So I’m not militant about this, but I prefer not to live as a walking advertisement. In general I do not spend my money on t-shirts that have a company name. I also have a strong sense that my purchases communicate values, so I communicate with those with whom I do business – much to the mortification of a teenager near and dear to me.
Today this looked like this:
The roomy fitting room had a bench, but the staff person said a second person is not allowed to go in.
As I smiled, I commented, “If parents are the ones making the purchases, maybe some hospitality could be extended.”
Another mother in a separate fitting room from her daughter piped up her related comments.
He smiling said, “It’s not up to me.”
I understandingly nodded, and said, “Yes, I know, but maybe you can pass on the comment.”
The teen I was with chose to be deaf to my comments.
Then we waited in a lengthy line for check out. A big sale was on, and we had found jeans that fit 50% off. No small feat. I had plenty of time to notice that the bags from the store had shirtless young men or a couple expressing affection better expressed by married people in private. So when the clerk begins to bag the purchases, I asked, “Do you have a plain bag?” Poor young man, he looked befuddled at me, looked for someone to help him, and then told me these are the only bags I have. Teen behind me is making noises that mean I beg you not to mortify me.
I looked for a comment card. None available.
I would have asked for a manager, but at the moment the teen was more important to me.
From what I am told, I am one in a million customers who would even care. I do care. I don’t want anyone exploited – even a now well off Californian young man, but apparently not enough to forget the on sale jeans.