to move fast so I can get out of the section, but as luck would have it, EVERYTHING needs sorting and folding. It can literally take hours to finish. It's not looking good for my ego today.
"Do you have any 'Strawberry Shortcake' panties?" a lady asks.
"Ma'am, I usually don't work in this area. I'm sorry, but I haven't seen any." I say.
"No problem. Just thought I'd ask." she says.
The lady's two-year-old daughter has been sitting in the cart listening to the conversation and staring at me with big eyes.
As I turn back to my panty sorting duties the daughter whispers loudly to her mother, "That man is too big for those panties."
My humiliation is complete.
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