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Health & Fitness

Oprah & Me: Forever Soulmates

Some people look at the latest cover of “O Magazine,” and they only see a black woman with really big hair. I don’t. I look at that photo of the wealthiest woman in America on the cover of her very own magazine and proudly gush, “There’s my soulmate!”

So how did it happen that a black billionaire and this white non-millionaire could develop such a special spiritual bond?

Three little words: Crappy Customer Service.

Uber crappy. Super crappy. The kind that makes you angry, then brings burning tears to your eyes.

Oprah & Me: we’ve both experienced major disrespect from retail fascists and we’re both ready to kvetch about it. Who knew we’d ever have this much in common? What a concept. What a strange, unacceptable, almost unbelievable reality for us shoppers as we move into the 21st Century World Bazaar.

Oprah’s unexpected invalidation occurred a few weeks ago when she traveled to Zurich, Switzerland, for the wedding of superstar Tina Turner. While my soulmate was there, she tried to buy an expensive designer handbag but couldn’t. The sales associate at this obscenely upscale shoppe actually refused to show her the “Jennifer Anniston” design by Tom Ford because it cost $38,000.

Now for the wealthiest woman in America, that price was easily affordable. According to the televised interview Oprah gave on  “Entertainment Tonight,” though, the sales associate wouldn’t even let her look at the handbag. Or even touch it. In fact, this associate actually told her that the crocodile-leather designer bag she liked “cost too much,” then added, “You will not be able to afford that.”

Ever graciously determined, Oprah kept requesting to see the over-glorified handbag. And the sales associate kept refusing to let her take a closer look at it. (A similar thing happened to Jasmine Guy on an old episode of NBC-TV’s “A Different World.” But no one ever thought that art would actually imitate real life with Oprah.)

Needless to say, the snooty Swiss shoppe easily lost $38,000 in just a matter of minutes, thanks to that NO SALE. But nobody’s talking about the poor sales technique shown by the shoppe’s employee. No, Oprah and a lot of other observers (like me) are scratching their heads over the blatant racial discrimination involved here.

Even the Swiss government has validated Oprah’s claims of racism. Associated Press reports that, in 2012, the Swiss government appointed a Commission to investigate the discrimination that foreign visitors sometimes endure. The Commission found that “people who visit Switzerland as tourists, or who seek asylum here, and people of a different skin color” are confronted with “xenophobia and racism in certain areas of life.”

Like shopping for a purse?

I don’t work in retail anymore, but I did work in that field long enough to know that most of the people who own and operate various stores we shop at are jerks. They’ve been fleecing customers for so long that they’re afraid of retaliation. Too many retailers actually believe their own customers can keep them from making profits.

Remember when the pervasive motto was The customer is always right? Now the customer is the enemy.

On the lower echelons of retail, the retailers are afraid of shoplifting. They’re afraid their customers are going to steal something that rightfully belongs to them. Go into any dinky convenience store and experience the fear firsthand. The clerks aren’t worried that you’re going to pull out a gun and empty their register. They’re worried you’re going to snatch a Slim Jim without paying for it.

On the upper echelons of retail, however, a greater fear of profit-loss-through-customer exists.

At that level, retailers aren’t as worried about shoplifters as they are about their paying customers. They want you to buy their expensive -- often over-priced -- merchandise, but they’re afraid they won’t make any money. They’re afraid your check (or cheque, as they say uptown) will bounce. Or, the credit cards you use will turn out to be stolen.

The more exclusive and expensive the merchandise, the greater the retailer’s fear of getting ripped off by their own customers.

That’s why the sales associates in high-end retail are always trying to “size up” their customers. They continually play a little game called  How much money does this one have? It’s an illogical, unscientific game based largely on obvious visual cues. The first most obvious clue is skintone.

In their little salesworld, any non-white shades are immediately suspect. Why? Because they really believe white people are the ones with all the money. They really believe that white people  -- not the black or brown or red or yellow people -- are the only ones who can afford to buy their stuff. So the white customers get all their time and attention. These biased sales associates don’t even want to waste their time waiting on non-white customers. Or even showing them expensive merchandise.

But what happens when these prejudiced associates assume a white person like me has big bucks just because of skintone -- and then discover that this average white customer couldn’t afford a tube of Oprah’s toothpaste?

Let the kvetching begin! And please note: As usual, this writer isn’t using real names or descriptions in this narrative of a real-life incident.

One summer afternoon just a couple of months ago, my BFF and I decided to delay our usual coffee run so we could finally check out that jewelry store next door to Baristas R Us.

I’d never been in this store before, but curiosity got the best of me. I wanted to see with my own eyes what a chocolate diamond actually looked like. Especially since this jeweler with its chain of retailers nationwide had been inundating the airwaves with its advertisements.

In the TV commercials, all these women kept cooing about how their men went to this jeweler and got them such fantastic presents. So I wanted to see firsthand what kind of jewelry they carried. I just wanted to browse. Didn’t figure anyone would object to that.

After all, there weren’t any signs in the window that warned, “ALL YE WHO ENTER MUST BUY A DIAMOND PENDANT.” No security guard blocked the entrance and demanded the latest balance on our checking accounts, either. We figured the store would welcome people who wanted to look around. We were right.

Almost as soon as we entered, attentive employees began coming over and asking how they might be of service to us.

Can I show you anything today?
Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Diamond bracelet?
Besides the perfunctory No thanks, just looking, I gave the helpful employees additional info.

I told them all (at various intervals) that I appreciated their interest. “But we really were just looking. Just browsing. We weren’t planning on buying anything today. We’ve just heard so much about your store and these chocolate diamonds that we wanted to come in and look around. We’ve never been in this store before...”

No one objected. All of the employees seemed to understand that we had no intention of buying anything. Except one. Except this one young, perky saleswoman who wanted to engage me in pleasant chatter and show me things from the locked cases.

Despite my polite but firm assertions that I merely wanted to look, she continued her passive-aggressive sales pursuit.

While BFF became absorbed in wristwatches by the front entrance, I got to hear the history behind the mysterious chocolate diamonds. Then she threw me a curve.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard about this,” she began, “but the firm we buy our chocolate diamonds from is coming here for an event show. You need a special invitation for it, though. So if you want to go, let me know. I can send you an invitation and information about it.”

Once more, I had to remind her that I hadn’t been planning on buying anything here.

“It’s something to think about,” she replied.

I thanked her for giving me such great service and helpful gift ideas. “But,” I said, “ I was just looking.”

Just as I was turning to leave, she noticed my ring. “Is that an aquamarine?”

I nodded.

“I have one, too,” she smiled. “They’re really beautiful. Because their color is so transparent, they do need to be cleaned often so they can capture and reflect the light. Would you like me to clean it for you?”

“Thanks, that would be great,” I told her. “But I don’t want to take up any more of your time since I’m just looking around and not buying anything.”

“Oh, no trouble at all,” she smiled. “No problem. I’d be happy to clean it for you. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Well, OK, I thought. A lot of jewelry stores do complimentary cleaning on rings now. As long as there weren’t a lot of other customers around who needed her attention, I figured I wasn’t making her go the extra mile for a no sale.

Then those minutes turned into a long, extended cleaning effort. Was my ring really that dirty?

Little did I know that Jewelrygirl was doing some passive-aggressive information-gathering in plain sight.

About the time I considered forming a search party for her, BFF walked over.

“Have you seen that girl who was talking to me?” I asked. “She was supposed to be cleaning my ring, but I don’t know where she went.”

“Over there,” he pointed, “behind that microscope.”

Although her back was turned, there was no mistaking that froth of orange-gold hair piled atop her head. She was the same girl who’d been spending so much time with me. When she turned, I could see her using a classic jeweler’s loupe AND high-tech microscope as she carefully examined my aquamarine ring. She kept studying it as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Why? What couldn’t she believe?

Probably that my little aquamarine wasn’t the super-expensive, top-grade gemstone she’d figured it was. Probably that I wasn’t the upper-middle class eccentric she thought I was. Probably that when I said I was “just looking” I really meant it.

She’d been trying to find out how much money I had.Then she’d figured out I wasn’t a millionaire.

Of course, she didn’t acrimoniously un-friend me right then and there as she returned my ring. But when she finally returned my sparkling yet all-too-affordable ring, her whole demeanor had suddenly changed. Her smiles were few and forced. She didn’t want to make eye contact. She didn’t want anything more to do with me.

“Here you are,” she said without a smile. “Anything else I can show you?” She had all the enthusiasm of a realtor who’d just discovered a mighty dump in the inoperable toilet of her model home.

I thanked her for the cleaning and the announcement about the upcoming event. “I don’t know when it is,” she said, almost mechanically, “but I can give you an invitation if you really want to come.”

“I guess it’s something to think about,” I responded in kind.

“Do you want me to show you anything from the case?” she asked.

I didn’t. But I was still curious enough to ask which gemstones were featured in a particular necklace.

Instead of merely answering my question, she looked in the case, then at me. “I don’t want to take the necklace out because it’s so tangled. But I can take it out if you really want to see it. I can untangle it if you really want to try it on.”

Who said anything about trying it on?

Less than 20 minutes ago, she was falling all over me. Now she was giving me her if you really want to mantra. The big irony here is that Jewelrygirl thought that wearing an expensive piece of jewelry to the jewelry store was an unmistakable indicator of personal wealth. NOT TRUE. For centuries the ultra-wealthy have been making glass or paste copies of their expensive jewelry so they could wear them around and show them off without worrying about theft or loss or damage. They’ve always kept their good stuff safe at home, or in their safety deposit boxes.

Besides, people from every income level like to wear jewelry for sentimental reasons. I wouldn’t dream of NOT wearing a ring from a special friend because it wasn’t purchased at Tiffany’s or Cartier.

Apparently, Jewelrygirl doesn’t understand how the game is played with white customers. Skintones and personal attire are tres passé now. Start looking instead at the leather bags your customers carry. Pay attention to the cars they drive, the alma maters they support, even the pets they own. Really. Next time you start chatting someone up, bring up the topic of pets. If madame owns a Coton de Tulear, bring out ALL your diamond necklaces.

If you want to start judging books by their covers, you’d better start realizing that not all black people are on welfare. And that some white people with blogs like to write about prejudice in action, too.

    












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