Things were going relatively smoothly.
The girls working as waitresses inside the store were still a bit inexperienced. Without uniforms, they hesitated to approach customers naturally, finding it hard to take the initiative.
Compared to them, the first group of girls handing out flyers at the entrance had an easier time—the task was simply less demanding.
Handing out flyers to attract customers? Anyone could do it. Plus, they were all cute, pretty girls—beautiful girls always have that natural charm with passersby.
Everything unfolding in the store matched my expectations perfectly.
“Even if I only buy something this small, can I still get the free gift?”
A young female customer held up a six-yuan plastic badge and asked at the counter.
Her question drew immediate attention. Customers waiting in line to check out, and newcomers just stepping inside, all turned to watch—clearly eager for the answer.
Xu Wei, the little loli working the register, was put on the spot. Suddenly faced with such a pointed public question, she looked momentarily flustered.
Sensing her hesitation, I spoke up calmly:
“Of course you can.”
My clear, skylark-like voice pulled every gaze toward the counter. Only then did they notice a slightly older loli seated behind it—just a bit older than the cashier loli.
“The flyer states it clearly,” I continued. “This is our grand opening promotion. No take-backs, no changes.”
The customer paid, then eyed the acrylic anime charm suspiciously. “Is this really worth dozens of yuan?”
Per the flyer: any in-store purchase—no matter how small—earned a complimentary gift valued at thirty-five yuan. One per customer, of course.
“Ma’am, you can check online prices across any platform or app,” I said, gesturing to the crowd beyond the counter. “I’ll be blunt: this acrylic charm retails for 35 yuan, wholesale is 31. Don’t believe me? I’ll show you the records.”
To a typical seller, my tone and gesture might’ve seemed unprofessional—lacking polish. But again: pretty girls get leeway. Especially lolis.
Double the privilege.
Besides, I’m not staff—I’m management!
No one minded my attitude. My words were the focus. A bald uncle leaned in, voice booming: “Then aren’t you losing money? I see plenty of cheap stuff here—buy one thing for a few yuan and walk away with dozens in value?”
His gleaming dome shone under the LED lights, so bright it almost seemed to emit a faint *zing*.
I smiled slightly, then wore a matter-of-fact expression. “Isn’t that normal? It’s a grand opening event—not a clearance sale. Other shops shout ‘blood loss!’ or ‘rock-bottom prices!’ all day. I’m just too lazy to yell.”
My blunt honesty clicked with them. Customers began chiming in.
“Only someone in charge talks like that—you run this place, little miss?”
“The boss lady!”
“A boss lady this young? Nice. This shop’s got character.”
A slight twitch tugged at my lips. Logically, “boss” and “boss lady” are equivalent titles—but only under normal circumstances.
If the store owner is male: “boss.” Female: “boss lady.” Being called “boss lady” doesn’t automatically mean “boss’s wife.”
But in non-standard cases—when a “boss” already exists—the “boss lady” is assumed to be his wife.
I wanted to correct them, but how? Qin Ning could be called “boss lady” or “boss.” But me? What label fits?
Most customers only see two tiers: boss and employee. Not that they can’t grasp nuance—it’s just irrelevant to them. Whoever’s in charge? “Boss” or “boss lady.” Simple.
Thankfully, someone asked a solid question: “Little boss lady, will there be more events like this?”
Meaningful question—yes. Drew attention—yes. But that “little boss lady” title…
Forget arguing. Pushing back would only make it stick harder.
“Of course,” I said after a pause, tilting my head. “Holidays, special occasions, commemorative dates… but honestly? It depends on my mood.”
After earlier moments, customers had already branded me the “quirky little boss lady.” Fine. I’d lean into it harder.
Call it shop charm on a small scale. On a larger scale? Heck—this *is* corporate culture.
