No, You Can't Return that Janky Handbag

So often the focus of any negative shopping experience centers on the rude behavior, or conversely, the obsequiousness, of the retail staff. Either the chick at D&G is so astoundingly dismissive that you feel like Julia Roberts on Rodeo Drive in Pretty Woman, or the guy at Banana Republic will not stop tracing your steps as you try to dodge your way over to a chambray shirt without being asked if you need anything. If you don't, his name is Robert and he’d be happy to help you should that change. Thanks, Bob.

Especially in this holiday shopping season, many of us rarely stop to think about the experience of those behind the counter. Unless, perhaps, you’ve worked at J. Crew or Express or Bloomingdales or any independent boutique where you’ve tasted what Freeman Hall details in his new book Retail Hell: Confessions of a Tortured Sales Associate (Adams Media). Tell-alls in fashion have been woefully, and literally, en vogue since Lauren Weisberger obliquely dished about her stint as an assistant to Anna Wintour in The Devil Wears Prada. Satisfying as it was to see Meryl Streep play a Wintour-facsimile in the 2006 film adaptation, it was at the same time an empty thrill. Wintour is supposed to be demanding and relentless. That’s why she runs Vogue.

Reading about the misdeeds of neurotic, well-heeled clients in Hall’s caustic prose style, based on his hit blog, retailhellunderground.com, is often far more entertaining. Though the travails he details in the book occur at a fantasy department store dubbed “The Big Fancy,” he also spent 15 years as an award-winning handbag salesman at Nordstrom. (Are these two facts related? Hmm.) Snarky and clever, the frosted-tipped queen and Beverly Hills resident suffers no fools—and gave us the low-down on bad behavior in the retail scene, along with a few tips on returning merchandise, or even goods that were bought with the full intention of returning them anyway, for shame.

Style Section L.A.: Confession: A friend of mine recently bought a posh handbag—with possible designs to return it following a chic holiday party. Is there anything tackier? And what are the top three no-nos when it comes to returning a bag?

Hall: The top three no-nos? 1. Taking it to a chic holiday party and then returning it. 2. Taking it to a chic holiday party and then returning it. 3. Taking it to a chic holiday party and then returning it.

But seriously, if the bag were bought at a store where the salespeople aren't on commission, we Retail Slaves don't care so much. Have at it. Otherwise, Shoppers, please take note that these people work on commission and the store zaps them every time something is returned. Then they have to spend the rest of the day trying to make up for it and not get fired.

Return tips for your friend, however: Keep it away from the buffet table and drunk people with drinks in their hands, don't put any make-up inside or anything that could spill, don't loose any receipts or tags, and make the bag look exactly like the way you bought it.

And my top three no-no's for returning a handbag: 1. If it's a fake. 2. If it's stolen. 3. If you wore it for six years and suddenly decide you’re not happy with it anymore.

You clearly know your handbags. Who designs the best—and the worst?

I love Marc Jacobs, Alexander McQueen, Michael Kors, Gucci, Dior, Valentino, Gustto, B. Malowsky—so many! For fun you can't go wrong with Juicy Couture and Harvey's seat-belt bags!

I don't get Tory Burch, Fossil is hideous, and what the hell is going on with Coach?!

Judging from your book, you've been privy to some of the worst behavior that shoppers have to offer. If you were to choose one particularly horrific interaction, what would it be?

When a woman with a bunch of kids came into the store looking for a backpack. The children turned into hell spawn and began running around screaming and destroying the place. While the customer ignored them and pounded me with questions about backpacks, one of the little monsters, a boy of about four years old, ran up, wrapped himself around my leg and began dry humping me like he was a poodle in heat. The mother walked off and I had this brat riding my leg. I tried to kick him off, but couldn't. This lasted for several minutes as I dragged him across the department still holding onto my leg and screaming. Finally the woman's teenage daughter got him off of me. My friends all thought it was hilarious, but all I could think about was sending an email to Dr. Phil and begging him for help. That was seriously f-ed up right there.