Dear Dadeland Mall:

Before I get to this Blog post, I must make this CRUCIAL ANNOUNCEMENT:

PEE WEE'S PLAYHOUSE IS COMING TO ADULT SWIM ON JULY 10TH. NOW, I RAILED AGAINST SAVED BY THE BELL, BUT ... THIS IS PEE WEE. HOLY FUCKING CRAP. WHO'S EXCITED?! THIS GUY!

And yeah, so what if he wanted to jerk off in a dirty movie arcade!? IT WAS LIKE TWENTY YEARS AGO, PEOPLE! Or Fifteen. Whatever.

On to my post:

Dear Dadeland Mall Staff:

I know you all work in different stores...namely Nordstrom's "Cool-Kids" section, and Banana Republic... but you're essentially all the same. So I'm going to lay it out for you.

I've noticed a disturbing trend, that I do. not. like.

Now, I've never liked being bothered and hustled into buying clothes by annoying sales people. No, I don't need your help. I can find it by myself, thanks. That said, I still want you to ask me, so I can rebuff you, and continue shopping.

Do your job. Ask me if I want help. (OH MY GOD, THE WANNADOO CITY COMMERCIAL IS ON RIGHT NOW! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH, It's actually tolerable with the sound off. Oh, it was, until I saw the kid's "TH" lisp... hate that fucking kid.)

Now maybe you don't ask me if I want help, because I tend to shop with a scowl on my face, and I look unapproachable. Well, I am. And I'm scowling because: 1) I'm pissed Burdines became Macy's, because Macy's has a shitty Men's Department, and Burdines had absolutely the best Men's Department I have ever seen in a store, Ever (besides Barney's.) and 2) because your store is too hot, and 3) because YOU KEEP RAISING THE PRICES OF YOUR CLOTHES, AND YOU KEEP SHRINKING YOUR SALES.

You're still supposed to say "Can I help you with anything," instead of staring at me.

Yes, I'm talking to you, Nordstrom's guy. I think the two times I've been in that department in the last three months, you've been there. Staring and not asking me if I need help. At Banana Republic, they're just mercifully not around, but it's still annoying.

Here's the deal:

You make minimum wage. You're the one sitting at work, on a Sunday afternoon, watching me shop. I promise: you're not better than me. Ditch the attitude, and there's no place for shyness if you're in retail. So do your job, and ask me if I need some help. I'm the one with money, you're the one earning enough per hour, to put a gallon of gas into your Civic, which you will drive back to Sweetwater or West Kendall, or whatever hellhole spawned you.

I don't want to talk to you further, I just want you to ask me if I need help, and I'll say no. But staring at me while I shop without asking me if I need help, skeeves me out and, if I DO buy anything, will make me take my things to the nice Haitian Girl at the Faconnable counter, instead of you, because on the off-chance you guys get commissions, I want her to get it, and not you, because at least she's smiley.

To reiterate: you're at work. I'm not. Your job is to ask me if I need help. My job is to spend in one fell swoop, what you'll make in a month. I know you have a lot of gel in your hair, but...that doesn't make you cooler than me. You're working mall retail.

Get over yourself.

And fetch me another shirt, boy.