This past Saturday my old boss and I were rehashing some of our favorite rude customer stories. For the most part the women we deal with are lovely, kind and a delight. However, every once and while you get them on a bad day (or a bad year/life) and watch out. Like the woman who once came into the store and one of my colleagues approached her to help her with her product selection and innocently asked, “Are you doing ok?’ to which the customer responded, “NO! No, I am not ok! I am miserable and tired and my husband is an ass, what do you care!” Oy! My poor young colleague literally scuttled back to the stockroom and hid until the woman left. Then there are the women who literally break down sobbing over their beloved lipstick/blush/eyeshadow being discontinued. They go through all the stages of grieving , shock (“But I just go it a few months ago!”), disbelief (“I bet Neiman’s will have it!), fear (“What will I do! What will I wear?!”), crying (Seriously) then finally anger (“What do you mean? This is unacceptable!”). Anger at you. Like you mix up these potions in your kitchen and one day you woke up and decided you didn’t feel like cooking up their favorite lipstick anymore. Too bad. It is all your fault and she is PISSED! That’s when your years as being a makeup artist/therapist kick in and you talk her down by wooing her with another shade that is “Just as flattering, perhaps even more so! Look at how your eyes pop! Your skin glows! I think you’ll prefer this color to your old one. Yes, I definitely do!”
Another favorite (and by favorite I mean dreaded) customer is the over-sharer. They are attractive, polished, they have it all, right? So you seat them and you are pleasantly showing them the products that will work for them and delving into the makeup application when as you apply the foundation they drop the following bomb: “My husband is cheating on me” or “I’m cheating on my husband” or “I thought the hot tub would finally get him interested in me sexually again, add a little spice!” or my favorite, “I never did anal before I was married but now I feel like I have to.” (True story folks) Now, as makeup artists we are divided into two camps here, some makeup artists relish this sort of talk, they can get some juicy gossip while endearing themselves to the client and pretending to be their besty and confidante. Me? I am in the “Oh no she didn’t” camp. I mentally shut down and in response to their admission that they are cavorting with the pool boy will retort, “This foundation is triple pigmented and water-based, so you’ll find it will even you out without looking or feeling too heavy” (smile, blink blink) I get all Stepford wife on them. I can’t deal. I don’t want to know this and truthfully, you shouldn’t want me to know this about you. I like knowing your favorite colors, what makeup suits your routine and what your skin issues are. That’s it, end of story.
Then there is Madame Condescension. This was a type of client that always got my hackles up and would make me truly irate, probably due to my own insecurities and feelings regarding my self worth. She was the one who would breeze in and wave off your polite offers for assistance. Then when you turn your back would bark, “Hellooooo, can you help me???”. Then she would say something vague about wanting a red lipstick. (Inevitably at some point her cell phone WILL ring and she WILL answer it and attempt to simultaneously snap orders at you while carrying on an in depth, oh so important conversation with the person on the other end of the line) So you pull out your favorite, sure fire, can’t miss, perfect red lipsticks. And she systematically checks them all off, “Too brown, too pink, too purple, too red, NO NO NO! I want a RED. A real RED!” You look down at your assortment of “real reds” and are baffled. OKAY, what about this one, “NO!! Here, let me look. There, that is more like it.” As she smugly holds aloft a bright hot pink lipstick. If I were feeling combative that day I may crisply reply, “I thought you said RED, not PINK. That is pink.” However I usually wanted to end the abuse as soon as possible and would mock cheerfully reply, “Ok, I’ll pull that color for you.” It was Madame Condescension that made days go from tiring to exhausting, she was the one who made me feel like I wasn’t a trained, professional makeup artist but instead a lowly shop girl. And isn’t that exactly what she wanted to do? Because happy, content, fulfilled people don’t abuse other people. Madame Condescension was also fond of sitting in your chair and after you had done her full face of makeup would tell you that she doesn’t like it and to start over. Then while you’re removing all that makeup would chirp at you, “Isn’t your job fun? So fun! You get to play with makeup all day.” Without the slightest trace of irony. She actually believed you LOVE doing her makeup. Twice. While your hands are trembling because you are resisting the urge to poke her eye out with a Q-tip.
Then of course there is the straight up lunatic. Like escaped from the asylum and made a beeline for your store lunatic. One day it happened to be empty in the boutique save for me and my coworker Courtney. In waltzes a woman who looks normal enough, she doesn’t look homeless/drunk/crazed. Looks can be deceiving. She crosses the threshold to the store and yells “OWWWWW!” while clutching her stomach and lurching forward. Naturally I am alarmed and walk up to her and ask her if she’s alright. “FINE! I’m fine. Where are the shampoo’s?”. After I point her in the right direction she of course proceeds to open and smell ALL if them. Whatever. I am keeping a wide birth. “Can I try this. Like now?” She hollers across the store. “Uhm no, I can give you a sample to try at home if you like.” She grumbles some unintelligible response back and thankfully another customer comes in and Courtney and I are both being overly solicitous with the new lady to avoid interacting with the lunatic. Eventually she tires of inhaling every product in the store and heads for the door (Thank God). There she pauses and actually says, “Bye, thank you!” So not wanting to leave things on a sour note I smile and say back, “Bye! Thank YOU!” To which she replies over her shoulder as she’s leaving, “Fuck you ASSHOLES!” Wow. Again, true story folks.
Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t all bad. I had lovely clients and rewarding experiences, some of those women I am still in touch with and work with periodically. However, it is the bad days we remember most vividly it seems, and of course they make for the most spectacular stories. Keeping my two Saturdays a month not only allows me to see old friends and colleagues as well as get my makeup fix, it also reminds me how blessed I am to be able to take this “time-out” at this point in my life. Being able to go into a store, sell for the day and leave without all of the stress of sales goals, daily office politics and making ends meet has been so liberating. I actually have fun! At work! If I get one of those crazy ladies coming in and zapping my energy it doesn’t totally drain me, I am able to shake it off once she walks out the door. If only I was able to take this approach for the last 11 years when this was my day to day life. I guess that is the challenge, “to work as if we don’t need the money”, it is so difficult though to remember that old adage and live by it when rent is due and the bills are piling up. For now I am going to enjoy my time with Terrbear, thank my lucky stars that I have such an amazing and caring family supporting my decision and that I have the luxury to take this time to step back and start over. And of course that I get to keep my cosmetics discount too!