So get this. I’m in Macy’s because I need to buy a pair of
pants. More specifically brown skinny jeans. Now for some reason purchasing this
particular pair of pants has become a Don Quixote like quest for reasons beyond
me but whatever. I like me some brown skinny jeans. Why this is less popular
than fucking red or purple Joker pants is again beyond me. If I ran the world’s
supply of jeans (rather than just the banks and the media – I’ve said too much)
things would be much different. Much, much different believe me. But I don’t so
I guess I can go, in the words of Mr. Levi Strauss, “fuck myself”. Pearls of
corporate wisdom like that are why he became the powerhouse jeans manufacture
he is today.
Getting back to whatever point I was making, I’m in Macy’s
looking for brown skinny jeans at the Levi’s store in the contemporary men’s
floor aka what used to be that weird floor one and a half which was only accessible
by a middle escalator when I find me some brown jeans. So far so good. Well way
to get ahead of yourself because they only have them in the slim cut. Jesus, don’t
you get tired of always being wrong? Terrible. Just terrible. I see that these
are the only moderately skinny pants in the brown color persuasion that Macy’s
offers so I decide to be generous and see how they fit. I’m just in that kind
of mood. So I go to the dressing with my said pair of slim brown skinny jeans
and try them on. They don’t fit or rather they don’t fit my European normal or
American anorexic body, so I figure I’ll just drop them off and continue my
seemingly endless search. And here’s where the problems begin.
Normally dressing rooms have a clothing rack or a hook or
something to put your unwanted clothes on after you try them on. Usually they
take up the entrance or exit (yes we have taken a minor philosophical detour on
how entrances can double as exits) of the dressing room and serve as a way of
making sure clothing doesn’t end up on the fucking floor, preserving a sense of
decorum in this rapidly declining society. As I exit the entrance of the Levi’s
dressing room with my pair of unwanted pants draped over my shoulder I find
nary a clothing rack to place them on. Since I’m not, as the kids would say, “a
fucking asshole” I decide to ask someone where I should put said clothing. I go
up to an associate at the register and ask if there is a rack or place to put
my clothes. The lady looks at me and starts talking to me like I’m an insane
person. What do you mean you need a rack just put your clothes anywhere, what
are you talking about, and so on and so forth.
Is this the way we like to run our store? This is Macy’s,
which prides itself on being the premier department store in the world and you
can’t provide a basic store accompaniment? Mind you this is not some outlet
store Macys, this is the Herald Square Thanksgiving Day Parade Miracle of 34th
street Macys. This is the one that murdered Gimbels. What a steep decline to
the excellence I for some reason falsely believed Macy’s prided itself on
providing.
After suffering such injustice I decide to do the only
logical thing and check out every other dressing room on the floor to see if
they have a clothing rack. Well welly welly welly well, they all have places or
racks to put unwanted clothes. I snap a picture of every single one and proudly
walk back to the lady at the Levi’s store register and show her and her manager
the clothing racks, basking in my petty glory. Actually that last part didn’t happen
(but I did check out every dressing room and they did have racks – let the
record show). Instead I simply folded my pants and put them back where I got
them, muttering and ranting until I was kicked out. Well not really the kicked
out part. I left on my own free will. But I was a ranting and a raving.
So fast forward to yesterday when I’m still looking for
brown pants and again I find myself back at this forsaken Heralds Square Macy’s
where again I have been disappointed by the selection of skinny jeans. Why I
expected things to dramatically change in a week, I have no idea. Just call me
an optimist. So I go back to the Levi’s store and its dressing room and to my
surprise I see a sign telling people to put the clothes they do not want on a
clothing rack. Good advice I think. I turn to see where this clothing rack is
and again it is nowhere to be found. Instead I see a couch filled to the gills
with jeans and people looking mildly confused looking for a clothing rack.
In short I’m not crazy. I swear.
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