Tuesday, April 6, 2010

How to Bother a Pregnant Woman

My sister-in-law and friends convinced me it was ok to start buying maternity clothes.
Maternity clothes = I can no longer fit into regular clothes = wow I'm getting big.
I finally embraced it. I went to a popular high-end maternity store to look through the sale section. My main objective was to purchase shorts. Summer in Florida won't be pretty with an extra creature inside of me. The least amount of clothing possible without making one of the local news station's top evening stories was the goal.
Just when I found a pair of shorts, the dreaded, "Are you finding everything okay?" popped up behind me. Uggggharrrgrahaaaargh!! LEAVE ME ALONE!
"Yes, I'm all set, thanks." "Are you finding everything okay?" walked away and I was again alone with my sale rack.
I picked out another pair of shorts a few moments later and "Are you finding everything okay?" swooped in again. "Can I get you a fitting room for the clothing you've chosen?"
"Sure." I kept it short and sweet with the hope that she would just walk away. And did she? I'll give you three guesses.
She went on, "You know, the secret belly-suction-magical-flap (I'm paraphrasing what the thing was called because whatever it was sounded equally ridiculous to what I just typed) on some of these shorts are really preferred by most pregnant women. I see you chose a shorter ruin-your-life-and-kill-your-baby belly flap (again, paraphrasing) which can sometimes ride up and make you uncomfortable. Would you like me to get you a pair with a secret belly-suction-magical-flap so you can try them on?"
"Sure." Whatever. Just go away and let me shop.
The entire time I shopped, "Are you finding everything okay?" loomed. She watched every choice I made. It had been a while since someone on commission followed me so closely in a store that I wanted to turn around and shout, "NOBODY DOES THIS ANYMORE LADY. NOT EVEN CAR SALESMAN."
I took an extra long time wandering around the store to see if I could lose her and resume my normal shopping pattern. After about 20 minutes, I gave up. "Um, Tracy was it?"
"Oh yes! Here, right here! I went ahead and chose a few items similar to the ones you chose and added them to the room."
"Oh, ok. Thanks."
I walked into the dressing room after having chosen 3 pairs of shorts and 2 shirts. Guess what was hanging on the rack? NINE pairs of shorts, TWO pairs of jeans, and FOUR shirts. I couldn't even remember what items I'd chosen anymore. I stood there, staring at the clothes I didn't choose, seething with rage. Who the hell does she think she is? I don't need a personal shopper. I don't need someone telling me what to buy. I DON'T NEED TRACY IN MY DRESSING ROOM.
"Everything fitting ok?"
I will still standing in my regular clothes staring at all the shorts. Finally, I picked up the first pair. I had no idea whether they were a magical flap or a kill-your-baby flap. I tried them on. They didn't fit. I took them off. I did that a few more times, wondering which ones I chose. Then I figured it out. Price tags. I chose shorts that cost $20. Tracy chose shorts that cost $90!!! NINETY FREAKING DOLLARS. FOR A PAIR OF SHORTS THAT I CAN WEAR FOR 6 MONTHS. I hated Tracy. I hated her shorts, and her jeans, and her tops. I grabbed the pair of shorts I originally chose and headed to the register.
"Oh, you chose these? Well, as long as they were comfortable for you. Can I get you a few more in other colors or..."
"No, no thank you."
"Are you sure, because the Spring line has..."
"NO. Tracy, I can't afford more than one pair."
"Oh. Ok." Tracy rang up my shorts. I looked at the little screen and watched prices twice as much as the tags read whizzing by.
"Um, Tracy? Are these the right price?" Tracy didn't answer me. She didn't even look at me. She just hurriedly put a bunch of numbers into the computer and the right prices came up. What if I wasn't looking? Would she have totally over-charged me?
After pretending that didn't just happen, she asked for my address. "Why do you need my address?"
"So that we can add you to our mailing list."
"I don't want to be on your mailing list. Do you still need my address?"
"No, ma'am. Can I please have your email address?"
"Why do you need my email address?"
"So that we can send you coupons. We send out over $400 worth of coupons and discounts to our customers every year."
"Well, I'm only going to be pregnant until September, so I can't imagine I'll be using maternity store coupons for an entire year."
Tracy finished ringing me up and handed me my bag. I'm pretty sure she was still talking when I walked out. I bought one pair of shorts and a shirt, and promptly went home and ordered an entire maternity wardrobe at Old Navy Online. Not a single virtual employee bothered me.

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