(Editor's Note - did you know a major retail chain made Santa Claus change his laugh last year to "ha ha ha" because "ho ho ho" is now considered derogatory to women? Social evolution at its finest.)
She saw me coming a mile away.
I'd like to say our eyes met across a crowded room, but it was more like she locked me in on infra-red, tracking my coordinates like a smart-bomber on stealth deployment, preparing to drop her payload on an unsuspecting victim.
Men should never be allowed to shop. Not by themselves. And definitely not within the sphere of influence of a female attendant - under any circumstances. And men should MOST ESPECIALLY never be allowed into any kind of store with a woman present when the store is an advertised purveyor of...men's clothing.
Never.
Never, never, never, never, never.
I was suckered.
See, men are not shoppers. By their very nature, they're out of their element. Shopping, PARTICULARLY for clothing, is a woman's game, and never into the domain of woman a man should tread (I'm sure I read that somewhere). A gasping flounder flopping in desperation on a boat deck has a better shot at survival than a male in a retail store. Particularly when the salesman is a woman.
I was history from the time I walked in the door.
I know what you're thinking. 1) Bob, what in God's name were you doing in a store to begin with? Especially one that didn't have "Costco" written in big bold letters across the front. And 2) Just how hot was the chick that sold you the clothes (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)?
The answers to those 2 questions, in order, are:
1) I went into the store to buy a sport coat and a pair of slacks. The reason - I'm going to a high school reunion this weekend in Seattle (I'm sure you'll hear more about this in the near future - for now, let's just get through the sacrificial offering that occurred last night in downtown Glendale) and I needed some casual clothing.
See, every day I have to wear a coat, shirt, and tie to work, so you'd think I have some clothes I can wear to an informal gathering with old high school chums, right? Wrong. For the past 3 years, I've basically worn the same five dress shirts, 4 pairs of slacks, and a rack of ties I bought at the 3 Day Men's Suit Broker about 3 years ago. And it's time for us (the clothes and I) to part ways. I mean, they're still fine for work and I can phase them out over time, but since I'm going to a function this weekend with a couple hundred people I haven't seen in 30 years, I figured I can probably splurge on a new sport coat.
I was wrong.
Note to self - never go into a store armed only with my own guile, wile, and self-control - I mean, let's face it, if these are the weapons of choice, I'm an unarmed man.
Which brings me to question 2) above - who was the babe that saw me coming and fleeced me of every natural cent I had?
It's not what you think.
I never saw it coming -- and I should have (the phrase "I never saw it coming -- and I should have," would make a nice etching for my tombstone, don't you think?)
She was very nice. Unassuming. No way she was a salesperson. I thought she was just there to fold the clothes and put them away when shoppers were done (when they say there's one born every minute, I can point to the exact minute they're talking about - it's on my birth certificate).
She didn't look like a salesperson. She didn't act like a salesperson. She looked, well, almost mom-like - you know, the kind of person who you just sort of trust to be thoughtful and helpful. And by the time she was finished with me, she'd make Sherman's March look like a Sunday walk in the park.
We started so casually. I was looking at sport coats and she asked me my size (Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!). None of this "How can I help you" stuff with dollar signs in the eyes and that "where have you been all my life" vibe. Nope. Nice and easy. Just being helpful.
In my own defense, I should say that I was a complete moron from the very beginning - see, I did the man thing - figured I'd go in prepared. I was even wearing the shirt and slacks I figured I'd wear to my reunion - safer that way because I'd know what to match them to, right? That way I'd only buy the jacket I needed, because I already had everything else, right? Right? RIGHT!!!??????
Sigh.
She showed me a couple of jackets and they just weren't quite matching what I was wearing (I can't print the comment I was going to put here - this is, after all, a PG-13 rated blog). Then she found a jacket that looked good and a pair of slacks. Excellent. We're good to go. Let's mark these babies up and I'm outta here. Yessirree.
Let the record show I truly thought I was done. Let the record also show I was delusional. The following events simply emphasize how sorely I'd underestimated my adversary (the nice, sweet, 'folding clothes' lady). She was just letting the mark relax before she moved in for the kill.
The whole time, she's coming in completely under the radar. No pressure. She suggests that the tailor can alter the pants while I'm there. It'll take fifteen minutes. That way I don't have to come back and pick them up later. Good idea. What a nice lady.
Run Forrest!! Run!!!
So I've got 15 minutes to kill and I wander back to the jacket rack. I think the nice mom-like saleslady is helping another couple, so I'm just checking out a couple of jackets to pass the time. Suddenly, magically, she simply appears - from whence, I wonder. She just seems to be passing by, putting away some stuff. And as she passes, offhandedly she suggests another jacket. Then another. I mean, we're just trying stuff on, right? I already bought my clothes. No harm in looking...
In fifteen minutes, I'd bought 3 sport coats, a pair of slacks, shoes, socks (6 pair), two shirts, a tie, and a partridge in a pear tree. The partridge was complimentary - I can always use it for the holidays.
My new mantra is "I will not go into the store...I will not go into the store..."
See, I do all my shopping online these days. That's where men should shop. Online is great. Online is cool. There's no bewildering array of merchandise. No racks of doodads to sift through. No acres of apparel. All the stuff you want is right there on that little screen. One click and you go to the next thing. Want it. Buy it. Simple. Straightforward. And they deliver it right to your door! I LOVE online shopping. It's the guy's way to go. Even the payment is easy (okay, perhaps this part isn't quite such a good idea).
And most important, there are no predators online disguised as nice, helpful, unassuming middle-aged ladies ready to swoop down and relieve you of your 401K contributions for the next 27 years.
Did I mention she gave me her card?