Banana Republic has skinny mirrors and trick lighting.
I know this because I shop there and return items there just as frequently. For example, I purchased this fabulous sweater dress just last week. When I tried it on in the dressing room I saw that the royal blue color made my skin glow, my figure look like an hourglass and my legs long and shapely, thus I was statuesque. I was elated and quickly took my purchase home to try it on again. It is at this time I can make vampy poses without drawing judgement from the ever intrusive sales girls and find the best shoes to compliment the outfit.
I slid the dress on and pranced over to the bathroom mirror in my favorite slingback heels. Imagine my surprise when I saw that my figure was no longer statuesque, but that it looked like someone had stuffed me into a tube sock. The royal blue color of the dress brought out the hard to hide shadows under my eyes, giving me the ragged appearance I am only able to obtain after a night of hard drinking. This was not the look I had witnessed just an hour ago. Fucking mirrors! It's hard to pick out an outfit in a place that uses fun house mirrors and low lighting. You could stick Big K in a strapless mini dress and he would look like Keira Knightly.
Well, needless to say that dress was to be returned immediately. I picked out a cute little dress and only purchased it after asking 5 people if I looked good and walking around the store to find a mirror that had decent lighting. The sales girl stalked me, apparently thinking I was going to make a dash out the front door still wearing the dress. I tried to explain to her about the funhouse like atmosphere in the dressing room and the lighting. But, she being a teenage girl, with flawlessly tanned skin and weighing in at approximately 98 lbs did not understand my plight.
But, I left the store ecstatic that I had found a decent outfit and that it was a perfect size 6. Okay, it's a snug size 6. I jammed myself into it and if I don't take full breaths it's fine. This is what we women do if it's the last dress there and it's on sale. Pain for fashion
Dancing out of the store in my euphoric state left me naked and unprotected for the assault.
"Az'cuse, me mizz...can I azak you sump'tink?"
It was one of those girls from the kiosks that line the center of the mall. This particular one is located right outside Banana Republic. I usually have my guard up and pretend that I'm talking on my cell phone in order to avoid any exposure. But, my defense mechanisms were weaken by the dress that was carefully nestled in tissue paper and tucked in the gigantic bag I was swinging.
Shocked and unaware what to do next, the 18 years of manners my mother drilled into me came ricochetting out.
"Sure" I said. Big, wide smile posted on my face.
Smiling like a predator with prey caught in it's grasp, she grabbed my hand and started slathering some smelly lotion on it all the while I think she is asking me something about dry skin and winter in an incredibly thick accent. Foreign accents are like kryptonite to me. I cannot understand them and even ordering Chinese food requires a translator.
So, she's chatting away while pulling me towards the booth that is set up like some Zen Garden with rocks, flowers and those fountains that make you have to pee if you listen to them for too long. I can see the sympathetic look of my fellow shoppers as they walk by and see me being pulled into the Dungeon of Calm and Serenity.
With my hands officially greased and smelling of a combination of sandalwood and something else equally offensive, she starts to tell me about some chunk of quartz that she is tossing back and forth between her hands. Every now and then she places it on the top of my hand and then pulls it back, still babbling in an accent that is drawing me further and further into the depths of utter confusion. I still have no idea what she is saying.
Then out of the corner of my eye, I see this guy coming towards me with this huge wire thing that looks like a spider. He raises it up and it was at this exact moment that I came out of my stupor and declared "What the hell is that"
"Ezz for your head. A mezzage"
He was going to massage my head with that spider looking torture device . No - fucking - way.
I have seen the unwashed masses that patronize the mall and I was not going to obtain a hair infestation from some guy in a Zen booth.
It was at that very moment my cell phone fake rang with a fake call from a fake person who got me the hell outta there, greasy, smelling of sandalwood and some other unidentifiable vile stuff.
I was not calm, I was not serene. I was odorous and traumatized.