2008-01-20

I’ve never really ever considered myself innocent or naive, if anything somewhat jaded and uhm, “experienced” would be a fair word to use. Not to go into too much detail, but I was having a conversation about donkey punching that would curl most peoples toes yesterday morning.

So I found myself taken aback at the mall last night, in a “tween” store, and fortunate not to have been carted off to jail.

I’ll rewind a bit of my afternoon that led me to my near miss of an indictment.

Normally I’m not the kind of girl to be found hanging out in a bar on a Saturday afternoon, but I was hanging out with a professional drinker as he calls it, so you play in his arena. We actually started in the mall at a Houlihans, but that is one chain that has gone downhill. The food was ok, and we had to coax the 24 year old bartender for proper silverware, clean ashtrays, just the little things that puts the “tend” in bartender. After we finished our lunch, we decided to go to his main hangout, even though I don’t like the place acoustically . This was ok for a couple of hours, he wandered off to play liars poker across the bar, and I was left talking to a very nice guy, who gave me a reason to come back to PA if California doesn’t work out. He eventually left, and I was now four and a half hours into sitting in a smoke filled bar. Cough.

I remembered my girlfriend was going to be at the mall (the one I had left hours earlier) to have her daughters ears pierced for her 13th birthday. I gave a quick call, and was surprised that for one; her cell phone was on and it rang, and two she actually answered it. I quickly ascertained that the deed was done, but she would be there for about another hour. I hadn’t seen her since the end of December, so I told her I’d come over for a while.

I bid my friend goodbye, but told him I’d call him back in an hour or so as I eyed his growing stack of Washington’s I knew he was fine.

I didn’t zoom back over, more of an extended meander, as I turned out the wrong exit, but found them quickly enough in Aeropostale. First I hate walking into these stores, just for the fact they are overpriced and poorly made. The clothes, not the stores. I hope they are up to the Boca codes.

If I’m going to pay to have anyone’s name on my body..its only going to be mine. Plus names are close to a print, and lord knows I hate a print on me.

Our newly pierced thirteen year old is still young enough at heart to throw her arms around me in public and give me a hug. She introduced me to her other friend, who must be the most sheltered girl this side of the convent, even if they are Methodist. The other two girls were down the way in one of those soap shops, having lost interest in picking out clothes for their friend.

We wandered down the hall passing other teen stores, and the two decided they must go into Zumie or something that was trendy, but had 60% and clearance signs plastered all around. My girlfriend and I decided to wait it outside and catch up on the last few weeks. I of course told her how I fell down-again- New Years Eve..more stairs, alcohol and a dog named Fudge were involved, hence me still limping around having re injured the same spots. As she shook her head and gently chided me, her daughter and friend came out of the store, gleefully clutching handfuls of stickers.

Happy with their score, we went to find the other girls who were busy sniffing shampoo and soaps. I checked out some of the scents, but nothing was worth waiting in line twenty minutes for a three dollar bar of soap. I heard a commotion and realized it was coming from the score of four girls, so I went over to find out what was wrong. Did I mention that these girls are all from church, and I haven’t stepped foot in the United Methodist Church in years? Seriously, I think gargoyles would come to life screeching if I walked past.

So when I overheard the oldest saying to the youngest, “Did you pay for those stickers? They’re a dollar a piece” and the coinciding crestfallen look on their faces, I simply snorted and said, “Oh shit.”

This elicited a glare from my girlfriend. Oops. Well, she made the mom decision that they were to take them back and apologize for an innocent mistake, while I laughed and pointed out how they ‘Bauvered.’

For those who may not have read my posts prior, to “Bauver” v. used in its proper context is the unintentional act of shoplifting, realizing it after you’ve left the store, and still not paying. We decided this was second generation and a “Bauverette” since they were returning said merchandise. Do as I say child, not as I do.

The good news was, they actually came back with all 16 stickers, they were free, so they divided them amongst themselves with a little help from mom. I was going to leave, but I agreed to go to one last store, which is more cheaply made clothes but at least priced accordingly. I won’t mention the name, in case this isn’t over and someone google it and sees something written here, and takes it as evidence against me.

The youngest sheltered girl thought it would be fun, and had things been in our size as well, we would have joined them, but they all decided to try on handfuls of prom dresses. I knew this would take a while so I sat down and the girly girls piled all their belongings around me to watch. No problem as my still sprained feet and ankles were hurting and any alcohol in my system had long worn off.

These girls may have been 13 or 14 but they went with their instinct of pulling the most spangled, low cut, sequined dresses off the rack. Well, I admit the one girl had a beautiful chiffon dress on that only another size zero could wear. She handed me her camera and asked me if I could take her picture. Sure,no problem. As the other girls came out of the dressing room, they all asked for pictures and group shots which I happily obliged.

Click. Click. Ok, turn, Click, and on it went, and they either went back into the dressing room, those that remembered to prop the door, or crawled under because they were locked out. I saw a funny shot of four sets of bare feet sticking out from underneath the doors, and snapped a quick shot of that as well. Another set of dresses another set of shots, and the next thing I knew the manager was bearing down toward me, loudly proclaiming I could not take pictures in the store.

I was befuddled for a moment, thinking no way in hell are these designer clothes and what’s the big deal. I looked at her quizzically and asked why I couldn’t take pictures for these girls to show their mothers, etc. I was vamping for time, as the look on this woman’s face was anything but friendly.

She capitulated and stated that I could not take pictures where I was with the dressing rooms behind the girls. Suddenly I realized that I was setting myself up to be branded a pedophile at best, and I could be sued if I was taking a picture and someone else walked out of the dressing rooms. Holy shit.

At this point, the youngest sheltered girl, came out of the dressing room, and wanted her picture taken. I explained she had to move further up in the store, and the manager stopped her, telling her she couldn’t go any further as her bra was showing under the spaghetti straps.

Now even this I thought was a little over the top, if not downright ironic. I told the manager to look again. This little miss was the only one to try the dresses on, fully over all her clothes, jeans included, it wasn’t her bra that was showing, but her shirt. None of these dresses were designed for anything but a strapless bra if one at all.

Nowhere in my mind, was anything remotely perverse about taking pictures of girls who were just having fun playing dress up, but how sad that I was sure somewhere employee manuals had to be rewritten to address this issue in the day of digital imagery. I thanked the manager for pointing it out and explaining, and chatted her up about the amount of clothing on the dressing room floor and what their rooms must look like at home. That garnered her sympathy for how people treat others in the retail world, and at the same time, gathered up the balance of the girls and had them hang everything on the rack and we got out of the store quickly.

The oldest of the four stated, “Whose idea was that to try dresses on, that was really fun!” as she was the one who handed me her camera.

My reply was, “Whose idea was it to hand me a camera and get me in trouble? I may not be a 14 year old girl but I play one on the internet” which elicited laughter and my Doodle, proclaiming, “Do you see why we keep her around?”

Suddenly the sheltered one got a look of horror on her face, turned to me and asked “You’re just kidding right?”

I expect I’ll be getting a phone call from her parents lawyer soon.