I had the lingo going even when my tongue twisted: scissor, tape, iron, table, masking tape, ruler, merch, model, person, check, check, check! Foreigner language it wasn’t but the rolling detective eyes were seen crawling, laying on the cart wheel claiming its territory.
I was doing what I thought I knew it to be. I was ironing clothes longer then the train heading to Georgia rolling on truck four. I was organizing tables. Tagging clothes. Returning merch faster then a race car driver. Coordinating jewelry.
One certain day in July, the phone stopped ringing.