When I lived in Korea, it took just one trip to the bra shop to determine that my shopping for undergarments there was not going to become a regular thing. I chose a nice enough looking store in Pusan National University area. I don't remember what it was called, but it had a pink sign, which ought to effectively distinguish it from exactly 5 stores in all of Busan.
I had reasonably low expectations upon entering the shop. I figured that it was unlikely I'd find anything in my size, but that it wouldn't hurt to look around. I hadn't counted on the shop owner, who was a middle aged man, following me around every step of the way. During the two minutes I was in the shop, he tried his darnedest to get me to buy some frilly pink things with precisely 18 bows affixed to the front (how does one even wear a shirt over bras like this?). This was all a bit too strange for me, so I said my thanks, left empty handed, and never returned.
For a number of reasons, I assumed that I would have more luck in Moscow. For one thing, without too much trouble, I can actually buy clothes that fit here. This is both good and terrible, because it means that I now have a closet full of fun clothes, but much less money than when I lived in a country where I was considered to be quite the fatty. I've also found that in Moscow, the shop people are far less likely to ride your ass and follow you around the shop; This is probably at least in part because half of them don't give a shit that you've entered the shop at all, and most of the other half are angry that you dared to interrupt their very important making-bitch-faces-at-the-wall business. As a result, I was completely unprepared for what awaited me at the local bra shop.
On the rare occasion that a shop assistant goes out of there way to actually do their job, I make an early point of advising them that I speak a little Russian, but terribly. Most of them will go out of their way to be nicer and help me at this point, presumably because I've actually made an effort to speak Russian, and just generally not acted like a dick. When I made this point clear to Bra Shop Lady, I figured that she'd just leave me alone. I was quite mistaken. Not only did she help to determine my size, but she spent the next ten minutes walking in and out of my fitting room (as I was in the middle of changing) with more bras that she thought I might like. At first I thought this was a bit invasive, but I quickly noticed that she was doing it to everybody else, too. Apparently barging in to the fitting room as your clients are in various states of undress is totally acceptable and not all weird here. Okay.
In the end, I spent a disgusting amount of money on bras, so invasive or not, Bra Shop Lady served her purpose well that day.
I had reasonably low expectations upon entering the shop. I figured that it was unlikely I'd find anything in my size, but that it wouldn't hurt to look around. I hadn't counted on the shop owner, who was a middle aged man, following me around every step of the way. During the two minutes I was in the shop, he tried his darnedest to get me to buy some frilly pink things with precisely 18 bows affixed to the front (how does one even wear a shirt over bras like this?). This was all a bit too strange for me, so I said my thanks, left empty handed, and never returned.
For a number of reasons, I assumed that I would have more luck in Moscow. For one thing, without too much trouble, I can actually buy clothes that fit here. This is both good and terrible, because it means that I now have a closet full of fun clothes, but much less money than when I lived in a country where I was considered to be quite the fatty. I've also found that in Moscow, the shop people are far less likely to ride your ass and follow you around the shop; This is probably at least in part because half of them don't give a shit that you've entered the shop at all, and most of the other half are angry that you dared to interrupt their very important making-bitch-faces-at-the-wall business. As a result, I was completely unprepared for what awaited me at the local bra shop.
On the rare occasion that a shop assistant goes out of there way to actually do their job, I make an early point of advising them that I speak a little Russian, but terribly. Most of them will go out of their way to be nicer and help me at this point, presumably because I've actually made an effort to speak Russian, and just generally not acted like a dick. When I made this point clear to Bra Shop Lady, I figured that she'd just leave me alone. I was quite mistaken. Not only did she help to determine my size, but she spent the next ten minutes walking in and out of my fitting room (as I was in the middle of changing) with more bras that she thought I might like. At first I thought this was a bit invasive, but I quickly noticed that she was doing it to everybody else, too. Apparently barging in to the fitting room as your clients are in various states of undress is totally acceptable and not all weird here. Okay.
In the end, I spent a disgusting amount of money on bras, so invasive or not, Bra Shop Lady served her purpose well that day.
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