WASHINGTON — The low point in my one-day stint as a holiday saleswoman came shortly after lunch. My feet hurt. My back was sore. I longed for dessert — and, oh yes, I was trying to sell a customer an $800 diamond necklace.

He showed me the diamonds in his wedding band; we chatted about the quality of the jewels. I tried unsuccessfully not to zone out.

"Is this a gift for your girlfriend or your wife?" I asked, my thoughts already on the next customer. He stared indignantly.

"I hope it's for my wife!" he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, trying to recover. "I didn't notice your ring."

Oops.

You think you have it rough, dear Shopper. The long list. The short time. The traffic. The crowded stores. The need, especially this year with gloomy economic news bearing down, to get the perfect little gift at an amazingly low price.

But think. Think about the seasonal laborer, transported from some other life to make all those sales happen. I persuaded Sam's Club to let me, a retail reporter, spend one day last week working at its warehouse club in Laurel, Md., to see what life is like on the other side of the sales counter, one woman in an army of holiday help hired across the country each year.

The National Retail Federation, a trade group, found last year that stores increased their workforce by nearly 4 percent in November and December. Nationally, retail employees are on the job an average of 30 hours a week and make $12.78 an hour, according to data from the Bureau of Labor Statistics. These workers hail from all walks of life — schoolteachers, retirees and college students are common — but they grapple with the same issues: long days, cursory training and high expectations.

My shift began at 9 a.m. with a quick training session and a meeting with staff members that included rounds of clapping and whooping as they recounted accomplishments of the previous day: Produce sales up 20 percent! Jewelry up 60 percent! A $50 bonus for signing up so many new Sam's Club members!

I started out in electronics, testing the waters with mumbled greetings to a few customers nearby. They looked confused. Was I speaking to them?

I tried to sound more assertive: "Hello! How are you doing today?"

I gave one firm hello to a man inspecting digital photo frames. He responded with — curses! — a question: Can the frames be connected to a computer? I briefly glanced at the box to crib what technical information I could.

"Well, all you have to do is connect the UBS port ... "

Pause. The man looked at me skeptically.

"Er, I mean USB," I said, meekly correcting myself.

I tried to keep talking, but he slowly edged away. Finally, I just let him go. I saw him a few minutes later. He was asking another employee for advice.

Consulting firm Challenger, Gray & Christmas estimated that 509,000 jobs were added during October and November, about 50,000 fewer than last year. The number who will be fired after the holidays will likely be greater. In 2006, 721,200 jobs were added during the holidays, and 818,000 were cut in the beginning of this year.

I prepared for my day on the job by taking a customer service certification exam offered at the Retail Skills Center in Wheaton, Md., operated by Montgomery County and the National Retail Federation Foundation, an industry trade group. It took me about an hour, and I was relieved when I passed. The questions were culled from real-life scenarios, such as what to do when you are trying to sell products about which you know zilch.

Traci Entel, a principal at management consulting firm Katzenbach Partners, said the main problem with retail customer service is that shoppers don't believe that employees understand their needs.

"Employees are too often scripted, so they're working off their agenda or their sales performance target," she said. "They're involved in sort of their own emotions versus really taking the time to connect with each customer as an individual, not as a holiday shopper en masse."

Here's the truth: Thinking about everybody else and their special holiday gift and their warm and fuzzy memories for eight hours a day is draining. Shoppers expect you to see their inner selves — not to mention the wonderful and unique personalities of everyone on their Christmas list — in five minutes or less.

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