"May I help you?": A whole new level

With all the current attention on economic bills and job acts, it seems fitting to call attention to  a little-known congressional act that has been in effect at least as long as I have been shopping independently for clothing, at about 3 years of age (Me: "Me not wear DAT! ME pick out." Mom: "Fine. Here's some money. Bye.").


This act stipulates that salespersons must pester those customers who are "just looking," and steadfastly ignore any who actually desire to be helped. If a customer goes so far as to attempt purchase an item, the salesperson, after ringing up the purchase, is forbidden to tell the customer how much is owed, and is expected to stare at the customer and force him or her to guess the total and hand over an appropriate amount of money. 


The only salespersons exempt from this act, as a group, are those selling appliances. These individuals not only follow you around as you compare various refrigerators or washers but will also, unbidden, come to your house to make helpful suggestions about placement of your new appliance, as well give you advice on any other furnishings you may happen to have lying around. A congressional act is required to get rid of these individuals.


On a recent shopping trip I encountered a salesperson at a clothing store who must have, at one time, worked in appliances, and been an exemplary employee there. She filled my arms with a number of items that she thought I might be interested in, and made helpful suggestions, such as pointing out that the long-sleeve tees were buy one get one half off, and she couldn't help but notice that I was holding only one.


"Why don't I just start a fitting room for you?" she said, and took all the clothes out of my hands again to deposit them in the back until I had satisfied myself -- and more importantly, her -- that there was nothing else I wanted to try on.


When I finally presented myself at the fitting room, and she unlocked it, I found that she had laid everything out as neatly as a personal valet: tops were folded and lay in a neat row on the bench, all exactly the same distance apart and forming a color spectrum from dark to light. The hanging items were all arranged into perfectly coordinated outfits.


I thanked her and closed the door hastily, afraid that she might try to come in and dress me.


She continued her solicitations while I tried everything on. making frequent inquiries about how things were coming along, whether I needed anything in a different size or a different color, any questions about fabric care, fabric construction, choosing appliances, etc. 


I half expected her to offer personalized in-home service to coordinate any new purchases I might make with my existing clothing. Or to lay out my clothes each morning in her meticulous manner. Or to say, "How long have you been wearing THIS?"


In the end, the ratio of wanted to rejected items was roughly 2:367. Feeling extremely guilty at not taking more items, I began to plot how I might slip past her notice. But people of her caliber have a highly developed awareness of customer aversion tactics, and she spotted me immediately at the checkout even though I tried to stay crouched down on the floor, one hand slinking upwards to wave my credit card at the cashier.


"How did we do?" the saleswoman said brightly.


"I...I took a FEW things," I said feebly, and covered up this failure by offering my profuse thanks. 


I slunk out of the store as soon as I could. I did not want to be around when the next customer came in: "Uh, hi, I'm looking for --"


"Find it yourself," my helpful salesperson would probably snarl.


And maybe she'd go back to appliances.