Of Employment and Empathy

Following my nose- which has become very sensitive after years of living in various student hovels- I entered the shop.
"Scusi," I said, after having queued behind hordes of panic buyers. "Dyu need any staff?"
He looked me over appraisingly, and I began to wish I'd gone home first and brushed my hair and teeth, and hadn't thrown on the first thing I found on the floor; namely, a pair of my boyfriends jeans. I twitched uncomfortably, and tried not to mind his frank top-to-toe stare. I winced slightly, and tried not to giggle nervously.
"What size are you?" he asked me blithely.
Isn't there a law against this kind of thing? But if it'll get me a job, with possible staff discounts in the best smelling place in the city then.. Oh, if only my old driving instructor had had the same attitude- it'd make going back to my parents' for Christmas so much more fun.
"Size eight. Why?" He tossed his head towards the street, in the direction of the elf-girl with the slightly scary forced smile and blue hands.
"She needs replacing. Fancy it?"
I stared in horror. Its minus several million degrees outside, and he wants to pay me minimum wage to stand on a gaudily painted revolving barrel, wearing an admittedly fabulous and covetable green and white elf dress. Hmm.
Silence, and my eyes begin to water from a prolongued look of wide eyed shock.
He gave me a few minutes to think about it, in which time I bought my body weight in products. Paying the cashier, I decided I really needed this job.
He returned with the elf outfit, and smirked slightly at the bags as I tried (unsuccessfully) to nonchalantly hide them behind my back.
"I'll guess do it."

And that's the story of how I got my first job ever.
And possibly hypothermia, but at least I look good in green- and, as my lovely Alec flatmate pointed out, I'll have something to wear to the impending Christmas parties.
But only if my imagination fails me.