Working at Abercrombie and Fitch

Working at Abercrombie and Fitch may seem like the kind of job that is full of glamour and tight, ass-hugging jeans. But beneath the portrayed glamour is a job that takes patience and self-restraint. I could be literally in the middle of fixing a stack of clothes, and then all of a sudden, a cougar comes out from the fog of cologne and haze of spotlights to disrupt my folding and fuck up the pile! Then she will ask me if she gets a discount because she is a beautiful woman. At this point, I am usually thinking of ways to strangle this woman without anyone seeing or noticing, but instead I smile and say something like, "Oh, unfortunately we don't do that here." But what I really want to say is, "Bitch! Get your wrinkly, old hag hands off of me and go shop at Nordstom's! You might find what you are looking for there!" The worst is the teenage crowd. I very often have the thirteen year old girls with braces follow me around the store, whispering sweet nothings from afar. Then when I turn around to say something, they smile at me and I am able to see all the way down there throats because the braces have yet to fix their gapped teeth.

In the store, it is pretty much a fucking swimming pool of cologne. It seeps into all of your cracks and crevaces no matter how much you cover up. And right as the cologne begins to burn your eyes, your ears begin to bleed from the Whitney Houston remixes. I would quit my work, but the women keep me there. I have no problem stinking like hell with cologne that sends the "I'm gay" signal. It all is worth it in the end.