Fitting Room Faux Pas

Know what little, tiny, non-verbal lie makes me nervous every time I have to do it?

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.

For Profit

Blogs have themes right? Cupcakes, home decorating for cheap, funny observations. I am a minor addict to Things I've Bought that I Love (girly comic genius of Mindy Kaling-- she has the sickest life). But I am the least home decorator-y of the girls you've met. HGTV is fun to watch, but I do not possess the talents of some of my friends to infuse my surroundings with pretty, hip, 20-something, bohochic fabulousness.

What topic am I well-versed in enough to share with the blogosphere?
Well, I'm a pretty good liar.

Until now it isn't something I've been proud of. I have wondered recently how I will adapt to my new habitat-- a city awash with buttoned-up young politicos starting their careers of charming and manipulating the world around them. I harbor little hope of forging friendships anytime soon. But am I really so different? My first week here I went to buy a map at a bookstore:

Dupont sales clerk:
Do you have a card with--(seeing map) oh, looks like maybe you're visiting!?

Our heroine:
(desperately not wanting to be found out as a non-local)
No, actually. But I don't have a card.
(forking over my credit card for the ridiculously expensive 9 dollar map)

At this point I should explain that I have a business credit card. There is no good explanation for this other than a good APR, 0% on balance transfers and no annual fee. Under my name "Liar, Liar" it also says, "Business Account."

Dupont sales clerk:
(seeing a chance to meet a quota)
I see you have a business account, can I give you some literature to take back to your office? It can be a great deal on purchases.

Our heroine:
(thinking, "Oh, my gosh, this guy thinks I could be with a business, he sees the potential for employment in me! Someone else will, too!"
Sure.

Dupont sales clerk:
(brings over literature, continues talking about the great deal, realizes some other great literature he can give me)

Our heroine:
Great....That sounds great.... Lovely.... Thank you!

Dupont sales clerk:
Are you with a profit or not-for-profit?

Our heroine:
(without skipping a beat)
Profit.

Dupont sales clerk:
(excited about potentially snagging a corporate account, gives our heroine more pamphlets and gushes about the tax deductible possibilities)

Eventually our heroine extracts herself from excited sales clerk and walks, embarrassed, into the circle, vowing not to tell anyone about this and to staunchly avoid the scene of the lie for the next few months.

Now you're saying, "Kiddo, there was no need for that little white. You could have told him you just weren't interested. You could have explained that you were, in fact, unemployed and your 'business account' is in fact your 'Forever 21' account." But see, that would have conflicted with my hatred of seeing myself and, most importantly, other people in awkward situations. The excitable and polite sales clerk put himself out there, by playing along I helped us both save face.