One thing that can get my Mama up on her indignant high horse quicker than anything has always been customer service, or the lack thereof. Growing up, I learned to bristle anytime a retail clerk told Mama it was not their job or their department. She would make a sharp inhaling sound as she drew her hand up in the shape of C. “Do you see this C? It stands for customer. That is what I am. And the customer is always right!” The salesgirl would normally scurry off in search of someone in a higher pay scale to deal with the crazy redhead, as Mama stood her proverbial ground, Virginia Slim in hand. Mama pulled out the C once when we were shopping for a debutante ball gown.