Going to the mall was my first mistake. People always bug me at the mall. I bug myself when I’m at the mall. And, this was the “outlet” mall, which is a euphemism for “no, we don’t stock that in your size.” But, it’s close to Easter and I thought I’d look for basket stuff. And maternity pants.
I walk into Motherhood Maternity, and am immediately accosted by the overly-enthusiastic sales girl.
“Hi! Welcome to Motherhood Maternity!! Have you shopped with us before?” (People who speak in multiple exclamation marks make me nervous.)
“Yes.” Can an answer get more curt, more “get outta my way and let me browse?”
“Welcome back then! Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”
Well, world peace; a non-addictive substance that will alter my mood without side effects; a calorie free chocolate malt; a good massage…
“Great!” (How is that ‘great?’) “I’ll just let you look around, then.” (Gee, thanks.) “You know all of our sales are final, since all of our items are on sale. We have our lowest discounts in the back.” She stopped blathering, probably because I began to rummage through my purse for a shotgun.
Unfortunately for me, I found something I wanted to buy, which meant I had to approach Caffeine Girl again.
“Oh, good! You found something. Oh, these are cute!” (First, like she hadn’t ever seen them before. Second, what was she going to say, ‘Not bad for fat pants?’ Third, have I ever mentioned that I hate clerks who comment on my purchases? ‘Oh, I see you have tampons, chocolate and ibuprofen. My doctor told me that chocolate makes you feel bloated. Have you ever tried carob instead?’)
I grunt at Perky Clerk. She took that as a sign of approval. “Can I get your phone number?”
Not unless you want to babysit for free.
“Okay, no phone number. I can put you in the system under your zip code and last name.”
“Why in Hades would I want to be in your system?” Okay, I didn’t say that. My exact response was, “No. Thank you.”
“Do you want to get the $400 worth of free samples and coupons?”
OHMYGOSH DID I JUST SAY NO???? Clarification, the samples are not ‘free’; my personal information is required, which opens the door to your marketing department, and that seems a hefty price to pay for .5 ounces of a lotion that I don’t want in the first place. And, even if I didn’t care how many trees you slaughter to send me ‘great opportunities’, I don’t think those samples will be up my alley. I’m already loaded up on all the Similac and Evenflo I need, thank you, and I have no interest in Parents magazine, Wonder bras or framing my child’s first handprint.
Completely unaware that I had just cursed her in 7 different languages, Sales Associate of the Year summed up by saying, “Do you need any lotions or creams?”
Oh, boy, do I have some ideas for what you should do with your lotions and creams.
To my everlasting credit (gotta take it where I can), I did not betray anything more than a mild antsy-ness, which she probably attributed to an urge to pee. They look the same to a stranger, you know. I thanked her for her help and hightailed it back to Target. Where I bought a box of Peeps (yellow chicks, which is the only way Peeps ought to be sold) and fled the mall before another customer, not so easy-going as moi, lost it all over Motherhood.