I worked for a store in Duluth for several years that sold overstocks, scratch & dent and out-of-season clothes from high-end department stores. I was the manager, so I had to deal with all the "problems" that presented themselves (though I also purchased Coach, DKNY, RL, and tons o' amazing jewelery for oh...practically nothing. Seriously, like $5 Coach purses, so it was worth it.)
And lordy, those pesky problems presented themselves often. I chased shoplifters down the street, had customers threaten & throw things at me, had to kick couples out of the fitting room for confusing it for the boom-boom room, and I have been far more up-close and personal with some shoppers than I most certainly would have otherwise cared to be.
One day, towards close, we devoted retail slaves were congregated up front by the register- doing important things like eating cookies and talking shit about the owners.
We hear what can best be described as a whimpery-squeal from the fitting rooms.
I send one of the minions to investigate (its called delegation, folks). She comes back looking frightened and slightly amused.
"Whiskeymarie, we need your help. She's stuck."
"What do you mean, stuck?"
"Stuck. In a pair of jeans. She put them on & the zipper burst. The button is too tight and it's kind of...tucked in."
"Under the, you know...overhang?"
So I go in the fitting room and sure enough- this size 12 woman has somehow packed herself into a pair of size fours. How the fuck??? I didn't see a can of crisco or a crow bar nearby.
Imagine stuffing a kielbasa into a drinking straw.
I assessed the situation- meaning, I actually gained permission to reach under the belly overhang and attempt to un-do the button- to no avail, unless you count getting to tickle a stranger a high point in your day (which I do).
Wanting to end this quickly, as I had developed a serious case of the giggles which WAS NOT helping the situation one bit, I did what any good, devoted, smart and resourseful retail employee would do:
I cut the bitch out with a pair of scissors. Snip, snip, snip. She was a little freaked out, but once liberated of her denim tourniquet, she was relieved...and understandibly humiliated.
I saw her in her granny panties, and it wasn't good- I can tell you that much.
It was actually kind of fun to do, though. Cutting someone out of a pair of pants.
I didn't make her pay for them either, in case you were wondering. I thought she had paid enough already- she practically sprinted out of the store.
Plus I felt bad because I couldn't stop laughing. At all. The whole time.
So, kidlins, what have we learned today?
#1) A size 12 packed into a size four makes your ass look like this:
#2) Wear nice unders when shopping because no one wants to see these:
Especially not me.
Just to clarify: I in NO way am implying that size 12 is "big" in any way shape or form. The same effect would be had by squeezing a 6 into a zero, a 8 into a 2, a 24 into a 16, etc...
I am just stating the facts as they were presented.
Just know your ass, folks.
Know your ass.
That is all.