Free Retail Hell by Freeman Hall

waiting on her, certainly you must have known too,” said Marsha.
    “Douche doesn’t pay attention on the floor half the time,” said Jules.
    “That doesn’t make her Cammie’s customer,” said Douche.
    “Excuse me, Douche, but
it does
make her my customer,” said Cammie.
    “We really need to set some boundaries,” said Marci.
    “Some people are always out for themselves,” said Marsha.
    “I think people are just jealous of Douche because she’s at the top of her game,” said Tiffany.
    “Jealous? No we’re sick to fucking death of it,” said Cammie.
    “We all have personal customers, Douche. So do you,” said Jules.
    “I’m not talking about my personal customers,” said Douche.
    “Then what the fuck are you talking about? This is bullshit,” said Cammie.
    “I don’t appreciate the awful language, Cammie,” said Marci.
    “There are more professional ways to express yourself, Cammie,” said Tiffany.
    “Is your mother happy that you talk like that? Aagh!” said Douche.
    “I should kick your mother-fucking ass right now, you sharky whore,” said Cammie.
    “THAT’S IT! I WANT YOU ALL TO SHUT IT!” yelled the General.
    Cammie and Douche were about to hit the carpet for a hairpulling wrestling match. Being the newbie and the only man, I stayed out of it, though if called to duty I would have definitely cheated for Cammie and smacked Douche on the back of the head with my chair.
    Judy finally got things settled down and redirected her meeting toward merchandising and the new handbag lines that were coming in. Tempers cooled, and so did my interest as she went into a lengthy discussion about what was going to be hot for spring.
    I nearly went to sleep.
    Even though the department meeting had been some thirteen hours earlier, I couldn’t get it out of my head. The handbag haunting was in full force.
    “
That was my Coach
customer!”
    “
You say everyone is your
customer!”
    “
We need to get the sales up in this department or shifts will be
cut!”
    The voices of Angels and Demons snipping away at each other.
    A fate worse than writer’s block.
    So I did the only thing any writer would have done at that point. Turned off the computer, started guzzling beer, and flipped on
Reno 911.
The soldiers of the Argonne Forest would have to wait another day to meet their monster. I had to get rid of mine first.



Can I Interest You in a Dead Animal Hide Hobo Named Lucifer?
    “Freeman, do we have a Dolly in red?” Jules called out to me from the Corral.
    The place had been a morgue, so we were all on cleaning duty. I had the Allure shop. The Big Fancy’s own brand. Marsha had Juicy Couture, Cammie had Coach, and Jules had the Corral’s countertops. When the phone started ringing, Jules was closest, so she answered. It turned out to be a check from another Big Fancy store. A salesperson wanting this Dolly thing in red.
    I stared at Jules like she was speaking in Arabic.
    “Well, do we? I can’t see from here?”
    No clue what the hell she was talking about. The only person I know named Dolly is the fabulous singing legend, Dolly Parton, and I certainly did not see her in red sitting anywhere in The Big Fancy handbag department.
    “It’s an Allure satchel,” said Cammie from the Coach shop.
    “What’s a satchel?”
    Cammie said, “What the fuck?” and Jules dropped her bottle of glass cleaner. Cammie quickly came over to where I was, reached over on the shelf behind me, and grabbed a red, two handled, midsized Allure handbag off the shelf. “This is a fucking SATCHEL, and its goddamn name is DOLLY. Dude, you should know this!”
    But I didn’t.
    “Hon, you don’t know what a satchel is?” asked Marsha.
    “Umm . . . no . . . Judy never told me about satchels. Is that something in the Handbag Guide?”
    “Shit on a stick,” exclaimed Cammie, “He’s screwed unless we help him.”
    “You got that right, hon,” agreed Marsha. “Poor thing doesn’t even know what a satchel