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| If only I was the Criss Angel of retail. |
When I'm not interviewing drag queens, reviewing concerts and rating Santas for Westword, I'm working at Shirt Folding Store. For twenty hours a week, I fold shirts (and, more important, jeans) alongside other part-timers, who in their other jobs might be bank tellers, professional eBay auctioneers, art-history majors and spoken-word artists.
I have held my position at Shirt Folding Store off and on since 2006, and to a surprisingly great degree, have very much enjoyed telling customers how cute she (or he, if/when a man is forced into Shirt Folding Store by his wife/mother/girlfriend to try on clothes) looks in the jeans I have so painstakingly helped them pick out. For a non-commissioned salesperson, I go to great lengths to make sure my customers leave Shirt Folding Store in love (or at least in like) with a perfect pair of jeans. I love my job.
This is why I get so pissed off when I encounter an asshole.
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