I had been given a $50 gift card to a local department store. (I am leaving the department store unamed so as not to offend anyone). Yesterday I was itching to go shopping so that I would have new clothes for work. Tucker was sleeping so he was at home with Chanel. So far the details are as follows: Free money, no child, blessings from my husband. Could it be any better than this?!
As I walk into the store I notice right away the outfit that my friend's mother was wearing in church that morning. Not a bad thing...just generationally inappropriate for me. I take a glance around at the other customers and I realize they are all older ladies. Again, this is not horrible, we just don't typically share the same taste in clothing. Let's call these observations strike 1.
As I am walking around I hear over the intercom that the associates are playing bingo and they are frequently calling out numbers. In between numbers the music is alternating between elevator classics and something you would hear on an adult alternative station. Strange. I say we are up to strike 2.
I admit that it wasn't very difficult to find some cute items to want to try on, so I had stacked up a pretty large armful of clothes. A sales associate comes by and asks to start a dressing room for me. "Great! Thanks."
Once I have made all my selections, I head to the dressing room. Here is the conversation:
Me "I am ready to start trying on"
Associate "oh you would like a dressing room?"
Me "Actually, you had started one for me, I am just not sure which room the clothes are in."
Associate "I did? Hmmm, what would I have done with those clothes? Do you remember what you had?"
Me "I had a whole bunch of things. Jeans, shirts, skirts."
Associate "I must have gotten confused and returned the items to the shelf."
Me "Really? It was fun the first time, but I don't really want to do it again. Are you sure?"
She was sure and I had to go and search for the clothes again. Definately strike 3! Eventually I made it into the dressing room with whatever I could remember I liked. I get in try-on-clothes-mode (which means practically naked) and before I can even start to try on, the intercom comes on and announces the store will be closing in 15 minutes. WHAT?!?! There is NO WAY I can try all this on in 15 minutes. I dive in and I am puttin on one pant leg and deciding, nope, throw a shirt over my head, yes, whip a dress on, don't bother zipping, i love it, throw two shirts on at one time and yank them off all together. I was flying through. All the while "10 minutes to closing. Number 25 for bingo." The associate kept coming by trying to rush me along. "5 minutes, number 19." I am frazzled. My cute hair is a rats nest at this point. I hurry up and throw my original clothes on and take the ones I don't want down the hall to the discard rack. NOOOOO!!!! I locked myself out of my dressing room. I had to go find miss happy-pants-associate to let me back in. She informs me (just incase all the intercom reminders had fallen on deaf ears) that they closed in 2 minutes. I grab my things and head for the check out. I wasn't really paying attention as he was checking me out. I get escorted out the door which is locked behind me. I feel like I have just been through a tornado so I set all my stuff in my car and decide to look through it to actually see what I bought. Confoundit! I notice that the two shirts that I layered and took off together are rung up as one shirt. At this point I begin to have conflicting thoughts about how much my integrity is worth.
$25, or just go home. I mean it wasn't really my fault. The lady, and the stupid bingo numbers, if they hadn't rushed me....Darn my integrity! So I walk back to the locked store with the shirt and start to knock. They signal that they are closed. No kidding. I wave the shirt while mouthing "I didn't pay for this." Finally they let me in and I pay for the shirt (which looks less cute at this point).
It was as though I had been defeated-by the old lady store! I was exausted at this point. This was NOT the retail therapy I had in mind.