a minor breakthrough

I am what you'd call fussy. And impatient. I like things to be just so. I am very particular about what I eat, where I'll eat it and where I'll buy and prepare what I eat. Shades of Lloyd Dobler, no?

I'm sure that sounds dreadful to you and you're probably pitying anyone with the bad sense and misfortune to get mixed up with me. To that I say, fuck off, you judgmental asswipe!

But I kid the judgmental asswipes... I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm a pain in the ass because I do try to keep my neuroses contained. I don't expect others to work with or around my quirks. I will ask that people not slather my portion with mayonnaise and/or leave the cole slaw off the plate entirely, but beyond that, I don't issue When Harry Met Sally-like directives to family/friends/waitstaff about how things should be prepared. I keep it simple. And I stick with what's safe and tested. It works for me.

When it comes to shopping for clothes, I'm just as fussy and narrowly-focused. I have a handful of stores that I am very loyal to. I know without even trying things on which size I am in each of them. I utilize the wonder that is online shopping whenever possible. Rarely do I have to return anything because it's too big or small. I've got ecommerce down to a finely-tuned, anti-social science.

I favor the organized, crisp layout of the Gap's, Anthropologie's and J. Crew's online offerings. Their actual stores are decent... provided you go at the right time of day. Ideally, everything is folded or hung on a rack according to size. It makes for a convenient and thus, pleasant, shopping experience for moi. If the stores are looking at all bombed-out, I leave and come back at an off-peak time. For me, a quiet, orderly store is pure bliss.

Neat stacks, organized loose-fitting racks and logically-located size stickers are a requirement for me. Stores that don't adhere to this policy do not get my business. I don't peruse jammed, bursting-at-the-seams racks nor do I sift through comingled bins. If the layout isn't clean and ordered, I get quite pissy. Before you protest, I fully realize that I miss out on many a bargain because of this. However! My disdain for disorder is far stronger than my desire to save 20 percent on famous maker goods. Ew, I just said "goods." I hate that word.

Shopping is not a sport for me. There is no thrill in the hunt. No satisfaction from a bargain gained. Well, that's not true. I loves me a good sale but I'm not going to throw elbows and stampede the less fit to get it. If I happen upon something reduced in price, awesome. Bargains come my way through happenstance, not through strategy or effort. God forbid.

So yes, I miss out on bargain blowouts but that extra money I don't save ensures my sanity. Those few dollars (and 15mg of Paxil) go towards keeping me stable and good-natured. I don't see the value in paying less for a designer top or some shoes when I'm guaranteed to be wearing ill-fitting cranky pants for the rest of the day. It does not compute.

Yesterday I ventured out from behind the computer and did a bit of actual shopping. I left the satisfying and safe confines of virtual stores and went face-to-face with people who don't know how to say "Excuse me" or yield to the right of way. Fucking bastards.

Oh and what's this business with cashiers saying, "Can I help the following guest?" Following? What's that about? Is that supposed to make feel better than the cashier yelling "NEXT!"?!?! 'Cause it doesn't. They're still snotty about the whole thing. For me, it's the tone of the cashier, not what he/she says. The phrasing is secondary to the 'tude that presents it. Apathetic rudeness is apathetic rudeness no matter how fancy and calculated the spiel is. I'm sure tons of market studies were done and training sessions held so that the employees of Bath and Body Works would robotically utter this statement but I'm still not sure why. Anyone? Anyone?

But, as usual, I digress... As I was saying, I did a bit of shopping in the 'hood yesterday. Against my better judgment, I went into Daffy's. I surveyed the scene, turned around on my heel and walked right out. What the fuck are T-Fal pots and pans doing right next to the shoe racks? And why are smelly candles and pot pourri kissing the clothes racks? That store (at least the one in Brooklyn's Atlantic Center) is a complete shambles. It made me instantly irate so I fled the scene.

I then engaged in a bit of retail therapy at the nearby Target. The savage inner beast was soothed and my appetite for materialistic possessions was satiated. At very reasonable prices, I might add. God, I would fuck Target if I could.

I'm in the market for some new jeans and some cute summer-y tops so I walked over to Old Navy to see what they had to offer. I've got money left on a gift card and it's positively scorching a hole in my pocket. But nothing really jumped out at me and the line was ridiculously long so there was no danger of an impulse buy. I tend to buy stupid stuff with gift cards, you see. It's like a sickness.

Despite my aversion to that breed of retail, I went into Marshall's, which is right upstairs from Old Navy. I'm on vacation this week so my temperament has been recharged and restored to near-calm levels. I've also got time to burn so I figured it couldn't hurt to go outside my comfort zone and take a quick gander at the discount merch in this much-ballyhooed store. I'm in need of a cute pair of sneakers and I thought I might score a nifty pair of Pumas or some such. I don't want running ones or anything practical like that. I just want some cute kicks to finish off some of my more casual ensembles. Which is, um, all of them.

So I walked in and it was like my worst nightmare come true. Shoes and sneakers bound by those plastic cord things in overflowing, randomly-placed bins; row after row of garments practically popping off of the overstuffed racks trying desperately to contain them; the aforementioned illogical juxtaposition of housewares and clothing. It was chaos. There was no rhyme nor reason to it. I was appalled but I decided to brave the mess and see what was what. My desire for sneakers was surprisingly resilient.

My will, however, was not. It held strong for a total of five minutes and then I wanted to leave. Really bad.

This particular Marshall's is a bit of an anomaly. I know stores spend millions on market research. I know that the music that is pumped over the speakers, the temperature and the colors on the walls and floors combine to cast a psychological spell on consumers. We are subliminally enticed to stay and spend. I don't think this Marshall's got the memo from corporate headquarters. I was not in a comfortable mental space in this branch and I wanted out tout de suite.

As I made my way towards the exit, mismatched hangers clung to me and boxes fell from their sloppy piles as I tried to squeeze through the tight quarters. My exit was hindered by this disorganization. I guess that's the genius of it. The merchandise comes alive in a sense to trap you there.

Because I'm a conscientious customer (and because I worked in retail and had to clean up after asshole customers who went through the aisles like a mofo tornado), I always pick up what I knock down... even in disgusting, hellish environments such as this where it makes no difference whatsoever.

I was in quite the snit as I tried to force the woeful culottes back into their presumed rightful place and then... What's this? Oooh! A white, lacy blouse covered with eyelets! I fell instantly in love. It was just like macrame only with short sleeves, pearl buttons and a Mandarin collar. It looked JUST like one I saw in the window of a fancy schmancy Lower East Side boutique (remember that one, Jess?) And now, here was its doppelgänger hanging haphazardly from the end of a whatever-the-fuck-the-employees-decided-to-stick-here rack in the Petites section of Marshall's in Brooklyn.

It totally didn't belong on that rack! Score! For a moment in time, I applauded disorder. Someone's second thought on the way to pay (and sheer laziness to hoof it back to the "proper" rack) was my good fortune. I gasped at the ridiculous price ($14.99) and practically squealed when I saw that it was my size (none o' yo damn biznatch).

Mark this down: May 18, 2006 was the day I made my first purchase at Marshall's. I'm feeling so emboldened that I might even take at crack at T.J. Maxx. Loehmann's is a bit of a stretch at this point. I'm going to have to work up the energy and courage to battle that behemoth.

Baby steps, people, baby steps.