New Year, Old Complaints

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So, yeah, still sick.  But how long can I stay away from the blog and have ANYONE still read it?  By the way…flu shots only work 60 percent of the time.  Better than nothing and still worth getting one, but a fact I would have liked to have known earlier…

So, for Christmas I got giftcards from my family.  A little less than creative, which is usually what my family strives for, but it’s really hard to buy me clothes or anything when I keep losing weight.  Which is, by the way, awesome.  Totally awesome.  BUT!  I keep going to stores and keep having the same issue.  Maybe it shouldn’t be an issue, but just like airports, I remember days when people weren’t treated like cattle.

So, what happens every store is there’s a bouncer that blocks the entrance to the changing room.  You can’t enter until you show the clothes you’re trying on.  Fine.  I get it.  But when my purse is the size of most men’s wallets, where are they thinking I’m about to put the clothes?  Anyways.  You can’t just show them the clothes either.  Oh, no.  I have to put it on some rack.  I say how many items there are.  And then they do the thing that makes me twitchy.  They count.  It’s not just that they count them.  I get that, I do.  But it’s the bouncers that count them out loudly and oh so slowly, as if I’m a half deaf preschooler, that gets to me.

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If they did just a silent count, that would be one thing.  Sure, part of the job is to be aware of what’s what.  But the Sesame Street routine means either a) they think I’m going to steal something and are trying to intimidate me  or b) they really think I’m that stupid that I can’t count three articles of clothing.  Either is a touch insulting.

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But the ones who are really rude about it feel my wrath.  They get back an article of clothing on the hanger in side out.  Maybe two.  That’s right.  FEAR me, clothing store clerks.

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