Working in retail sounds like, and sometimes is, a drudge. Day shifts at the mall drag like molasses, with only the occasional mall walker or equally bored soccer mom to break up your day. Canned 80s music on the speakers, the smell of Taco Bell wafting through the air ducts.
Unless, of course, you're employed by the infamous Frederick's of Hollywood. The daily clientele there was a parade of hazy-eyed dancers from the strip clubs in the Quarter, adding to their garter and costume collections. One day, mid-winter, in walked a tall, delicate, cafe' au lait-skinned gentleman in spandex, carrying a supercute purse...
"Hi there! Welcome to Frederick's...what can I help you find?"
"Hey, boo. I needs somethin lacy an...ummmm...paynk."
"Okay...is this a gift?" (Please say yes. Please say yes. PLEASE.)
A bubbly giggle. "Yea, boo! A gif' fo' me!"
(Of course.) "Alllllright. Well. The corsets back on the left wall here are lacy, and we have a few pink lace teddies over here. Are you thinking a hot pink? Or something softer?" (Am I really having this conversation?)
"Whutchoo thaynk would be purttier wit' mah skiyun?"
"Get crazy. Go bright." (What the hell. I'll play along!)
* Insert 45 minutes of hooking and lacing (and UNhooking and UNlacing) corsets, searching for the perfect stockings ("Not dem thaa-haas, tho!"), considering styles of wigs and high heels with each, and whether babydolls are flattering on a man. *
"That'll be $139.78. Have a great day!"
"Oh, boo...I'm havin' a great night!"
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