The Fitting Room

Why do fitting rooms always have to smell like dirty socks? Really, do people not think, “Oh, I may be taking my shoes off in a public place. I should put on clean socks.”  In the three years that my bestie, Frankie, has worked here, he has never seen these floors cleaned. And let me tell you, with the things that go on in these kinds of places, you do not want to go barefoot. Eww, no. Well, just last week Frankie told me about these two people that were caught….

“Tony, what are you doing in there? Do I need to call security? How long can it possibly take to try one a shirt?” Since Frankie was currently employed here, he fancied himself a fashionista. I found  that his wardrobe choices were sketchy at best.

I sighed. I do that a lot when trying on clothes. It’s like each thing that you try on is saying, “Look how good I would look on you if you were trying on the right size.” Stupid judgy Marc Jacobs shirt.” Again, I sigh. “This one doesn’t fit, it’s too small. If I had to reach up for something it would look like a was wearing a halter top!”

I could sense Frankie’s eye roll. “Come out and show it to me. That is the point of me being here. Well, that and to make sure that you don’t end up at Marshell’s”

“There is nothing wrong with Marshell’s. You’re just being a snoot! I’ve gotten some cute clothes there.” I could hear him mumbling something about me having the fashion sense of a blind, Russian mill worker. “What was that?”

“I said, try these pants on. I got a couple of pair in blue and black.” He hands them to me over the fitting room door.

“What the hell, Frankie! These are skinny jeans. I am not skinny and anyone over thirty should not be allowed to wear them.”

“Yes, well as much as I love a good pair of dad jeans humor me and just try these on. We’re going clubbing and don’t you want to turn some heads, show off your goodies?”

“If a cute guy walked up to me and complimented me on my goodies, I would probably turn bright red from embarrassment and start giggling hysterically.”

Having put on the black pants, I open the door slowly and peak out. I find Frankie standing there with his arms crossed and tapping his foot impatiently. I am also sucking in my gut so much I’m barely breathing. Now I know how those poor Victorian women felt putting on a corset. If I faint, I could probably get out of going to the club. But there is no way that I’m collapsing on any part of this disgusting floor. I stand in front of him and give him a twirl with a little booty shake.

“Hmmm, I like them on you, shows off your pert ass. But why are you making that face? You look like you’re constipated.”

Through gritted teeth I say, “it’s because these things are so damn tight. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to even sit down.”

“That’s good, more chances to see your pert ass! Now, relax your gut and breath for Christ’s sake!”

Against my better judgement I relax my stomach and take a breath. It’s in that moment that the pants suddenly feel great. With horror I realize that the button on the pants has popped off and rocketed away. I see the projectile leave the fitting room. The next thing I hear is a shrill scream coming from a woman outside of the fitting rooms.

“Oh my god, my eye! Something hit my eye. I think someone shot something at me!” I quickly retreat into the fitting room and shut the door.

“Um, okay. So maybe the skinny jeans were a poor choice” Frankie sound petulant as he runs out to comfort the hyperventilating customer.