It is time for another story…last week I went to Value Village. VV is one of those national chains that sell donated goods to value seeking garage sale addicts who can’t find a garage sale fix between Monday and Thursday. The prices are not so good at VV except on Monday because Monday is 40% off for people over 55!
Sadly, as I now qualify for the discount…I confess to my own regular ritualistic visit to VV on the first workday of every week. I have learned to go early and to not be shocked at the hordes of folks who have even more white hair than me. Their unnatural ambulatory prowess at pushing a cart while simultaneously snatching things off the shelves is absolutely amazing. Withered hands snake through the air like the tongue of a frog snatching up a tasty fly morsel.
This past Monday, I arrived at VV with great anticipation. Shoes are a thing for me and Imelda probably had more shoes than me but I am sure that she didn’t enjoy buying Born shoes for $2.99. Such a discount and if they smell clean and are almost new, I figure they are just like shoes that are tried on by someone at a shoe store who didn’t wear one of those annoying little Peds. For the uninitiated, a Ped is a sort of badly made half sock that if your feet are larger than a size 5 will not fit over any part of your foot except the front half-thus leaving the last part of your foot exposed to any shoe you may put on your tootsies! So much for health and hygiene.
No shoes this week. So I leaned on my cart for support and gingerly ambled my way over to the racks that held the larger girl clothes and proceeded to flip through the blouses that were too pink, too puce (green), too blue, and too old except to use as a dust rag. And low and behold, my search yielded two dresses for church and a few blouses that I can use for work. A good day for the hunter and gatherer.
Pushing my cart through the sea of other shopping dowagers I arrive at the try-on cubicles. They are great little inventions and I seem to remember when I shopped new stores that they had locking doors. At VV, the doors do not lock and as a professional courtesy, I must warn you to be aware that the narrow claustrophobic inducing try-on cubbys might have been used for alternative purposes.
ADVICE TO THE VV NEWBIE: Never, Never, Never put your purse on the floor while trying on clothing! Try to remember which day of the week you are shopping and if it is Monday, the cubicle might have been mistaken for a bathroom by a small child or an incontinent valued customer. It has happened to me and I can tell you that my purse was tossed into the trash can, outside the building, along with a few muttered curses aimed at the varmint who pissed in the corner of the try-on room. (After reading what I just wrote, I realized that it might sound like I peed in the corner of the cubby but it is too early in the morning for me to figure out how to rewrite this paragraph. Rest assured that even though I am “Of Age”, I can still distinguish between the little male/female icons on the bathroom door and the “Try On” room sign.)
Back to the story, blouses clutched in hand, I head into the doorway of the cubby with more than the three articles of clothing that the sign warns me not to try and take into the try-on room. Finally inside and holding my purse between my legs to keep it dry, I reach for the upper most button of the top I am wearing while leaning forward to hang the other 19 pieces of clothing on the smallish hook that is attached to the side wall. I bang into the mirror and nearly loose my balance but the walls are so close that I really can’t fall too far and I regain my balance quickly. The door is slightly ajar and I briefly worry that someone might see my ta-tas as I change and then figure that if they get a view of my weary and sagging naked girls they are getting only what they deserve for being such a perv.
Two of the blouses are great and I look forward to trying on the silk blouse with the long sleeves. I envision myself as a power professional enveloped in soft yellow making the sale of the century. As I squeeze my man-sized hands into the cuff of the blouse, I think, hmm-a somewhat tight fit. Oh well, next time I put it on I will unbutton the cuffs…
I am stuck, I have just pulled the shirt off of my shoulders and my arms are blouse bound behind me with my hands snuggly snared in the shirt cuff. I can’t get out!!! I now know what Peter Rabbit felt like in the cabbage patch wearing Mr. McGregors too tight clothes. I am already suffering a world class case of claustrophobia due to the size of the cubby, and with both my arms caught backward in the sleeves of the blouse, I can only jump around and try to pull my way to freedom. Sweating profusely, I try valiantly to maintain a dangerous and precarious act of balance in order to keep my purse dry. I realize that if this goes on any longer my weary bladder may let fly and I may wet myself, as well as, the floor of the cubby. Now I understand where the puddle of urine that destroyed my good purse came from.
Finally I am free. My assailant is on the floor. And I am considering peeing on the yellow silk number just for vindication. Yes, I have combined my power with that of the blouse and the blouse has more power than it started with but I am so angry that it got the better of me that the thought of a little urine between good enemies does not go unconsidered.
On a calmer note, Value Village is a great place to shop, however, their prices are a little to high except if you are over 55 and it is Monday. But let the buyer be ware!