Justice clothing store is apparently THE place where every eight to twelve year old must shop. My daughters bugged me for a month about this cool interesting store so I finally gave in and we visited this tween sparkled heaven.
Marketing executives did a superb job making all the products shiny in come hither gold and optimistic yellow. Every tee shirt is a blindingly happy shade of neon green or smurf popping blue. What the marketers hadn’t counted on was haughty racist counter staff who, with faux politeness, told me to step aside so she could help the woman behind me who looked more financially secure with her Burberry scarf, crisp brown trench coat and arms filled with long pants, shirts, a jacket, a bath robe, and so many other pieces that her credit card was either about to take a major hit, or she travels with a suitcase packed with cash; oh, and she was white.
I am evil retail fairy. I keep social customs from advancing.
I only had three measly tiny toy thingies for my daughters, all braided and twisted and ethnic we stood in the line waiting for a little piece of glittery joy just like everyone else.
“This lane is closed and I think that woman was in front of you.” Blondie said looking at me and my brood.
That’s when I turned to see Burberry lady who was miles away, her eyes glazed over with retail inebriation, arms overflowing with product yet she was hunched over looking at a key chain display not paying any attention to the line in which the sales woman insists that she is in.
“Okay?” I said calmly as I watched the saleslady walk away pretending to tend to a stray dress someone left behind the counter, refusing to wait on me.
Burberry lady had walked away. She was perusing the display of flipflops on a far off wall.
I stood there lips pressed, conscience of what was happening but keeping my back stiff and reminding myself to breathe. My daughters were with me and getting mad at sales people isn’t something I want to demonstrate. There are far better, worthier skills young black girls need to learn and emulate.
I stood there composedly and talked to my daughters about the fuzzy patterned diary with a lock that they wanted. Maybe we’d come back another time and get those.
Finally, an African American sales lady called to me from a far off counter.
“I can take you over here.”
I went and got checked out by the nice young black girl. I looked over and miraculously the unpleasant counter lady’s line was back open. A customer to her liking had wondered over.
Undercover situations like these happen daily. It is important that we not give them merit by attending to them but sometimes stupidity seeps into your pores and activates an unforgivable venom that must be purged.
With that we move onto better things and pray for God to open the eyes of the ignorant.