Am I Making Magic at Macy’s?

I can totally understand the Jet Blue pilot  who had to be restrained because of his outbursts.  Last night was my first night working in the women’s shoe department at Macy’s on the strip in Las Vegas, Nevada. I imagined I would have a jolly good time getting to know many new and interesting  people from all over the world and what woman doesn’t love Macy’s shoes?  I thought this commissioned-sales job would be a “slam-dunk.”

I had taken my 15 hours of training and thought I was prepared.  I had my hand-held electronic device that told me if the size and color of shoes were in our stockroom.  The only problem was that being 50-something, I couldn’t quite make-out the words and numbers on the screen.  I did however have my “readers” with me but I wasn’t prepared for how fast I needed to be able to get everything coded in before my shopper had moved on to either another shoe or a faster sales associate.  When I finally thought I had gotten the shoe order into the stockroom, I waited enthusiastically for the shoe box to pop out.  My shopper was either looking at me expectantly holding the wrong show size in her hand or had moved onto look for something else.  I apologized and told her it was my first day.  Her response was, “that’s okay I really didn’t need these anyway.”  My first lost sale.  I am beginning to realize the ADD-shopping patterns of women.  They see something cute and if you don’t immediately get their size and color to them to try on, they lose interest or have moved on to something else….of course that is not true with all of the women.

I had a group of three Spanish-speaking ladies. “Hablo Espanol?” “Si.” I said “Un poquito.”  Patricia, Marta and Katalina had several Macy’s bags and were holding different shoes asking me for their sizes. Aha, I thought, surely I have a few sales here.  I know my numbers in Spanish…uno cinco (5), uno once (11), and uno ocho y media (8.5).  I whipped out my electronic hand-held from the holster wrapped around my waist and began frantically scanning shoes and tapping in sizes.  Okay, I thought, now I have the hang of this but I couldn’t see that well as I was too busy to get my readers on.  When my order came in from the stockroom, I had three boxes of the exact shoe and size.  Of course  I didn’t know that until I came back to the ladies excitedly opening each box for them.  They looked at me rather quizzically.  “Un momento,” I said and ran back to scan and punch in the right size and shoe again.  I came back with the right shoe and size for Katalina but then she asked me for a diez (10)  and not an once (11). I quickly reordered the ten.  By now my size cinco (5) came in and Patricia tried it on and asked her amigas how it looked.  I don’t know what they said but she didn’t get the shoes. In the meantime, my size 8.5 lady saw another shoe being tried on by someone else and she wanted to try that shoe on. At the same time my size 10 and 11, Katalina was asking me something in Spanish and I had no idea what she was asking. “Pelo?” she asked. “Que?, No Se.” Another sales associate who spoke Spanish came over and the three ladies all asked if she could help them instead of me. “No,” she said pointing to me, “she already has got you started.” My ladies were disappointed that they had to stay with this weak-eyed, Spanish-speaking drop-out, but they continued to ask  me for different colors and sizes of shoes.  The other sales associate informed me that “pelo” meant leather.  Katalina was disappointed that the tennis shoes made in China were not leather so she didn’t want them. Meanwhile Marta was still waiting for a different shoe which I thought I had asked for but instead I ordered the same shoe three times.  By now I had about ten boxes of shoes and tissue paper inserts scattered all over the floor. Although my three Spanish-speaking ladies seemed enthusiastic about buying shoes when they came in, I effectively and unintentionally squashed that  enthusiasm and they left with no zappatos. “Gracious, Buenos Noches,” was all I knew to say. I tried to pick up the boxes of shoes and take them back but they were intermingled and box lids were missing and I couldn’t see to know if I had the right brand in the right box.  In the meantime I also had to get out and begin helping more ladies as I had a sales quota to meet.

I did finally sell four pairs of shoes that night, but ended up being 70% short of my sales quota.  I limped out of the store to my car as the shoes I was wearing were not intended to be worn to sell shoes at an incredibly busy and fast-paced shoe store as Macy’s in the Fashion Show Mall on the strip in Las Vegas.  I left mumbling to myself something about the end of the world or was it the end of my shoe-selling career?