The majority of men were happy to let me eyeball them, but on the rare occasion they wanted to be measured, I’d wrap the tape around their throats tightly and add an inch to the number so they’d have room to breathe. Aside from fabric choices that ranged from silk to cotton to sweat-resistant, wrinkle-proof polyester, there were the sizes, which were taped onto the front pocket of each shirt. It wasn’t as simple as small, medium, and large. “Um, what shirt do you suggest?” they often asked, bewildered by all the options we offered. She simply handed me some measuring tape, then sent me off.įortunately, it turned out most of my customers were equally as unprepared as me. Other than a five-minute video I watched on a company iPhone, I wasn’t given any real training. Though I was hired in the home department-hawking Martha Stewart–branded knives to suburban moms who called me dear -about a month after I started, my manager promoted me to the men’s suits section. My favorite part about working at JCPenney was getting to choke men.
