A few notes to the gentle customer from the perspective of a person who recently began working retail again after a good stretch of deskjobdom:

Somethng to consider: For the most part, it is difficult to do anything well if you feel like someone is watching you with a microscope and/or encroaching on your personal space. If I am wrapping a stack of books in attractive glossy green paper, it makes me nervous if the new owner of the books hovers with her chin inches from my shoulder, breathing in quick pfffs, almost gasping as I apply the tape, and then leans over to her friend and says in a stage whisper, "I wish they would use the clear scotch tape when gift wrapping." I might look up and smile, nod and send my eyes half-mast, as if to say, "It is really ridiculous we do not have the clear scotch tape," when really the the bad ass who lives in my brain is screaming, "What the fuck!? When was the last time you got a gift and closely examined the tape? Do you think people say, 'Damn I love this ipod, but I really wish you had used the clear tape to wrap it--that translucent scotch stuff is ugly as hell." (Oh yes, I do hope they put me on wrapping duty through out the Christmas season). Wrapping a present with someone watching you is just like trying to touch type with someone watching you, that is, it fucks you up. Sure, there are tons of people who can deliver no matter how closely they feel you watching. You know Michael Jordan, hard to argue that he was not good in the clutch situation. Eminem made it happen at the end of 8 MIle, which was for the most part based on his true life experiences (you've got to wonder more about the whole Brittany Murphy in the warehouse scenario). Anyhow, I do not claim to be the Michael Jordan of present wrapping, but I'm pretty fucking good. No rips, make a nice bow, no wrinkles. I wrapped one of those puffy Ugly Dolls with regular paper, no box, it looked halfway decent. Lillian, my stack of books customer, fended off the wrapping induced panic attack, thanked me, left, and yet, I knew our paths would cross again in the near future.

Another thing to consider: Let's say your name is Lillian and you're the kind of woman who likes to torment the new sales girl who is wrapping your present amidst the Saturday evening rush--customers appear to be throwing the books off the shelves, the safe key has wandered off, a little boy wearing a Giants jersey is busily picking his nose and is poised to smear it across the bottom row of the staff favorites. So upon arriving home, you, Lillian realize you have misplaced your credit card. "That inept wrapping paper bitch!" you think. "No clear tape. And is it too much to ask for hospital corners on a stack of books?!"
The missing credit card MUST be at the bookstore still, any other possibility is, well, impossible. You call the bookstore and that curly-haired wrapping wench, who smelled of cigarettes and had a bra strap showing by the by, answers. You deliver a monolgue along the lines of, "I have lost my credit card at your store. It is right there. Look down. You should see it. I am in hysterics. Is it there? I know it is. Are you looking for it? It's there." The distressed salesgirl who is working the register for the second time in her bookstore career has a line of customers accumulating assures you that she IS LOOKING, but she does not see the card, but she will certaily call you if she finds anything, but she's really quite busy, and no it was not her who checked you out, she just wrapped the present, so no it is not in her pocket, but LIllian I will call you back either way, I promise, and I will do some thorough looking. And then, Lilian, you call the store back three more times in twenty minutes. You tell the salesgirl you recognize her voice. You reiterate that you are in hysterics and that you might just cancel the credit card. You ask the salesgirls if she has told everyone what has happened. The salesgirls, who is fairly soft-spoken seems to be losing her patience. Why Lillian, do you continue to call?! I loooked under every dust bunny I could find for your VISA. I botched many a transaction because half of the time I was punching the keys, I was scanning the floors for the glimmer of plastic. Lillian you sounded very upset, but I gave my all on the wrapping, I gave my all on the credit card looking, I was polite to you on the phone, even after call four when you had no new information to report. If you call again, I will be forced to call you every ten minutes to announce that I have not found the credit card, but I have a few leads, some hearsay evidence, and I will scotch tape your house with the translucent tape, not the pretty clear kind, and it will probably take me a while to do that, so I prefer we avoid that course altogether.

ahhh...you knew I would bitch once I started working. A few final words, just in case: If you are the person who called in and asked me to find you a pocket-sized Tao Te Ching...I found three different options for you after repeatedly violating the Eastern Religion section of the store , yelling fuck as a stack of Bhagavad Gitas came crashing down on my head. I felt quite gratified having found three copies of the Tao Te Ching in a size utterly appropriate for a pocket. And I felt very much like I wanted to come to your house and go John Goodman Lebowski steez on your car (Do you see what happens Larry? Do you see what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass?) when I discovered you had hung up. Why didn't you wait for me? Granted, I could have taken down your number...if you're reading this call me. I have something I want to tell you....