But the moment was quickly soured by the young woman behind the counter, who was cursing loudly into her phone.
When I asked if the dress came in my size, she rolled her eyes, ended her call, and muttered, “Another one.”
Then, with a sneer, she told me the gown “might’ve looked good on me forty years ago.”
When I tried to pull out my phone, she snatched it from my hands.
Before I could react, a woman about my age came out from the back—she was the store owner, and as it turned out, the rude clerk’s mother.
Without saying a word, she opened her laptop and played back the CCTV audio.
Her daughter’s voice filled the shop, every insult loud and clear.
The girl tried to explain, but her mother shut it down.
“You were supposed to run this store. Not anymore.”
She handed her daughter a giant coffee cup costume and told her to go work in the café next door, handing out flyers in the mall.
Then she turned to me, gave me the blue dress in my size, and said warmly,
“Please accept this as my apology.”
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