I went downtown to do some "unshopping" as This Fish Needs a Bicycle calls it. I had to return some items and decided that I should be looking at Columbus Day sales, as Columbus would have wanted it.
When I arrived at the store to return my purchases, I noticed a nice lavender sweater that I wanted to try on. The line for the registers was about 20 min. After that wait, I grabbed the sweater to try it on, having unloaded my returns. There were 10-15 people waiting in line for the dressing room. This store is ridiculous. So, I put down my bag and my jacket, take the sweater off the hanger, and try it on in front of a mirror. It's ok. Not great. As I am taking it off and putting it back on the hanger, a scrawny white girl with braces who doesn't look a day over 15, who I've seen working there before, says not very nicely to me, "You have to try that on in the dressing room. We can't let customers try clothing on in the store." As she is speaking to me, I continue to put the sweater on the hanger, I look up at her, smiled an icy smile, and said, "Thank you." Bitch did NOT just call me out like that. It's not like I was bustin' out a pair of jeans or a thong. It's a sweater. It's SUPPOSED to be layered over other clothing. And, if we're going to be all "rules of customer service" about this joint, then a) open another goddamn dressing room, or four b) open another 6 registers and c) do not ever speak to me like that in public, especially if I don't know you. Got it?
Then at lunch, I spilled an entire soda. All over the floor.
*sigh* I wanted to cry right then. I didn't. I shook it off, took a deep breath, face to the sun, all that crap. On my way out, I paid the man in the wheelchair $1. I gave $1 to the guy who held the door open for me, too. It would have been rude not to, and frankly, he's about the only man who has been polite to me in this city. The least I can do is hand him a dollar. Besides, when I get in funks like that, it's a selfish endeavor for me to give change to people who are asking for it. Every single thing I purchase or eat is borrowed at this point, either federal loans or a credit card - but sometimes, when I give other people money, it just makes me feel like I've shed some of my burden. I feel less stressed about money when I'm handing it to someone who is homeless. I figured, this will make me feel better. I'll have a good vibe, good karma. Deciding I needed to not be so much in public, I retreated to the bookstore, selected a pile of books, and hid in a corner. I wedged myself in between the end of a bookshelf and the floor-to-ceiling window. My second grade teacher had a little reading nook like that next to one of the classroom closets, with a special, large, smiley face pillow. Our names got picked out of the hat to determine who received the honor of settling there during reading time. The next time I am in a position to be discriminatory in my housing arrangements, I want to create a reading nook. Ahhhhh. How relaxing.
Then I knocked over my coffee.
On my way home, my beautiful brown suede jacket got caught on a piece of metal, which tore a 5 inch gash from the pocket to the bottom of the jacket.
Came home. Ate some apple crisp. I've now shut myself in my room, which has no furniture or sharp objects, so it's not likely for me to do much harm here.