Big Mistake. Big. Huge.

I often try to relate my life to movies or television. The only shows and movies I truly know well enough to play this game with are Friends, The Office, My Best Friend’s Wedding, and Step Brothers. Therefore, if I am relating any event in my life to these big or small screen classics, it must be pretty darn hilarious. I will be the first person to tell you that I love telling stories. The stories often have some type of funny spin on them, because if they didn’t, well, I probably wouldn’t tell it. One of the things I love about telling stories is the ability to relate it to something everyone knows. And yes, I am using the term “everyone” loosely.  I am ecstatic when I can relate my life to the Friends episode when Rachel catches up on her correspondence, The Office scene when Michael Scott can’t parallel park, or the scene in Step Brothers when Brennan and Dale build bunk beds and are thrilled to have more room for activities.

While I was in Chicago, I had a movie moment. I was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. I skipped the over-the-knee hooker boots and cutout dress (even though both of those styles are surprisingly popular and mainstream) and was simply refused service at a store.

Bri, who you have all read many stories about, is getting married! She and her fiancee will be getting married in May, and I am lucky enough to be part of their wedding, so I need to buy a bridesmaid dress. Bri has been going a little Pinterest crazy since the engagement and at least a hundred of her pins have been devoted to bridesmaid dresses. She thought she had narrowed down her search to a single designer, and asked another bridesmaid to go try on the dresses. Samantha went, tried on the dresses and sent her feedback and photos. The dresses seemed fine, but Samantha might not have been the best man for the job. Samantha is probably 5- foot-nothing and a size 00. The dresses she tried hung on her tiny frame. Bri thought they were okay, but she wasn’t sure. Knowing that I was going to Chicago and there was a store that sold this designer’s dresses, I offered to go try them on for her.

Saturday morning Erin had rehearsal, so my mom and I had time to kill before her performance. We wandered around a bit before deciding to head to the bridesmaid dress store. The website said they were open 10 – 5 on Saturdays, so we started walking. About a mile later we found the address and waited while three girls with humongous sparklers and their posses exited the elevator. My mom and I got in the elevator with another giggly group of girls. I put on my sunglasses, because the massive rocks they were all rocking were catching the light and too bright for my unprotected eyes. We got off the elevator, turned right and I saw the script writing on the door “By Appointment Only.” Shoot! It definitely did not say that on the website.

We walked in the door and the small shop had a few racks of dresses, and a few people milling about. There was a group of women on the sofas on the far side of the store looking at books and magazines, I assume getting ideas for dresses. There was a woman in a wedding dress surrounded by five other women comparing veils and sashes. No one acknowledged us when we walked in, so we walked further into the store. When I finally locked eyes with a woman that appeared to work in the store, she came over with the most fake smile, tan, hair and, well, other things, that I had ever seen.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi. I am a bridesmaid in my friend’s wedding and she would like us to get the Alfred Sung D500 dress. I live in Wisconsin and can’t get the dress there, so I was hoping to try on the dress while I am here.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don’t. I saw your hours online and didn’t realize it was by appointment only. Do you have that dress here?”

The woman rolled her eyes a bit.

“Let me check.”

… long pause…

“Yes, we do.”

… long pause…

“Would I be able to try it on?”

“No, I’m sorry, we are completely booked today.”

I looked to the right and the two dressing rooms that were completely empty, and then back at the woman.

“Okay, may I see the dress?”

The woman didn’t respond but started to walk to the other side of the store. I assumed this meant that she was going to show us the dress, so I followed.

“Here it is.”

“Thank you very much. So all of these dresses are in the same line, correct?”

She looked annoyed with me before giving me an answer.

My mom and I looked at the dresses, felt the fabric, and compared the different available styles. As the two dressing rooms remained wide open, my mom held up different dresses which I then stuck my head through the hanger and pulled around the front of me so she could see.

The two dressing rooms were still wide open.

After a few minutes we were impressed by the dresses, but knew that there wasn’t much else we could do.

As we started to walk out I walked slowly to try to get the attention of one of the women working. When no one wanted to help I was able to stop the original meanie while she was about to walk past me.

“Will you be open tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come back to try on the dress tomorrow?”

“No. We are totally booked tomorrow as well.”

“Hmm. Well, that’s a bummer.”

My mom and I walked out and the open dressing rooms were still open.

When we got in the elevator my mom said what I was thinking, “that was unbelievable! Was she serious? You wanted to try on one dress!”

“I know! It wasn’t as though I walked in and said, ‘oh, I just need a navy dress.’ No! I knew the ONE dress I wanted to try on. And I can’t buy it in Wisconsin! I would have paid the $200 right there to buy it from them. Ridiculous.”

I wasn’t wearing hooker boots, but I was refused service by a very snotty saleswoman. When I told the story to my friends, I told them that I felt like Julia Roberts.

 

 

“How much is this?”

“I don’t think this would fit you.”

Well, lady, if you don’t let me try it on, I will never know!

 

I hope she works on commission. It wouldn't be a huge mistake, but it was a mistake!

Who Knew Grocery Shopping Could Be So Challenging?

Where did I move again?

Last time I checked, Wisconsin is in the same country as New York.  But every time I have gone to the grocery store I have thought otherwise. 

Moving to a new city and finding a grocery store is challenging enough without dealing with Crazy Grocers, Inc. of Madison, WI. 

There are probably six different Targets around the Madison area, and I have been lucky enough to go to most of them.  As my lists grew longer I would break down and take a trip to Target.  While I was there I would usually end up walking through the grocery section to pick up the few things I needed.

But two weeks into this game I knew it was time for a change.  My fake grocery shopping wasn’t going to cut it forever.  And, I wanted to learn and feel comfortable with a grocery store before I lived here for six months and would only shop at Target.  And, let’s be honest, Target is fantastic, and the fact that they have grocery sections is wonderful, but real grocery stores are so much better.

So I sucked it up and went to my first grocery store.  I went to Metcalfe’s.  Before you ask, yes, I went to a grocery store next to Target.  I guess I used it as a security blanket.  Maybe I was thinking that if I was too nervous to shop at the real grocery store I could park in the lot, and just stroll right into Target.

Am I sounding like a crazy person?  Am I the only one that stresses out about shopping in a new place?  Because I do!  I get nervous when I’m trying to find a new store.  To help defend myself, think of your grocery shopping experience.  I am going to assume that you usually go to the same store, or possibly one of two stores.  You know which door you will walk in before you arrive.  You park your car closest to that door, take a cart or basket from the same place you always do and shop for the things on your list.  When you think of your grocery store, can you picture where your favorite type of apples are?  Do you know where to get peanut butter?  How about your ice cream?  Do you know which brand of milk to purchase?  And what color the 1% milk is?  Because I have news for you, different milk percentages have different colors in different places.

You probably all passed that test with flying colors, so now take a moment to feel my pain.  Walking into a brand new grocery store you don’t know any of those answers.  Heck, I couldn’t figure out which milk to buy!  And in America’s Dairyland, that is a little bit of a problem.  We have all tried plenty of new grocery stores, but there is a very big difference between a home shopper and a visiting shopper.  The home shopper knows all of the answers and usually fills a cart or basket with the basics and essentials.  The visiting shopper is on vacation or just headed to a party on the other side of town, only breezing through the store to buy beer, potato chips, and maybe a birthday cake.  I’m the home shopper, or at least I’m trying to be, but I’m the girl blocking the aisles, flipping u-ees, and walking the entire store three times before completing my trip.

Now that I feel I have your sympathy, I’ll continue. 

I walked into Metcalfe’s and immediately felt under dressed.  The employees were wearing collared shits, ties, and full aprons.  It was nice, but far from Price Chopper polos or Target red.  The floors were beautiful and the lighting was pleasant.  I paced back and forth through the produce section, almost being tricked into purchasing organic items on more than one occasion, before making my way to the deli counter.  With no numbers in sight, I stood directly in front of the display case, deciding on the turkey that wasn’t the absolute cheapest, but pretty darn close.  The deli ladies were both busy, but saw me standing there, each saying, “I’ll be right with you.”  Then, one by one, female shoppers walked up to the counter, placed their orders and were served before me.  This happened three times!  What happened to “I’ll be right with you?”  Or what happened to a simple, “I’m sorry, this woman was here before you, I’ll be right with you.”  Are women in Madison blind?  Or does the whole Midwest nice thing not apply within grocery store walls?  Luckily a man was the next to approach the counter.  While I glanced over at him he kindly said, “oh, go right ahead.  You were here first.”  It must have been my staggering good looks that finally got me my turkey.  And the wedding ring on his finger that didn't get me the date.

When I arrived at the checkout line the sixteen-year-old pimply stick of a girl started ringing up my items as she asked the famous paper or plastic?  When I said plastic she and her equally pimply and awkward bagger looked at me like I had three heads.  I didn’t feel the need to defend myself, but in my head I thought, don’t you know that dog poop has to be picked up?  The bagger boy began putting my items in fancy schmancy plastic bags- the kind of heavy duty plastic bags that don’t even work for dog poop.  When I noticed that the bagger also had normal plastic bags, I asked if he would use those.  He gave me a look like I was completely crazy.  Okay, I was going to have to explain myself…  I simply said, “I use the bags when I walk the dog, so I don’t need really nice ones.”  He looked at his cashier counterpart who gave a typically teenage eye roll and then back at me.  He said, “uhh, we only use those bags for frozen things.”

I knew I wasn’t going to win this one, so I gave up.  When the last of my fancy plastic bags were in my cart the cashier mumbled, “you want a drive up?”

“Excuse me, a what?”

“A drive up.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is…”

Major sigh in disgust….“We stand with your cart and you drive your car up”

“Oh, gosh.  That won’t be necessary.  Thank you.”

And I left Metcalfe’s with my tail between my legs, absolutely exhausted, and with only one dog poop bag holding my ice cream.

When I told coworkers about my experience they all agreed that they had never heard of a drive up, and that maybe Metcalfe’s was too upscale for my taste.  I was told to go to Copps.

The next week I went to Copps.  I got myself a Copps card and had a decent enough experience.  The next week, I returned.  When I checked out, I felt confident handing over my card, and excited to be acquiring gas discounts.  As the woman finished ringing me up and I swiped my credit card she said, “are you playing Monoploy?”  I thought I must have misheard her. 

“What was that?”

“Are you playing Monopoly?”

Nope.  I was right, she did ask me about Monopoly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means…”

“It's a game.  Monopoly.”

Think, Meaghan, think.  Of course Monopoly is a game, but why would I be playing it?  What does this mean?  And why are all grocery store cashiers crazy?  Oh!  I got it!  My telephone is in my hand!  Maybe there is a Monopoly app that is popular!  That has to be it!

“Oh, no, my telephone is off.  I’m not playing.”

With that, the cashier rolled her eyes so hard I thought they would get stuck, picked up a random piece of paper from behind the register and said, “no!  Monopoly.” 

"Oh."

I pushed my cart away. 

After speaking with my office mate the next day he informed me that Copps is playing Monopoly, similar to the way McDonald’s has done it in the past.

… and I was supposed to know this how?

Needless to say, I am still searching for a grocery store.

Must. Go. Shopping.

I have to go shopping.

While living in Thailand I managed to acquire a pretty extensive summer wardrobe.  I also managed to ruin a pretty extensive summer wardrobe.  With dirty water, really bad washing machines, lots of sunlight and LOTS of sweat, most of my clothes are ruined.

I dreaded the idea of coming back to a New York winter, but I was ecstatic to rediscover my winter wardrobe.  The novelty of that wore off pretty quickly.  I had forgotten all of the cleaning up and clearing out I did before I left for Thailand.  My extensive wardrobe that I was psyched to pick through, had been whittled down to three Rubbermaid bins.  After collecting the stolen items from Erin's closet, I was still unimpressed, but I made do.

Now, I'm running on the bare essentials.  Yes, I just bought too many pairs of heels, which was probably a little silly, but they definitely weren't expensive, and they were my I-got-a-job treat!

Since I have lived in New York I have thrown away two pairs of jeans, one pair of sweat pants and one pair of pajama pants.  I have also thrown away three different shirts and three pairs of flats.  I promise, none of these things could have been donated to anywhere other than the trash.  They were horrible, and had to be thrown away.

And here I am, without much of a wardrobe at all.  This past weekend I went home and switched clothes from New York with clothes I have in Saratoga, but it still won't do the job.  I need to go shopping.

Most of you are probably thinking, okay, stop talking about it, just do it!  Just buy yourself some clothes already!  Here is the problem: I hate shopping.  Hate with a capital "h."  I'm not even going to sugar coat it and use strongly dislike.  I hate it.

Fortunately, I have discovered the beauty of online shopping.  Zappos, for example has free return shipping and returns are allowed for 365 days!  And, with my new sneaker purchase and buying two dresses for Liz's party, I am now a VIP Zappos shopper.  I have to use a special website and everything!  And now I always get free one day shipping. This is the perfect way for me to shop!  Forget real stores, I'm going to become an online shopaholic.  Okay, that's dangerous.  I'll just do my best to not despise shopping.  And I think online might be my golden ticket!