Click Read More to continue
As I get off the subway, I am expecting plenty of tourists at street level, gawking at Ground Zero, blocking sidewalks and generally pissing me off. I really think they need to hurry up and finish rebuilding, so that the tourists can go someplace else. I'm also really sick of them posing for pictures as if it's fucking Disney.
Once I elbow my way inside the store, I want to kill myself. They should really stop advertising this fucking store, because every fucking tourist in New York City is here, right now. It's no longer New York's "best kept secret." In fact, their new slogan is "fashion worth fighting for," so it would be apt to get into a fight here.
I try to do some shopping anyway. I start out in the clothing section. As I push my way through the crowds I wonder what time of year this store isn't jam packed with shitheads. It's 11:00 on a Monday morning. There is no holiday sale, no special event going on, but it's as if it's opening day and everything is 85% off, with an additional 10%.
I find a pair of black dress pants that I like. They look like they'll fit my fat ass and they're only 25 dollars. I search for a fitting room in vain. I stop a man in a red vest. He has the thickest Asian accent on the planet. I'll bet he's hard to understand even in his native tongue.
"You can no try on, ba you can return if no fit," he says.
Really? And will I reimbursed for subway fare because you have so many shoplifters that having fitting rooms is an invitation to steal?
In a huff, I deliberately put the pants on the wrong rack (that'll show em) and leave to find some button down shirts to wear at work.
I have never had a panic attack before, but this goddamn store is so packed that I am on the verge of stabbing someone with a plastic coat hanger.
As I am
Should I tell her to move? Say excuse me? Fuck no. I pretend to not see her as I inch closer and closer to her, pulling out shirts and shoving them back into their cubby holes. When I pull out a shirt directly above her head, she finally gets the hint and leaves.
"I don't go and sit down in the fucking bra section," I say to myself, loud enough to hear.
Despite the thousands of shirts available, I can't find any that I like, so I buy some undershirts and get the the fuck out.
I decide to try my luck in the shoe department. As I walk down the stairs, I see two stoopid women pulling their baby carriages up both sides of the stairs at the same time, rather than single file, so that others may pass. I call them assholes when I pass.
Really, what are they going to do to me? Besides, someone has to say it.
There are some incredibly hideous shoes to be had in this store. I know I'm not buying anything today, although I'm curious as to what kind of man would wear gold shoes.
I really have to get a better cell phone so that I can take pictures next time.