I was in a hurry, so I just bought two pair.
And that's when it happened.Cue foreboding music... She asked if she could show me anything else, I said no thanks, and, in an accent I'd only heard before on Saturday Night Live, she asked "How long will you be in town?"
"What?" I said, not sure I'd heard correctly.
"Where are you from?" she asked.
"Here," I said.
"Where? In city?"
"I live around the corner," I said, deciding to pay cash so she wouldn't get my address from my card and follow me home to - what? mark the socks down further? See if I got into a cab headed for Pierre, South Dakota?
- the interrogation continued. "Where will a city girl wear such socks?"
"On my feet," I muttered, thinking that if I was rude enough she'd figure it out for herself. But why persist in trying to make me feel like a stranger in My Store?
Bloomingdales has been through many ups and downs over time, and through bankruptcy and reorganization at least twice that I can recall, and Himself thinks my spending keeps that store open. I want the magic back. I want my home away from home again -- resting barefoot in the shoe department at the end of a long day, where noone will disturb your contemplation by trying to sell you shoes, getting made up on the way out to dinner, snacks in the housewares department, serendipitously being offered champagne to celebrate the opening of - well, anything! A door! or a restyled department. Knowing I could always go to Bloomingdales was like having a friend who always carries confetti because the two of you are bound to find something to celebrate. Bloomies has always been a friend. This experience was the opposite of friendly. I felt sad. Tired. My feet hurt. I hurried to the shoe department to sit down and relax. Barefoot.