I am so sorry for my missed day of blogging which reminded me for some reason of the time I worked for Ann Taylor.

First of all, I would like to apologize for actually missing a day of blogging yesterday.  My Mac computer completely shut down on me and I could not get it to even turn on.  Nevertheless, it is currently sitting in the Mac shop known as my Principal's office, waiting to be picked up by someone from the district Nerd Herd or the Geek Squad.  I am left with this lovely loaner, which I gladly accept in efforts to keep my reading audience entertained.  I do feel awful about missing a day though.  I can just imagine the tears that were shed as folks from across the state sat down at their office desktops, flipped to my blog and sat in quiet desperation, wondering if I was alright, wishing that there was a current post to read.  My sincerest apologies go out to you and your families.

That reminds me, the strangest job I ever held was answering emails for Ann Taylor.  I worked at this job for about a month, until I was hired back to answer emails for Microsoft.  I would sit at a shared computer for two hours and answer emails about V-necks to scoop necks to plunging necklines.  What troubled me the most, however, were the constant barrage of emails we would receive from animal activists that were angry about Ann Taylor's use of animal fur in her clothing line.  We had a canned email response to send these freaks explaining that the clothing lines were all faux fur and nothing was taken directly from animals.  However, we were instructed to add the following sentence to the end of the canned response if the people seemed overly insane or angry:

Please accept our sincerest apologies to you and your family for this misunderstanding.

I guess that they didn't want to be bombed or publicly ridiculed by these fanatical maniacs.  I also wondered if their family members really needed our apologies. 

I may have been the only straight man working on that call center floor.  I recall that they had a "show room" in which we were held much of the season's line.  If you had questions about a specific woman's garment, you would have to ask a "manager" to unlock the showroom and wait while you looked at an item.  He or she would then escort you out, lock the door and reset the password.  I recall more than once tearing through a rack of dresses to see what material a specific one was made of while one of the many managers waited at the door, his hands on his hips while he glanced at his watch.  He would wipe his forehead with his pink neck scarf and sigh as if I were taking him his precious time.  Ann Taylor herself would have been proud.