A Quarter Life Crisis

Today, while riffling through the racks at Urban Outfitters (side note that's a plug for one of my favorite stores) I was confronted by an angry shopper who thought I was a sales associate. Now most times this annoys the sugar honey ice tea (I'm trying to stop cursing) out of me and I say something rude like, do I have on a name badge that says hello my name is....but the times they are a changing. Not to mention that I live in Philadelphia which overnight has become the murder capital of the free world. You would think this was Iraq or something. OK that last comment was in poor taste and I take it back.

On with the story shall we.....I was approached by this pissed off customer asking the price of some random t-shirts. Before I could respond my sister, who was along for the pure fun of shopping said, "Wow....we don't work here!" She gave him one of those diva looks like I can't believe you could possibly accuse me of being a shirt folder upper. So this guy muttered something under his breath and said he thought we were staff because of the conversation we were having. Mind you that made even less sense then him approaching and asking if we worked there since our conversation prior to his interruption focused on breaking my brother from his b-boy wardrobe and finding a suitable compromise between our style and his.

In other words we weren't talking sales associate. And I would know b/c I did a stint at Marshalls as a high schooler and the only thing you talk about with other staff members are breaks, who screwed who in the fitting room last night and rolling racks. Since our conversation hinged on none of those topics, either this guy was insane, a serial rapist or lying. I would have preferred that he was just lying but taking in his appearance I am leaning towards serial rapist. You know the kind that chop up their victims and stuff them in walls. Maybe I've seen too many CSI episodes but I'm telling you this guy totally gave me the skeevies and I'm not easily shaken.

Mr. Angry Shopper was muttering things to himself and walking aimlessly about the store looking for nothing in particular. You couldn't call what he was doing shopping, unless you count humans on that list. I thought I caught him starring at me while I measured a t-shirt against my chest. If you read the last blog you know the situation with the midgets. Anyway at one point I turned around and he was broaching my personal space so much so that I could kind of inhale his exhaled breath. This almost made me lose my lunch in my mouth but I kept my composure. Maybe it was the ratty old black gray t-shirt, frayed baseball cap hiding greasy brown black hair and that beak nose that were freaking me out. Maybe it was the frantic grumbles. Maybe it was his overall quasi uni-bomber appearance minus the beard but surely equipped with backpack full o fun that had me on edge. Now that I think about it, it was probably the neon blue sunglasses. I couldn't see his eyes. I hate it when I can't see someones eyes, it like he is intentionally hiding something.

Without words both my sister and I knew we weren't leaving the store until Mr. Angry Shopper either found some other victims who looked like less work or he left after tiring of this game of chase the shoppers. Believe it or not a 15 minute in and out trip to pick up some tights turned into a 45 minute ordeal due to pure terror. Again this could be my over active imagination. So we managed to escape when the uni-bomber wannabe struck up an awkward conversation with another patron. We darted with due haste to the car. This could be attributed to beating the meter but I like to think the almost homicide had something to do with our rapid steps.

Once inside the car we broke into hysterical tense laughter. Obviously we were both thinking the same thing. Next time we go shopping remember to bring more quarters for the meter.....what that's not what you were thinking. Ha-ha come on nothing can stop a woman from shopping not even a little greasy haired freak :-D