Hippie Canyon Vintage Voicings: En Francais

I was straightening the dress rack; what a mess! People can be sloppy. They 'ooh' and 'ahh' over the amazing, magical store filled with beauty and wonder, and the next minute they pull clothes out of the racks and leave them half-cocked on their hangers, or sling the clothes over the racks while leaving their respective hangers swinging in mid-air, supporting nothing. People rave about the vintage pieces from the Victorian era, or dresses from the 1930's, and then try them on and leave them discarded, lying on the dressing room floor. People can be very sloppy. Grown, adult people.

Part of my job is to clean up other people's messes, while maintaining a positive attitude. We want customers in the store, so a positive attitude is a necessary part of the job.

People say some interesting things, also, sometimes simultaneously as they are creating messes, sometimes just in passing.

While I was straightening the dress rack, a man approached me intently. The front door was open, and I was standing behind it, in the corner of the front room. The man came over and leaned on the edge of the door, blocking me between the back of the door and the rack of messy dresses. He was wearing a track suit (seriously) and aviator sunglasses (indoors). He was eating what looked like a coconut Popsicle. He spoke with a French accent.

"Do you have an Indian costume? I need to be an Indian."

"No," I replied. "We only have them at Halloween."

"I need to impress a woman by being an Indian; she sent me on the mission, which I must fulfill in order to..." he trailed off.

"I might be able to refer you somewhere...I've got a business card at the front counter; I'll grab it for you." He stepped aside and let me pass.

I went behind the front counter and squatted on the floor, looking on the shelf underneath for the costume shop business card. The French man came to the side of the counter and waited, leaning on the counter and staring down at me.

"Is it inappropriate to tell a woman she has nice cleavage?" he asked me, while staring at my cleavage from above. I looked down at my own cleavage, and noticed he was getting a pretty good view. I looked back up at him, as I stood up.

"It depends."

"On what?"

"On who the person is, and how well you know them."

"You mean, that it would be appropriate if I knew a woman, and inappropriate if I didn't know her," he said with a thick French twang.

"It might be considered a little 'forward' if you didn't know her." Was he feigning cultural ignorance? I thought about trying to explain that it was a little different to tell a woman she looked good, or pretty, or that vintage 1950's sundress fit her form really well, than to isolate her cleavage specifically, or the space between her breasts, while staring down at her and sucking on a coconut Popsicle, while wearing a track suit and too much cologne.

"You women are so complicated," he snorted.

"Not really, " I responded. "Here's the card for the costume shop. Good luck being an Indian!"

He sauntered out the door, dripping Popsicle juice and cologne behind him.

A few minutes later, a woman came up to the front counter and asked me, "Have you seen a French man in here? I came with him, and I'm not sure where he went."

"Does he want to be an Indian?" I ashed her.

"Yes!"

"I think he's outside, eating a Popsicle,"

She looked relieved, and scurried off to find her suave companion.