Customer Disservice

With the big ticket items off my plate, I can concentrate on the little things. Wrapping paper, a card. Stuff like that.

And while at the mall, I can check a few other items off my lengthy list of "Things To Do When I Finally Have The Time and the Fortitude To Endure The Mall"

Hil has finally decided that she has the courage to get her ears pierced. She loves jewelry - she is my daughter, after all, and has amassed quite a collection of clip on types that would not conjure up images of Betty White, but has hesitated until now.

Ah the beauty of Middle School peer pressure. Only it can make you face your fears: Pinched and potentially bleeding earlobes, and the wrath of Lars who maintains that his wacko mother is the picture of purity because she never had anything pierced, including her ears. (The fact that she is as gaudy as any gypsy and smoked like a stack of course not tarnishing said purity...)

And so we are off to the Mall to subject our earlobes to torture and to get a watch battery replaced at the Cartier store.

My watch has been dead for two weeks, and yet I still wear it. It has been 1 o'clock on the nose for quite some time now.

I google the Mall tenant list for the ear piercing place nearest our friends at Cartier. Piercing Pagoda, Claire's Boutique, I don't care. I just don't want to spend the afternoon traipsing from one complex to another to get two itty bitty things checked off my list.

We are in luck. Claire's and Cartier are a mere steps from one another. (Cartier must cringe!)
This will take no time at all. We will still have time to spend a few hours at the swim club afterwards on this gorgeous sunny Sunday.

We put on bathing suits under shorts and Ts and head out, Cartier and earlobes in hand.

The mall parking lot is jammed but we find a great parking space (What are all these people doing at the mall? It is hot as Hades. The Air conditioning deprived must all be here for the free relief from the heat.)

Just inside the door is the directory and we are just about 20 yards from Cartier.

The guard opens the door for me. The kids take seats in the beautifully appointed seating area. I approach the counter where a prim woman in a dark pant suit looks miserable. Maybe its the Bad Hair Day she's having. Think "hemp."

I approach her and remove my watch. I tell her that I believe it needs a new battery; it has stopped.

She takes an overly long time to even look up at me. And she does not reach for the watch at first.

We are not off to a promising start.