The rules are very clear. There are a lot if them, and there are a lot of employees at my National Natural Grocery Chain, so everything is cut and dry: skirts, dresses, and shorts must be of a length that is no more than three fingers above the knee. This is an enormous relief to me after my last job, where young women (girls, really) would come to work wearing the equivalent of a diaper and scream to the union that they were being unfairly treated if anyone dared to suggest that they might want to cover themselves a bit more while working in food service.

I never really take much notice of what my co-workers wear. We have people from various ethnic and socio-economic backgrounds, as well as all ages and levels of fashion sense, so it really takes something extraordinary to catch my eye.

The girl in question is not small. She is not short, nor thin, and she was nowhere *near* to fitting in the dress. Add to that the fact that her tights were sheer and purple, as opposed to a more sensible (and flattering) thick black pair, and my eyes could not help but be drawn downward when she walked past and bade me good morning. I bid her one also, and then immediately fired off a snarky text to Pat, the beer buyer, who was due in later that day.

"You might want to bring an extra pair of pants for your not girlfriend. She seems to have forgotten hers."
His response was a shudder. They had been out on two pseudo-dates some time ago, and he had since been keeping her at a polite arm's length. (He felt guilty about that and I occasionally had to remind him that on both occasions she had gotten drunk and loud and spent all of his money.)

Within ten minutes I saw her leaving the building in tears. Management had sent her home. I did feel slightly bad for her, but at the same time I think that by the time one is in their late twenties one ought to be able to dress oneself.
Pat came in an hour later. She had called him, crying, on her way home. So many ways in which she doesn't get it.