The Shoe Department

"If I have to measure another nasty foot, I'll scream!" I said to the co-worker beside me. She simply nods, and rolling her eyes empathetically, walks toward an impatient customer who has said, "Excuse me!", 101 times.

I sell shoes. It puts food on the table. Every day, my co-workers and I fantasize about walking out of this miserable job. We'd all love to quit, but none of us want to be homeless. I look at my watch and think to myself, God, 3 more hours.

I stand behind the counter and watch as a girl, who clearly has a size 9 foot, tries to squeeze her feet into an 8. I laugh to myself, thinking I wish I could tell her that her fat feet will never fit those shoes. My co-worker glances at me; she is thinking the same thing.

A customer approaches me and asks about athletic shoes. "What is the difference between a walking shoe and a running shoe?" Let me think about this one... I answer, "A walking shoe is for walking and a running shoe is for running." The customer just looks at me, bewildered. I have an uncontrollable urge to roll my eyes, so I turn around. The customer walks away. She'll probably go complain to the manager; I don't care.

A man comes up to the checkout with a clearance shoe. "How much is this?" I love this question as much as the athletic shoe question. I answer, "What does the pink ticket say?" He looks at the box and walks away. Again, I roll my eyes. My co-worker glances at me; she is thinking the same thing. I look at my watch. Only 15 minutes has gone by.

The girl with the fat foot finally realizes she needs a bigger size. She asks for an 8 and a half. I bring her a 9. She tries them on, and notices they are a 9. She insists on an 8 and a half. I want to pull my hair out. She buys the 9.

An older woman approaches me. I recognize her. She tries on 101 pairs of shoes and never buys anything. She asks, "Do you have this shoe in a 6?" I walk back to the stock room. The shoe she needs is on the very top shelf, 8 feet up. I tell her I don't have it in her size.

A man is looking at the work boots. I ask if he needs help. He says, "I need this boot in size 10, 3 pairs if you have them." My day is looking good; I try to figure out what I'll make in commission as I walk back to get them. We have no size 10 in stock. I want to cry.

A woman comes up to the counter with 3 screaming children. "Could you measure their feet for me?" I look at my co-worker, who has turned around quickly to help someone else. I look at my watch. 2 more hours. As I lean down to get the measurer, I roll my eyes. My co-worker glances at me as I walk by; she is thinking the same thing: I sell shoes. It puts food on the table. I want to scream.