Fierce Fashion

        I have always noticed that people will use whatever authority they have, no matter how small, but I just recently discovered that the force in which the authority is imposed is inversely proportional to the level of power that person holds.

         That’s right, the smaller the dog, the bigger the bark.

        

         Thelma, the dressing room attendant at Macy’s was analogous to an miniature overweight Bulldog and had a thunderous bark. Standing about 5’4” tall and 4’5” wide, she kept control of that dressing area with orders, rules and demands that she continuously growled at the ladies changing.

         “Let’s go ladies! People waiting.” She yipped as I stepped up to the end of the hall with my one little skirt. I was the only one waiting, and felt a little embarrassed for causing her to yell, but then she turned around, looked me in the eye and flinging her arms up ordered me to stand back.

         “Get to the back of the hall.” She commanded.

         Obliging, and a little jolted, I stepped back a couple of feet.

         She continued to harass the others in rooms then looking at me twice, she waddled over, got right in my face and said, “The back of the hall! The back! Get back! It’s for security reasons!”

         Security reasons? What could happen at a Macy’s dressing room in a 10-foot hallway? Did she think I would loose my head over some ladies cute sequined mini and rip it out of her arms as she exited her room? Was she worried about fashion friction? Clothing clashes? Trend Tiffs? Absurd. Nevertheless, sensing that Thelma was clearly not in the mood to entertain my questions and cross examination, I quietly stepped back another few feet to the entry of the hall. Apparently, I failed to follow her orders correctly however, because that dressing room demon exploded into furry. Perhaps had there been a clear line on the floor, or a sign indicating the area in which a patiently waiting shopper was to stand, I would have avoided raising Thelma’s blood pressure and causing a scene, but there wasn’t….and I did….

         Swaying side to side, Thelma stormed over to me, repeatedly poked me in the arm and directed me to back up so that I was under the doorway….obstructing the only egress in the area. Thinking that this was a probable violation of a fire code, I asked the irritated Napoleon if she really meant for me to be blocking the doorway.

         “Listen, lady, I don’t make the rules, I just order them!” she yelled at me. “Now just stand there….and don’t lean against the wall either. Let’s go ladies! How long does it take?!”

         Don’t lean against the wall? Now Thelma was just saying things to irritate me, I was sure, and just as I was about to forgo trying on the adorable skirt, and thinking about how I could get back at the witch, three doors flew open and she frantically waved me over. The exiting ladies gave me the ‘you’re in trouble now….why did you have to say anything?’ raised eyebrow looks and bolted from the area.

         Slightly flustered and not really caring about the skirt anymore, I began to change anyway. Just then, there was a pounding on the door followed by “Are you still trying on that one skirt?”

         “Um…ya. Is that okay?” I asked anxiously.

         “Just don’t take all day!” She retorted.

         I had barely entered the damn room, and knew no one was waiting, so what was the hassle about? Was she just tormenting me for kicks? I hated that I felt nervous and nettled in that dressing room. Thelma was throwing me off balance, and half expecting her to poke her chubby head under my door, I began to feel claustrophobic. I knew I had to get out immediately, so not even trying on the skirt, I buttoned up and left.

         But just to be nice…and fearing an attack for leaving the skirt in the room, I brought it out and handed both the hanger and piece of clothing to Thelma.

         “Put it on the hanger!” She snapped as she waved her hand in front of my face.

         That did it. A person can only take so much abuse.

         I looked down into her beady eyes, and as I held the skirt up to her face, I calmly said, “I think your position as dressing room attendant probably includes more than yelling orders and harassing people. You put it on the hanger, Thelma. It’s your job.” And I flung both skirt and hanger into the vacant room.

         I’m frankly surprised I made it out of there without a bloody nose or a cracked kneecap.

        

         Halleluiah for internet shopping.