Men's Wearhouse Presents: How to Lose Customers and (Negatively) Influence Sales

George Zimmer would not have liked what went down at the Tukwila Men's Wearhouse Wednesday evening. We guarantee it.
Seattlest walked in with our fiancée. We knew we'd be accosted by a sales clerk, but our plan was to rebuff them and browse. Maybe ask about fit and fabrics. (We don't know suits from fine china.) Our plan fell apart when a female clerk—we'll call her Bitchy—pounced before the door closed behind us.
(Reading guide: Bitchy speaks in a blatantly condescending tone. Pepper in some sarcasm and you've got it.)
Bitchy: Looking for a suit?
Seattlest: Yeah, just browsing.
B: Do you know your size?
S: Yes, but we're just looking tonight.
B: What's your size?
S: [REDACTED]
B: Well, you're on the wrong side of the store. Over here.
We shrug and follow Bitchy toward the narrow-shouldered side. As we're walking...
B: What's the occasion? Do you have an interview this weekend?
S: No.
B: Is it for a wedding?
S: Yeah, a wedding.
B: Who's wedding? Your wedding? [Points from us to our fiancee, back to us.] You two?
S: Yes, our wedding.
B: When is your wedding?
S: August.
We arrive at the opposite wall. Bitchy spins around, clearly disgusted.
B: August?
S: August.
B: Well, unless your wedding is next month, there's no point in looking at suits.
S: We just wanted to see what you had.
B: Our stock rotates three, no four, times a year. By August we'll have a completely different selection. I don't know why you're doing this now.
S: We wanted to see what you had. To browse.
B: Right now we have suits for winter, then we'll get spring suits. By August, we'll have summer suits. Totally different than what we have now.
S: What will be different for summer—fabrics? Styles?
B: I have no idea what we'll have. Linens, tans, probably. Are you going to buy a suit tonight?
S: Nope.
B: Then I don't know why you're here.
S: Um.
B: What color do you want? Grey? Black?
S: Brown, actually.
B: Brown. That's a different choice for a wedding.
S: That's the idea.
B: Light brown? Dark brown? Tan?
S: Dark brown.
Bitchy pulls out a black pinstriped suit and brandishes it at us.
B: This is dark brown. Is this what you're thinking?
It isn't. It's black.
S: Well, not really.
B: It's dark brown. But we won't have this in August.
She hangs the suit again and stares at us.
S: Okay then, thanks.
B: Come see us again in August. I can't help you now.
We walked out, stunned.
Note to Men's Wearhouse: We're gonna like how we look in a suit from somewhere—anywhere—else.
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