Mall-content

Miss "Which twin has the real Toni" sizes me up from her side of the counter. I can tell she is not impressed with me.






Truth be told, I am not all that impressive today. I have come to the mall for some fairly mundane tasks on the way to an afternoon at the swim club. I have dressed accordingly. I have on a denim skirt, a black and white very vintage-looking Audrey Hepburn T-shirt and JCrew flip flops. I can tell she expects more from the attire of her clientele.






She could not be less interested in helping me. But between her and the guard, it appears she has won the booby prize and must wait on the dirt ball I evidently appear to be. Thank God my children are behaving.





She eventually takes the watch from me. With a look that clearly shows she'd prefer not to waster her time on me.





And then, right in front of me, she makes a Big Production out of examining it for authenticity. I am sure she has deduced that it is a fake. No one who owns a watch of this caliber would be caught dead in my outfit (Frankly, my hipster daughter, who is very hard to impress, approved of it, saying I am the coolest Mom at the pool! So there, Raffia Hair!)





I want to scream at her.





I want to scream that she needs to get a big two-handed grip on the notion that I am the one who owns a Cartier watch and she is the one working at Cartier. Sorry about your career luck, lady. Maybe you should have stayed in school and taken up something more than 18th Century French Literature for a major after your failed out of charm school and had to get a degree or a husband on the fly!





I take deep breaths and try to think happy thoughts that don't involve murdering anyone.





My immediate thoughts are to blame myself. I was the one who invited this discrimination. I am dressed for the pool, not Cartier.





But hello, it's the MALL!!! Miss Snootypants may be on the cool, serene side of the Cartier door, but that door is just steps from that of Spencers Gifts, and of Roma Pizza, and the kiosk that sells clip on hair extensions in 11 different colors. Hardly a gated community! If this were the Cartier in the lobby of the Ritz Carlton, or on 5th Avenue in New York, or the mothership in Paris, I might, and I mean might, churn out a little hype with my attire. But it is the mall - home to Kitchen Kapers and Sunglass Hut, and I'll be dipped in sh** before I get out the Armani to self park inches from the Turnpike to tease out a little customer service from Miss Piss Pot Retail Flunky.





Not that retail isn't an admirable career, but jeez, understand your relationship to the customer for heaven's sake! Your job depends on my willingness to spend money and time with you! Would it kill you to smile???





Miss Needs a Mood Stabilizer proceeds to ask me a lot of questions. She is eye-rollingly not surprised that I am not in their customer database. Then she tires of data entry and asks me to complete some stupid form which asks the same questions the answers to which she's been laboring at keying. Obviously didn't pass typing class either. I want to slap her with my flip flop.





She blandly informs me that the technician will be in on Tuesday and they'll call me to let me know what is wrong with my watch. I collect my receipt and turn to leave.





But Hil wants to show me some fabulous jewelry so I linger against my will and indulge her, hoping she'll relax about the piercing that's next on the agenda.





We browse for about 10 minutes and then proceed toward the door. The guard opens it for us. I turn to see that my children are indeed behind me, and notice that Miss Attitude has left my watch on the counter. Still. She cares so little that she will let it sit there while she labors at her typing assignment.





I storm out. I want to go back and tell her to show a little respect my caring for my watch as if it were her own, but don't. The pen is mightier. I am going to not only memorialize in my blog, I am going to notify her boss. True, I wasn't there to buy today, and her attitude ensured that I never would be.