In Beyonce’s “If I Were a Boy” music video, she pretends as though she is a police officer who turns off her phone and tells everyone it’s broken so they think she is sleeping alone. She puts herself first and makes the rules as she goes. Basically, she is a bad ‘A’ chick.
I happen to be just as bad ‘A’ as Beyonce.
The snow was heavily drifting on my way to work on Monday morning. Eight a.m. felt way too early to be completely cute, with hair straightened and Rock Revival jeans pressed. But I figured that this is the kind of thing divas must do. The work day went smoothly and it was even a quick one. I was a selling machine. Need new jeans? No problem, make it 2 pairs. You already have perfume? Well smell this. Yeah, I agree, you can’t have too much perfume. Oh my shirt? Yes, you can find it right over on that rack! Monday was turning out to be a superb day and I was ready to head on back to Rexburg. My shift was rearing to a close when an obnoxious group of 15-year-old hoodlums entered my Buckle store. I smiled sweetly and politely welcomed them. One girl gave me an “I am a snotty sophomore and I am intimidated by you but I’m not going to show it” look as she lifted one eyebrow, looked me up and down, and said “Hi.” Oh the life of a retail worker. I have to put up with this kind of crap everyday. But as I said before, Monday was a great day and nothing was going to get me down. Fifteen minutes of their lingering presence passed, picking up shirts and then throwing them, down making various heaps of disaster. Slow, meditative breathing was the only thing keeping me from shooting them nasty ‘stank’ eye looks. Two of the girls approached me and asked if they could share a dressing room. I looked at their shirt and hoodie choices, all entailing of the Sinful brand ranging from 60 to 100 dollars an item.
“Yeah right like they’ll be able to buy these,” I unconsciously thought. I unlocked the nearest dressing room and let them occupy it. After ten minutes of their irritating giggles, I suddenly realize that the sensor beeper at our entrance is obtrusively blaring. I shoot my teammates worried glances as if saying, “Hello? What should we do?” They go about their work, shrugging their shoulders as if to let it go. NO. Not this time. I sprint out of the store and see those two annoyances rushing down the mall. They make it halfway to the end when I catch up to them and yell, “HEY GIRLS, our sensor went off in the store and I just need to check your bags. It’s my job.” They exchange timid glances with each other as I reach for the first girl’s purse and unzip it. Three Sinful shirts are cozily staring back at me, sensors still intact. I say not a word as I grab the next purse. Alas, a Sinful sweatshirt is peeping out at me. “You girls need to come back with me,” I say as I take their purses and the stolen merchandise back into the store. “Oh my gosh, I seriously don’t know how that got in there! That is so weird!” said one of the juveniles. My heart is racing as I approach my Assistant Manager and tell him the news. He takes over from there and the three disappear into the backroom as the Mall Cop is being informed of this event.
I caught two shop lifters. I was FBI worthy. I was a bad ‘A’ chick.
My coworkers were proud of me, and even slightly jealous, for this act of community duty earned myself a 100 dollar bonus for stopping such a crime. You can call me lucky, you can call me fortunate, you can even call me a superhero. Oh, the life of a diva. So many expectations to meet, so little time.