![]() ![]() There were no pleasure cruisers at the mall this late, but she was required to stay until the very end. The only customers left in Haskel’s were buying last-minute birthday presents or shopping for impromptu job-interview clothes. ![]() A little over half an hour to go and she was exhausted from standing on her feet since three o’clock. ![]() Rosie leaned over the counter and checked the clock on the register: 9:29. Martha worked her evil in backhanded ways. She would just get the shittier-smelling perfume to demonstrate tomorrow. If Rosie was caught taking an unscheduled break, she wouldn’t be docked pay or anything so serious. One might surmise that Rosie was in the military, instead of a perfume girl at the mall. Rosie hobbled over to the Clinique counter in her high heels, watching out for her supervisor, Martha, before performing a casual lean against the glass, groaning as the pressure on her toes and ankles lessened. Why wouldn’t customers let her make them smell good? Was it so much to ask? In order to fulfill that title, someone would be required to consult her first, right? Problem was, no one ever asked to be spritzed with perfume. Really, that’s what her name tag should have read, instead of COSMETICS CONSULTANT. ![]() Rosie Vega: a department store shopper’s worst nightmare. ![]()
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