Monday, May 27, 2013

Clothing Limbo

I'm in the unfortunate place known as Clothing Limbo.  It's like Purgatory, except my walls are lined with plastic storage totes instead of flaming skulls. 

I currently own two pairs of summer pants that fit.  One is a pair of jean capris that I'm pretty sure everyone is sick of seeing me in.  I know I'm sick to death of wearing them.  I also have a pair of khaki capris that have served me well for a number of years but are now about to fall into the "too big even with a belt" category.  I might be able to get a couple more weeks out of them, but they're not long for my closet.  Yesterday I dragged out the bin of too-small pants to see if I could get some more additions to my wardrobe, but came out only with three pairs that "sort of" fit.  "Sort of" as in "they fit okay in the butt, and maybe in another ten pounds they'll fit in the waist, but in the meantime I need to decide if I want to hang on to these and see if I can find a shirt that masks the muffin tops these pants create, otherwise they're essentially useless."  It's a difference of like one lousy size, and yet I'm caught in the middle, thanks to my practically negative waist:hip ratio.

And shirts?  Don't even get me started.  Shirts are a strange thing for me.  I hate my arms, so sleeveless stuff is almost always layered under something with sleeves, unless I'm having one of those "fuck 'em if they can't take bingo wings" 80-degree days when comfort trumps style and I cease to give a shit what anyone thinks.  I rarely wear anything that buttons up the front, I hate the way I look in traditional t-shirts, and fitted t-shirts are just out of the question when you're shaped like the Michelin Man.

There's a reason this guy doesn't wear clothes, you know.

So today I decided that I'd just suck it up and go shopping to see if I couldn't find one new pair of pants that fit me well.  I decided I'd rather have one new pair that fit well than three old pairs that "sort of" fit and two old pairs that fit but are about to go on strike from being forced to work overtime.  Combined with a couple of elastic-waisted summer skirts, that would set me straight for another month or two, at least.

I went to a "cheapie" department store - no sense in spending a shit ton of money on something I'm just going to shrink out of before long - and after a good half an hour or more of poking through racks I found nine potential items.  I picked out four pairs of capris in various sizes and styles, three shirts, and two dresses.  I hadn't planned on buying dresses, but these were cute and flow-y and looked like they would be useful for the whole summer.

I knew I could only take six items into the dressing room at a time, so I carefully separated the things I wanted to try on first and approached the fitting room.  Now, I understand this is not Lord & Taylor.  I know they probably have big shoplifting issues and whatnot, and I've sort of gotten used to their terrible customer service.  One of the employees is a regular customer of mine, and she's quite possibly the most miserable human being under the age of 30 that I've ever met. And so when I shop in this place, I make sure to play by the rules to avoid as much extraneous interaction as I possibly can.

So I approached the fitting room with my carefully separated items, prepared to take six in and leave the other three out to switch later.  I smiled brightly at the fitting room attendant, who GLARED at me, scowled, and said, not "hello,"  not "how many?" but growled nastily, "You can only take in six.  The other ones you have to leave over there."

I said, "Yes, I know.  This is why I have six in this hand and three in this one.  I know the rules," adding a little grin and chuckle at the end to show that I wasn't a threat.  I was a nice person.  I just wanted some new pants.  I wasn't here to cause trouble.  I was here to spend twenty bucks on a cheap new outfit.  I was a simple person, on a simple mission, and I even had a reasonable grasp on basic arithmetic.

She glared at me again and barked, "put your other ones over THERE!" and pointed to a rack outside the door.

I don't know what happened next.  Something about the way she spoke to me that last time just raised my ire and before I could stop myself I said, "Oh, fuck it.  You're too nasty.  Your attitude BLOWS."  And with that I threw - as in, hurled, hangers and all -  all nine items onto the floor and stalked off.  I could hear her protesting as I walked away, but I didn't bother trying to hear what she was saying.  I could hear that she'd dialed down from "disgruntled middle-aged employee" to "likely feigned indignation," but I wasn't sticking around to explain myself.  I was actually a little embarrassed by my behavior, but whatever.  I'm sure they've seen worse.

I was too pissed to try shopping anywhere else, so I just went on with my day after that.  Wearing my trusty jean capris.


  1. my sympathy Deedee, clearly some people have nothing better to do than to be nasty ALL the time. Good for you for saying what you meant. Don't be embarrassed about it either.

  2. Yeah, that's pretty much why I don't try things on in the store. Well, that and the fact that trying to drag a 3 year old into a fitting room is like giving a cat a bath. I figure that my stress and frustration of trying things on costs less than the $12 spent on a shirt that doesn't fit.