For Girls Only

Attention BOYS: This post is about customer service too, but it is also about buying bras. It may contain sensitive information that you don't want to know about me, and about purchasing bras in general. It will talk about breasts--specifically mine. If this doesn't bother you, read on.

And speaking of customer service . . .

I don't enjoy buying bras. In fact, buying a bra is almost worse than buying a swimsuit, especially now that I've discovered the geniuses at Land's End, who cater to the topheavy individual, bless them! It was worse in the past, when I had to go to a specialty store and order something that looked like a bad joke at a bachelor's party. I remember one time in particular when the clerk heaved the item in question over the counter to me, and the guy standing next to me (buying some tiny little lingerie item for his wife) literally dropped his jaw and stared. First at the bra, then at me. Good times. And then I paid a cosmetic surgeon to remove several pounds of tissue from my body, and I've been a lot happier ever since.

Until yesterday, when I went to purchase a new bra for the first time in about a month. You see, I've lost a good deal of weight, and my clothing (and underclothing) continues to become too big for me. This is a lot of fun when it comes to purchasing regular clothes. Not so much for the foundation garments, it turns out.

In case you're not aware, this is how it works for people buying the larger-sized bras: you can buy a large cup size at Target or other discount store if you're buying a large circumference size as well. The small you become around, the harder it is to find a large cup size. Say you want a 32DD*, for example. It will be almost impossible to find it at your average discount store. So you have to go to Penney's, or Nordstrom, or Dillards--where they have certified bra fitters on hand to make sure you're getting the right size.

*I do not mean to imply that I am a 32DD, because I'm not--just that it would be impossible to find that size at Shopko.

Allow me to digress for a moment. I am reminded of a time when I went to Dillards, and was assisted by the most attentive customer service representative I have ever come across. She looked a lot like Dr. Ruth (including the fact that she was 4'10"), and when she talked, she sounded like one of Marge Simpson's sisters. I'm pretty sure that after work she turned into a chain smoker. Anyway, this woman was very hands on, if you know what I mean. And when she stuck her finger down my cleavage to see if the underwire was lifting and separating as it should . . . well, that's about when I reached the limits of my comfort level. Anyway, she helped me buy a great bra. The only trouble was that it cost me about forty dollars.

That is why I went to JC Penney's yesterday. For one, they aren't quite as hands on as the Dillard's people. In the past, they've helped me very courteously and attentively, without actually touching me. I'm fine with that. Also, I can get out of there with some money left in my bank account, and usually they have some kind of sale going on.

First of all, if you work in a lingerie department, you have to know that it's not the most pleasant experience in the world for the customer. Fitting aside, how in the heck do you get the bra back on those little hangers? And if you don't hang them up, you feel guilty for leaving a pile of bras for the clerks to take care of later, because their time could be better spent testing out someone's cleavage. And then, if you want new bras to try on, you have to get completely dressed in all your old stuff to go out and find new ones (unless you go to Dillards, where they throw stuff over the door at you every couple of seconds).

Anyway, I enter the full-figure area of the department and start looking around. I notice that I am the only customer shopping in the entire department at the time. There are two clerks. I see them immediately. They do not appear to see me at all--even when I walk right past them in my search. I look for a while, select a few items, and then look around for someone to help me with a dressing room. Apparently this is the kind of service one can only expect from WalMart. I go into the dressing room. Try on bras. None of them fit. Get dressed again. Go out onto the sales floor. Start searching for more bras. Finally, a clerk approaches.

C: Are you finding everything you need?

Me: Well, not really. I'm in the unfortunate position of needing a size that is not very common.

C: Oh?

Me: I need a 34D. Or 34DD. I'm not sure.

C (incredulously): Really?

Me: Yes.

C (scrutinizing me): Hmmm. I really doubt that you're a 34.

Me: Well, I just tried on several 36s, and they were too loose. So I'm thinking maybe a 34?

C (ever doubtful): Really? Hmmm.

Because apparently these ladies get so good at their jobs that they can tell a person's size by looking--within two inches.

Me: Yes. Really.

Clerk finds me a couple of other bras and asks me to try them on. I agree. I explain a couple of other concerns that I have, namely with things poking out when I don't want them to, and causing men to stare where I don't want them to. She gives me a look. Then another customer walks up to the counter and stands there. Did I mention there were two clerks? And now there are two customers. My math tells me we each get a clerk. But my clerk throws--literally throws--the last bra at me and walks away to help the other customer without another word. I shrug and take my new pile into the dressing room. I try them on. I like one of them, which is a 36DD, but it's still too big. I get all dressed again and return to the sales floor. The other customer is gone.

C: Did any of those work for you?

Me: Well, I liked this one, but the cup is too big, and it's too loose. [Her eyes widen as I talk] I mean, the cup is all puckered up, so I know it's too big. I'd like a smaller size.

C (incredulous again): Really? Well. Maybe you just like your bras to be really tight or something.

She is bending down to get a bra off the bottom of the rack, where the giant sizes are. I resist the urge to kick her in the butt.

Me: Well, I do like them tight, because if they're not, they ride all the way up my back. There's the issue of all this weight in the front, you see.

C (who, by the way, is small breasted): Hmmm.

She still seems doubtful. I am beginning to be doubtful that she will ever allow me to try on a bra that actually fits. Also, I am having a little bit of a mental problem dealing with the fact that she is trying to force me to wear a DD cup. Since my surgery, I have fit into a D cup very nicely, and I've been borderline okay with that. I told that doctor I wanted a C cup, and he ignored me. Whatever. But quite frankly, wearing a DD does not work for me emotionally. I spent a lot of money not to be a DD or anything larger. And now I've lost 25 lbs. To me that means I should either wear the same cup size, or one smaller. I have looked in the mirror and come to terms with the fact that it won't be smaller. Not yet. But now Ms. I-Can-Measure-Stuff-Just-By-Looking-At-It is asking me to face the possibility that I have gained a cup size in spite of the weight loss. This does not bode well for my sanity. As it slips, ever so slightly, I decide to let the clerk in on part of my little secret. Perhaps it will stop her from looking at me like I'm a fat woman trying to buy clothes that are too small. I came here thinking I was going to get a little validation, dangit.

Me: See, the thing is, I've lost 25 pounds.

C (blandly): Oh, really?

Me: And I'm continuing to lose. And I don't want to have to buy a new bra every couple of weeks. So if I have to use the outside hooks for a while, I'm okay with that. Because it won't be too much longer until I can move them in, see?

Apparently this whole line of conversation is a personal affront to her.

C: Hmm. Well. I'm sure that if I measured you, you'd be a 36.

Me: That's possible. Even probable. But I don't want a bra that's too big in a couple of weeks, okay?

C (shrugs): Okay. Try this one.

She hands me a 36D with a sneer. I try it on. I have it on the inside hooks, but I'm so grateful to be allowed to buy a D cup that I rush out and pay quickly, before she can change her mind. I think she may have even rolled her eyes when I put it on the counter, but she rang it up. She did not ask me if I wanted to take advantage of the buy one, get one free sale. I didn't. One is enough until I get to my final size. We parted with no words of love, no pleasant leave-taking, no sending regards to one another's mothers.

Next time, I'm going to Dillards. That ancient cleavage woman is probably dead from lung cancer by now, and when I consider the alternatives, I'd rather spend $50 and be felt up by her than deal with that mean Penney's lady after all.