Full Support: Lessons Learned in the Dressing Room - Softcover

Woods, Natalee

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1944995803 ISBN 13: 9781944995805

Verlag: CHICAGO REVIEW PR, 2019

Inhaltsangabe

A poignant and humorous exploration of body image, self-acceptance, and the power of human connection, set in the intimate world of a lingerie department.

For more than a decade, Natalee Woods fitted women for bras in a high-end department store, never imagining how much the experience would change her―and her relationship with her own body. In Full Support, she shares the raw, honest narratives from inside the dressing room, where women bravely face their fears and insecurities, commanding time and space without even realizing it. From an eighty-six-year-old Gladys to a transgender woman disowned by her father, these stories reveal the dangers that exist within a culture that continues to cast shadows over our humanity.

Woods invites readers to question socially conditioned ideals and discover their own worth, as well as the dangers that exist within a culture that continues to cast shadows over our humanity. What can happen when we let another human being in far enough to teach us something about ourselves?

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Natalee Woods holds a BA in English from Washington State University and an MFA in Writing from the California Institute of the Arts. Her work has been featured in the Huffington Post, Chatelaine, Reader&;s Digest, and Salon. Natalee spent over a decade working in multiple lingerie departments, fitting women for bras in both Seattle and Los Angeles. The experiences and lessons she learned along the way, ultimately led her to write her debut book, Full Support: Lessons Learned in the Dressing Room. Natalee currently teaches English literature and creative writing within the public school system. Her teaching has magnified her passion for advocating for socially marginalized youth and criminal justice reform. Natalee currently lives in Seattle and has a penchant for leather jackets. She spends her free time enjoying indie films, local music, and planning her next trip. You can find a complete collection of her work at nataleewoods.com.

Von der hinteren Coverseite

When one of my customers stood before the mirror in the dressing room and lifted her G-sized breasts to her mouth and kissed them, I had a moment of clarity. My job as a bra fitter wasn’t about how many bras I could sell, but who was wearing them. And at that moment of clarity, while Georgia Pickens continued to bond with her extremely large breasts as I stood behind her with my measuring tape, I also realized I have stories to tell—honest, compelling stories.

Boob Job: Confessions of a Department Store Bra Fitter details Natalee Woods's experience working in the lingerie department of a well-known department store, fitting women for bras for over a decade. Woven into the humor are subtle and profound insights into larger issues, such as the relationship between women and their bodies, evolving ideas about women’s breasts and their sexual, social, and cultural implications, and how women negotiate all these influences and pressures as they stand before the mirror in the dressing room.

Filled with plenty of awkwardness and an undeniable sense of relatability, Natalee Woods has offered a peek behind the curtain to remind us that retail workers are just as complicated as the rest of us.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Full Support

Lessons Learned In The Dressing Room

By Natalee Woods

Amberjack Publishing

Copyright © 2019 Natalee Woods
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-944995-80-5

CHAPTER 1

CERTIFIED TIT SLINGER

My heart wouldn't stop pounding. I could feel my hands warm up as sweat settled into the creases. Women were running in every direction as the pianist's hospitable tune echoed throughout the store. Coffee and water bottles and colorful balloons strategically placed in every department gave the first day of the annual sale a little bit of friendly oomph — and the stamina for customers to keep their plastic out. Seasoned sales associates gathered around the escalator and clapped, welcoming more women as they rushed to collect their sale items before they were gone. I could hear children crying across the way in the kids' department as their balloons found their way to the ceiling, floating beyond reach.

"You can do this," I repeated over and over in my head, looking like a mortician worked on my smile. I stood beside a panty table and gazed out at the marble walkway at the number of women filling the third floor. I wondered how far I'd get if I hightailed it to the women's lounge to hide. It was absolute mayhem, the height of retail mania, and a shopaholic's dream come true. It was also seven o'clock in the morning — and my second day on the job.

When I had arrived the previous day at the human resource office less than twenty-four hours after receiving a call from the HR manager, Cindy, it was clear the store was still in the process of last-minute recruiting. Shimmying through the office door, I passed a group of Greek Row's finest sporting Ralph Lauren button-ups, fancy neckties, and Bartell's entire stock of cheap hair gel.

"Hi." I smiled awkwardly, moving in closer to the woman passing out paperwork. Staring at her pink, deep-set blush, I worked hard to find words as I stood fighting a whirlwind of nerves. "I received a call back from Cindy in regard to sale help." I anxiously approached the desk, eyeing a small jar of assorted mints and a glass plaque that read "Seattle's Customer Service Excellence."

"Yes, that was me." She smiled quickly while pulling out a legal pad listing the store's departments. "Let's see." She paused, skimming through a list of scribbled words after spelling my name out loud. "I've got a spot left in lingerie."

"Lingerie," I repeated, lowering my chin in confusion, wondering what happened to the process of asking about work ethic, or what makes a team player, or if I've ever killed anyone.

"We really need floor coverage. Are you comfortable working intimately with women?" she asked, moving her eyes along my protruding bustline and then down to the massive wrinkle in the knee-length satin skirt that I had pulled from the back of my closet. I nodded slowly, feeling horribly out of place.

"I, uh, sure," I stuttered, watching her pull a paper clip from a cluster of formalities.

"Great," she replied, guiding me to the chair beside her desk, next to a young man wearing an emerald-green bow tie who was ready to pass over his crinkled-up Social Security card.

Feeling doubtingly well-suited for the lingerie department, I sat motionless as the office continued to buzz with last-minute hires. After a moment, I started in on the paperwork, wondering what the hell had just happened, and how, in a matter of five minutes, I was somehow gainfully employed.

My parents would be thrilled — their welcome-home question when I returned from my freshman year of college had been if I'd found work yet. That was my first clue I wasn't going to spend my summer watching Days ofOur Lives and MTV. My father had pulled at his finely trimmed moustache, then raised his hand and rubbed the tips of his fingers together in an effort to show me the money. He did this often and continued to think it was amusing. My mother, on the other hand, as forgiving as she was, kept up with a steady don't ask me for a dime.

I faced the music and went straight for a high-end department store upon my mom's recommendation — and her desire for a discount — hoping to set up women with a new handbag or a nice pastel scarf. And now here I was in lingerie. I felt I was falling into a rabbit hole for which I was unprepared. But it was a job, and I didn't have time to be picky, considering the three dollars and sixty-seven cents in my bank account.

"Our annual sale lasts two weeks, but I know lingerie is looking to fill more hours," Cindy explained, turning to hand me a sheet of paper stating the store's dress code policy, followed by a thick packet on sexual harassment.

"Oh, okay," I replied, moving in closer to the desk, thinking about Cindy's question regarding my comfort level in the lingerie department. I had no idea what she meant. And as she watched me write down the numbers "1" and "9" on the application next to the word "age," silence quickly cut between us. I looked up to find her cheeks raised from a paralyzed smile.

"Keep moving," I heard my new boss say as she passed by with a stack of thong underwear and a twenty-ounce latte. I didn't know where I was moving to except under the green neon sign that said EXIT. These women were like vultures that had just been released from captivity, frantically pulling sale items off the racks while attempting to balance a jelly-stuffed pastry and a long stretch of careless indulgence.

"There's a customer who's been waiting in four," one of the sales associates snapped while holding a pile of bras. "Can you take her? Everyone already has more than one customer, and the other new girl never showed up."

"Oh, I'm only supposed to —" barely came out of my mouth before she interrupted me.

"At least see what she wants. We need you on the sales floor."

Wiping my palms down the front of my pants, I turned to look at the lines quickly forming at the registers. I could see my manager, her latte sitting on the counter as she manically waved a bright orange flag, guiding the next woman to step forward with a pile of sleepwear.

"How about some lingerie wash to go with that?" Her voice echoed, shrill and Valley-girl sounding. Quickly, I scoped the department for black and white clothing, hoping the other girls followed directions about what to wear on the first day of the sale as I had — and, more important, were willing to help me. But they all kept zipping by, balancing bras and panties and phony smiles. I suddenly started to regret my decision, falling victim to Cindy's line about "it's the only position I have left."

"Hi there," I said, standing in front of room four. "Did you need some help?"

"Yes," a stern voice replied from inside as the door creaked open. "I've been waiting for twenty minutes."

The smell in the dressing room was borderline unbearable, reminding me of dirty laundry coupled with the inside of one's belly button. My own contribution of fresh B.O. didn't help.

"I'm so sorry about the wait, ma'am," I said, staring directly into the portable fan she held inches away from her extremely large chest.

"I was hoping to be measured for a bra," she said dryly, suddenly taking off her shirt. "And I don't have much longer to waste."

"Sure, I totally understand," I stuttered. "I, uh, just need to grab someone who's certified."

"That's not necessary," she said, shaking her head while pulling a measuring tape from off a hook on the wall. "I just need an idea so that I can grab some sale bras and get out of here. I'll exchange them later if I have...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: CHICAGO REVIEW PR
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2019
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1944995803
• ISBN 13: 9781944995805
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 300
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar