I work on Friday and plan to meet her and her family for dinner. The day begins miserably. Another $8,000 in returns.
I need to clear about $9,000 in sales just to be paid minimum wage. That's what I earned last week, and that's what I'll earn this week if I'm lucky. It's this about the job that I hate. Work really really hard and think you're doing well, only to be surprised when you find out that a couple of customers have returned everything they recently (or, in many cases, not so recently) purchased. It's the only job I know of where you can unknowingly, and with zero control, lose money unexpectedly.
And when it's slow, the day just drags. Today is one of those days. But at least there's dinner with M and her family at eight. Her son Sam who, among his many great traits, knows all the great restaurants in the city and how to order for large groups. He's chosen Il Gattopardo, an excellent Italian restaurant not far from work, in a charming townhouse.
Around seven, I have $2100 in. That's pretty dreadful. Especially against all the returns I have. I'm thinking of going down to make-up to maybe have the beauty experts hide my exhaustion. But then I start helping two customers.
And a little over an hour later, I've added $8,000 to my daily total. And it's this about the job —the unexpected big sales from appreciative customers — that I love.
I'm thrilled, but now running very late. It's eight, and I still have to: prepare six items for shipping, clean out two dressing rooms that are filled with clothes, and return the tried-on pieces to the right areas.
I get to the restaurant 45 minutes late, but definitely with no regrets.
M and her family are already seated. In front of my chair is a covered plate, hiding a full-meal's worth of appetizers including prosciutto, octopus, burrata cheese, tomatoes, and little meatballs. And if that's not enough, we also order a salad of cucumbers and tomatoes for the table, along with two different pasta dishes. All this before we even order our main courses.
Everyone gets something different. I choose the branzino; it is simply prepared, fresh, gigantic, and excellent.
We have a quiet table in the back of the restaurant and next to us is a loud, boisterous, and pretty obnoxious group of adults. The f-word frequently punctuates their conversation, and at one point, it looks like one of the guys is having a seizure. He starts jerking around in his seat and making inarticulate guttural noises. It's scary, until they all start laughing.
We order desserts, all of which are great (my favorite being the warm zabaione with fresh mixed berries). We are surprised by an extra dessert, sent over by our neighbors as way of an apology.
Before leaving, the waiter takes a group photo, and my friend asks not to be shown (though I have no idea why; she looks great).
We finally say our good-byes after eleven.
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