Yesterday I stopped into the Wet Seal at the mall. (Don't ask for specifics, just know that I'm on a quest for hot pink leggings and I simply can not find what I want.) So I'm standing infront of the leg wear wall, a few selections under my arm and my cell phone in hand. I'm wearing jeans and a shirt, looking less than fashionable as I usually do-read: it's pretty obvious I don't shop in a store like that, let alone work there. I girl in her late teens bellies up to me-I mean right into my personal space-and interrupts my texting by thrusting a package of socks labled (in neon pink, taking up the front) 'Knee High Socks' into m'face.
Girl: Um, like......how high up to like, these go.......on your legs?
Snaps: Ah...well...I don't work here....but I imagine....they go.....to your.....knees.
Girl: *slightly dejected* Oh. Ok. Are....you sure?
Snaps: *tapping package under the KNEE HIGH label* Uh, yea. I'm pretty sure the knee high socks just go up to your knees......they are.....knee socks after all.
Meh. I hate the public.
Girl: Um, like......how high up to like, these go.......on your legs?
Snaps: Ah...well...I don't work here....but I imagine....they go.....to your.....knees.
Girl: *slightly dejected* Oh. Ok. Are....you sure?
Snaps: *tapping package under the KNEE HIGH label* Uh, yea. I'm pretty sure the knee high socks just go up to your knees......they are.....knee socks after all.
Meh. I hate the public.
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