Strongly Worded

Houseware Hell

So this is not what you think. I'm not going to go off on any pithy, petty little retail story. This is no debacle with a placemat. This is no switcheroo with a receipt. This is major.

When I took the job at Houseware Heaven, my main concerns were:
1) Waiting on a higher-up from work, who would (justifiably) feel that I, as director, do not portray our organization in its best light if I am selling coasters for $7.50 an hour.

2) Waiting on this chick from middle school, who was impossibly brilliant, and who undoubtedly has about 16 Ph.D.s by now, and who would spread snooty rumors about me via classmates.com and make pitying remarks about what "potential" I had back then.

3) Waiting on people I know-but-am-not-friends-with who are registering for wedding gifts and who (I imagine in my most self-torturous mode) are going to leave the store and cluck-cluck about how pathetic I am selling housewares on a Friday night when they are going to go home and have sex.

I never even contemplated the heinous situation that occurred today. OK, so remember
the former object of my obsessive crush? The guy I obsessed over for a year and who led me on even while he was on-again, off-again with some secret love interest in New York?

Well, you probably don't remember him, because he doesn't even merit mention in this blog, other than the initial expose. I am very proud to say that I have completely cut off contact with the bastard. I am so damn empowered! Twice in the last six months or so, he has emailed me (one of the emails included a reference to his upcoming move-in with his girlfriend), and I just deleted the messages. Yep. Just hit "delete." No response. Nothing.

Even so, I was not prepared for aforementioned Former Object to stroll into HH this afternoon with a very cute chick on his arm, looking for placemats for their new place. They bought four asian-inspired "Panda" placemats, some very cute napkin rings (who the hell buys napkin rings?), and some fucking "Zen"napkins. "Oh,"I said, all faux-chipper, "Are you having a dinner party?" And they said no, "these are just for us." Subtext: we're all metrosexual and eat on Panda placemats and roll our cloth napkins in napkin rings every day just because our lives are so perfect. Oh, and then after we put the dishes away in the dishwasher before adjourning to the bedroom to have sex.

Apparently I handled this well. My fellow "sales associate" confirmed that I was collected and ultra-friendly and seemed genuinely happy to see that fucker. I'm proud of that.

Posted by Dori at 9:35 PM