Handing clothes back to the fitting room attendant with a bored but vague smile, saying "thank you" and going back to my iPod. Pretending the clothes I'm handing back to her are in just the same coniditon they were upon my arrival in the store. It wasn't me who popped the button, ripped the seam, somewhow managed to pull the price tag off. Acting my ass off so as to not get caught and then high tailing it away from the 19 year old girl with the bad weave and the menial job who could totally take me with her 4 inch fake, Korean leopard nails.
Or option two--pretending I'm actually going to purchase the item. ("Did these items work for me? You betcha!") The item that clearly was too small too fit in the first place, and she knows it, just so I can take it back out on the sales floor myself and stuff it quickly and awkwardly into the most packed Clearance shelf. Between the tshirts with hoods and drop waist dresses.
The awful feeling this lie brings is 3 fold.
- I've made some poor girl's minimum wage job harder. Now she'll have to sew a button, repair a seam or refasten a price tag. And if I chose option 2 she'll have to fish the faux satin babydoll dress I would have never worn anyway out of the hooded t-shirts and put it back by the leggings and patent leather clutches.
- It's a reminder that my body is such a wreck, so abnormal, that it causes damage to property.
- But also, if I'd just told the truth, I'd have been a little embarassed, sure, but since I mainly shop at TJ Maxx and Marshalls, leopard nails girl wouldn't have given a shit.
That's reason number 1 I don't go into JCrew. The uppity sales staff doesn't like it when you break their clothing. Bitches.
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