One of my precious, dearest friends in life was kind enough to send me a $50 gift card to Ann Taylor as a congratulations on my new job. SO sweet, and SO unexpected - just an absolutely amazing gesture! And back when I could still partially stand it, that is the one store that I would occasionally brave. However, despite the shipping charges, I did most of my damage online.
Anyway, I received this glorious gift and within three hours had spent the entire thing online. I bought a pair of businessy pants in "sharkskin" grey and a "citronella" colored wrap top thingy. Could not have been more excited to recieve these beauties in the mail!
When they arrived I practically ran to try them on. I was shocked and amazed to discover that my optimistic purchase of a size 6 pant actually worked and they fit! Then I unwrapped the top - if by "citronella" they meant "so bright that you will have to squint your eyes to even consider looking in the general direction of this garment", then yes, it was citronella colored. But color aside - because I actually started to like it - it was too big. Which I was really bummed about because it was very cute and had just a tiny touch of cashmere in it, so it was super comfy too.
I was going to mail it back and just switch out the sizes, but being the impetuous gal that I am, I simply could not wait for snail mail to get the replacement. So yesterday afternoon I decided to truck it up to the Ann Taylor store to swap my dayglo gear.
Now here's why I hate shopping. It all starts in the parking lot - finding a space, doing the whole "are you going? No I'll go..." dance with other cars, and then when you do see a space you can't get to it in time because of all the stupid pedestrians. So my frustration level is already at about a 2.5 before I even step foot in the store. Yesterday I finally found a spot and then walked 43 miles to the store in 90 degree heat. Frustration level 3.25.
So I go in the store, go straight to the back counter and announce that I need to exchange something. "OKAY no prob! I'll be processing this for you while you look around!", says the painfully stylish chick behind the counter, who then goes on to ask me if I know about their "ONE DAY ONLY storewide promotion?!" Well no, since I don't work here and I just stepped in the door, I sure don't know about your one day only storewide promotion. I'm still not even sure what the promotion was - she just started to sound like a bunch of bubbly noise after about 45 seconds as she launched into her sales pitch.
At this point I am starting to ascertain that I will NOT be merely switching out this top for a size down. I am going to be forcefully bullied into trying on, and consequently purchasing, things that "look so great" on me. They are going to ask me if I need other sizes, bring me shoes to complement the "outfit", and force me to come out of the comfort of my private dressing room to show them "how it fits". And that is exactly what happened. Frustration level bypasses midrange and jumps from a slightly annoyed 3.25 to a panic-induced, sweaty 9.0.
I finally manage to plow past little miss "do you need another size" and wriggle my way out of the dressing room with my selections balled up in my sweaty hand. At this point I am not even sure what I've decided on buying. I just knew that I wasn't escaping with a clean, no out-of-pocket expense getaway, as I'd originally planned, so I'm sure I just picked a few of the least expensive things my oh-so-helpful fashion nazis had tossed in there.
I went in to merely switch a shirt for the exact same shirt, and ended up with a dress and two cami-ish tank kind of things that are apparently a "must have" to wear with suits. I don't even own a respectable suit. I'm still not sure what the hell I'm going to do with these things. And as if all of this wasn't enough, when the girl checked my I.D. at the counter, she looked me right in my flustered face and said, "Oh wow! You don't look your age at all!" UMMMM fuck you in your heart, you worthless retail whore. How the hell old is TWENTY-NINE supposed to look exactly?! I guess I must have done a hell of a job covering up my crow's feet and liver spots today, huh?! Frustration level.... one million... head exploding...
Shipping charges be damned - online shopping it is.
