1. I don’t like standing up… in heels… with no real purpose, other than to talk to people who don’t want to be talked to. (The curt I’m fine, just looking, let’s me know they hate me and will only start liking me if, and only if, they need a size or color they can’t find.)
2. I don’t like convincing people to buy things at ridiculously high prices that will be on sale for ridiculously low prices tomorrow.
3. I don’t like pretending that I care… when I don’t.
4. I don’t even fold or hang my own clothes (unless of course it’s time to write my epic screenplay)
5. Store managers always have more problems than the President – (she’s convinced of this, we haven’t actually talked about it, but I can tell.  She goes through a pack of cigs an hour and is falling out of a double zero Ursula pant.)
6. War, famine, H1N1… and how many boyfriend blazers did you sell today?
7. It just ain’t me.

Instead it’s resurrecting my instinct to buy things, to spend money, to come out of my creative hovel and look… presentable, more than presentable – incredible.  After starting this job, I am more inclined than ever to want to hear things like: You look fabulous.  Where did you get that? You always look so great.

Apparently this is how my writer’s angst and insecurity translate in the world of fashion. So here I am, pot nor piss, cruising Oak Street, looking for what, I don’t know… maybe a button – a button, I might be able to afford.  But really, I’m just wasting time that could go towards making money instead of spending it.

That was the plan: take any job. make a little money. spend free time writing.  be utterly fulfilled.

I hadn’t anticipated that as soon as the prospect of a paycheck (regardless of how paultry) came into play, I’d be filling up electronic shopping carts faster than a Kardashian marriage will likely end in divorce.

Chicago… we have a problem.

1. I got the job
2. I get a 50 percent discount on the clothes

The bad news is:

1. It’s only part time
2. The hourly wage is not even designed to support a household of one
3. Based on this wage, the store’s employees are clearly NOT the target demographic
4. Employees are only allowed to wear the store’s current line
5. A new line comes out every month, which means an employee must use her 50 percent discount to obtain a new wardrobe monthly
6. 50 percent off of a lot of money is still a lot of money
7. I’d basically be paying to work here

The not so bad news is:

1. I’m already broke
2. I have to shop
3. There’s already plenty to write about in all this nonsense, and I haven’t even started yet

But yesterday I thought differently, fed up with my failed career in television documentaries (BORING), I decided to take a leap of faith and try my luck in fashion.   Not exactly fashion… more like retail… but it’s a paycheck.  And it makes sense, it fits most all of my current requirements:

1. they’re hiring

BONUS: Clothes, lots of pretty clothes

I stepped into this store, full of clothes I can no longer afford to buy, and I was transformed.  A rush came over me,  touching the clothes, loving the clothes, WANTING THE CLOTHES.  I felt like such a Carrie – in a Chicago minute I became THE CLICHÉ.

After a summer of spending virtually nothing on clothes and having no job to spur on that age old notion of a “back to school” shopping spree, I felt naked… like a pauper.  Even if I should get this retail job, which I think I will (and a new wardrobe to match, thanks to an employee discount) what will I wear on my feet?

ENTER MACY’S

Now, I had to know Macy’s wasn’t just being nice to me.  After reading the fine print, I realized they were enticing me to use my Macy’s card, which I never do.   They couldn’t have predicted a better scenario than this one.

So I headed to the burbs to avoid the city’s riDICKulous sales tax.  Fell in love with a pair of boots that would be perfect for my potential new job – BUT of course it was the last pair and had a scratch.  I made a little stink about it, they tried to buff out the scratch and did a pretty decent job of getting rid of it.  They also found 3 pairs on State St.  But because I was adamant about not wanting to pay the city sales tax, they offered me a measly 10 percent off on the shoe if I bought it there.

My boyfriend, helpfully mentions that I’m going to scratch em up anyway. But that’s the point – I want to scratch them, especially if I’m paying charging my future hard earned dollars.

But alas, he of course, is the Clyde to my Bonnie… and he coolly tells the sales associate that I’ll take them for 15 percent off.  And she agreed.  Who knew you could haggle at Macy’s?  Then he tells her that I’ll be using my 20 percent off savings card, as well.  I think my receipt said my total savings was something like $50.

Scratch? What scratch?

So maybe Macy’s suckered me.  But I think Clyde and I suckered them a little too.