There’s a shop in my area that specializes in hard-to-find bra sizes, and is also known for carrying these bras (and matching panties!) in colors and prints other than plain white, beige, and black. I went into this shop Saturday to pick up a sports bra I had ordered; as I’m signing in (as the shop requires if you need a fitting room), I’m jolted by a shouted “HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!” Now this is a very small shop, so you get to know the staff there if you’re a frequent customer; I’ve found them all to be sweet, knowledgeable, and not at all pushy…except for the lady who has just bellowed at me, who I’ll call “Dee.”
“YOU HAVEN’T BEEN HERE IN AGES!!!” she shouts as I’m putting the pen back on the table. (I was there last month, ordering the sports bra, but she may not have known this.) “IS THAT YOUR NAME ON THE SHEET??”
Oh boy. Yes it’s my name, you just saw me write it. I explain that I’m in to pick up an order, and to see if by chance any new items have arrived. She directs me to a wall full of a new color; I think I recognize one of the styles, and go over to look. Just to be sure I’m looking at the right style (this bra seems to have a bit more lace trim than some I’ve bought in the past), I pull out the little cards that are given to customers at each visit, which feature a list of bras you’ve purchased by style number and size.
“WHATCHA GOT THERE, LIBRARY CARDS???” inquires Dee, who has worked at this shop long enough to know about the cards. I refrain from commenting, and instead ask about the style number, which isn’t immediately obvious to me on the tag. “OH, THIS ONE IS CARMEN,” she replies, using one of the cutesy names this particular brand uses to identify their bras in marketing materials. “Yeah, but what’s the style number?” I ask. “IT’S CARMEN,” Dee responds. This means nothing to me, since the shop has traditionally recorded purchases based on the style number. I try asking again: “Does it have a number on the tag?” “THIS IS CARMEN,” says Dee, showing me a tag. Ah, there’s the number, just visible under the price sticker. I select my size and, as I turn to head toward the fitting room, notice a display of very pretty new bras from a different brand.
[Now this may come as a surprise to those of you who don’t buy bras, but cup sizes are not standardized. This is a big part of the reason why this shop provides each customer a list of their styles and sizes; for example, I wear a G in one brand, but in another I wear everything from an F to an H depending on the cup style and materials.]
I notice that they really don’t have many of these new bras in my preferred color, but this doesn’t deter Dee, who asks for my size. I tell her it’s a G cup in this brand. “BUT YOU WEAR AN ‘H’ IN THE CARMEN!” she exclaims, not appearing to grasp that the brand I’m looking at now isn’t the same as the one that makes the cutesy-named bras. “THAT’S TOO BIG OF A JUMP!! HERE’S AN ‘H’ JUST LIKE THE CARMEN!!!” I hold up one of my little cards, showing her that yes, I’ve always bought a G in this particular style and brand. “THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT! THIS ‘H’ WILL FIT FINE,” insists Dee. At this point, I’ve had enough; I decline the offered bra, and excuse myself to the fitting room to try on the two bras (both perfect!). Fortunately, Dee had moved on to another customer by the time I emerged, so checkout was the typical quiet and friendly experience.
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