When someonecomes up to
you in Walmart and asks you where the light bulbs are, the first thing you have
to ask yourself is, ”What the hell am I wearing?”
-by Alan Vetter
Naturally
I took issue with the lady who perceived me as an "Associate" or "Team
Member" and who had the gall to ask me this question, but in the long
run I guess it’s
better to be mistaken for an employee than an actual customer. I’ve seen the “People of Walmart” web site,
and I know the type of riff-raff that place attracts. Most of those folks are one
chromosome away from running a Ferris wheel. I have an image to uphold, so whenever
I leave the house, even if it’s just for a quick errand into town, I make sure
that I’m not wearing anything with a sequined teddy bear or an American flag plastered
on the front, or worse...sweat pants, Crocs and a dashiki.
Unless I’m ocean side, and need to make a quick stop to buy
a kite or shark repellant, I also avoid wearing sandals, baseball caps,
sleeveless shirts or those shorts/pants amalgamation that are neither. Shpants
is what I call them and I leave that fashion choice to my mom.
I take the same precautions when I fly. I wasn’t around
during the golden age of air travel, when passengers actually dressed and acted
like human beings for the occasion, but when they stumble across my body next
to the black box, they’re not going to find my corpse wearing a T-shirt that
says, “F.B.I. -Female Body Inspector”.
I actually saw that shirt on a frat douche in Vegas once.
The only thing worse than being stuck in an elevator with that guy, would be being stuck in an elevator with the girl who bought him that shirt. While I’m not
making the cover of Esquire, all in all I strive to look as good as I can
without putting on a tie
So there I was, dressed in my standard, “gotta get some
stuff” garb. I wasn’t greeting anyone or shelving anything. I was just doing my
best to weave through the throngs of humanity on my way to electronics, when I
was approached by a lady who somehow felt that I was the best candidate to
answer her query.
What bothers me is that whenever I need help finding anything, whether it’s a Starbucks in another
city, or when I’m just looking for say….light bulbs, I do a bit of preemptive
evaluation of my prospective counsel. I size up my mark and look for a clue as
to whether or not this is the best person to help me out. Am I going to get the
answer I was looking for, or should I just go ask a toaster?
The way she asked wasn’t even phrased in a manner that might
have suggested there was a possibility
that I didn’t work there. She didn’t say, “Excuse me, you wouldn’t happen to
know where I could find light bulbs would you?”, insinuating that maybe I had shopped
there once before and at some point found the need to buy light bulbs myself. There
was none of that. It was a direct question posed to a person who she was
convinced worked at Walmart, as in, “Where are the light bulbs, sonny?”
This happened sometime last summer. During the following
months I didn’t give it much thought aside from the occasional, brief mental replay
as I tried to figure out my wardrobe problem. I pretty much forgot about the whole
episode until a few weeks ago when I found myself in the same situation once
more. Unfortunately this time...the tables were turned.
The debacle happened one morning at a hotel I was staying
at. I refuse to drink the shwag that hotels try to pass off as
"coffee", so I’ve gotten into the habit of bringing my own French
Press on the road with me whenever the band has an out of town gig. For those
unfamiliar with the device- it’s a brewing method by which you steep the
grounds in a glass pot, and then press them down with a screened plunger type
device. It lets the coffee granules have some quality playtime with the water, giving
it the powers of a mild hallucinogen.
One morning after my daily plunge, I realized that the
coffee accouterment tray in my hotel room had only two tiny creamer containers.
I don’t get it. They give me two dozen pillows, but barely enough half &
half to fill a shot glass.
It’s 10 AM. I figure housekeeping has already started
making their rounds, so I leave my room on a cream crusade, and immediately spot
the gray, industrial monstrosity of a cleaning cart parked haphazardly in front
of room 227 down the hall. As I approached, I noticed the housekeeping lady
person woman girl going into the room, so I called out to her- “Excuse me, do
you have some extra cream by any chance?” She tilted her head and looked at me
with the perplexed gaze of a puppy looking at itself in the mirror, at which
point I realized that her English might not have been up to snuff. ‘Remember
your Spanish’ I said to myself...‘Remember your Spanish’ So I ask... “Mas leche
por favor?”
Now I'll admit that my Spanish is pretty bad, but at 10 in
the morning I’m barely making sentences in any
language. It was then that she turned to me and said, “I heard you the first
time, but I’m not the housekeeper.” at which point she smiled, entered her room
and closed the door.
&#$*! me. My mind immediately went back to the day I
was mistaken for a 50 year old stock boy at Walmart. My first inclination was
to ask myself why I am such a moron, but then I realized that what I just did
in comparison to the light bulb lady was an acceptable and innocent mistake.
I did my job. I examined and evaluated the scenario. I
appraised the details and circumstances of the scene to the best of my ability.
There was a reason I didn’t ask her, “Excuse me, are you with housekeeping?” Anyone
would have surmised the same. It was early in the morning, she was entering a
hotel room wearing a dark, uniform-like, polyester shirt, and the cart was right in front
of her door. What am I supposed to think? All the signs pointed to
"Housekeeping".
When I see a little girl wearing a tiara and a nice dress,
I don’t automatically say, “Over what monarchy do you rein your Majesty?” I
look around. Do I see cake? Is there a clown nearby? Are there any other little
urchins running around? I take all circumstances into account, evaluate the scenario
and make an assumption accordingly.
That morning at the hotel I did my homework. I took a few
calculating moments but unfortunately failed the test due to several weird
coincidences. The lady at Walmart didn't do any of the mandatory work before approaching me.
So here’s my advice. Be careful when venturing out into
the world. People are too quick to jump to conclusions without doing the required
math. In the future, if the lady in room 227 doesn’t want to be mistaken for a
maid, she shouldn’t wear a brown nylon blouse or be milling around the
housekeeping cart in a hotel hallway that early in the morning.
And the next time I'm just getting a few things from
Walmart and don't want to be mistaken for an employee, I'll think twice about
walking around the store with the mop
I intend to purchase.
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