Home Beckons

Image by catd_mitchell

With less than an hour left before the sale-ending noon deadline, I rush toward the dressing room, trying to beat the grey-haired lady who is heading there from the opposite direction; trying to beat her there, that is, without actually breaking into a run.  With a sharp turn left, a tight squeeze right, and a short speed-walk finish, I beat her by a body length, only to find myself behind several other beat-the-clock triers-on.  Eight doors stand in front of us, closed and locked.  It’s sales day at Bealls, where the shoppers are mostly savvy seniors serious about saving a buck.

I watch the doors, willing them to open.  From my vantage point, I see bodyless ankles and feet beneath the doors of the middle four stalls and shadows moving about beneath the outer two on each end.  But, wait!  There’s no movement in that stall on the far right!  I catch the eyes of the ladies behind me, silently staking claim to my place in line and step toward the stall in question.  Bending down, I peek under the door, immediately calculating that 12.5% of the dressing room capacity is unused behind this locked door.  I eye the distance from door-bottom to floor – twelve inches at best, so I step back into line.

The line moves so excruciatingly slowly, I’ve got time to count the number of rooms (eight minus one), divide by people ahead of me (eight), and multiply by an average dressing room stay (four and one half minutes).  I won’t make it to the front counter in time for my 50% discount, my additional 35% off, my bonus dollars, my senior day bargains, my free gift, my LAST BIG SALE OF THE CENTURY, my MEGA-MADNESS BARGAIN OF A LIFETIME!!!  Time for drastic measures …

Stepping past the ladies behind me, I face the far-right door, throw my new clothes to the floor, take a deep breath, and drop to the floor.  My well-dressed, perfectly coiffed, fellow shoppers turn toward me with questioning eyes.  Imitating my husband’s best Corvette-frame-fixing move, I shimmy head first, back-to-the-floor, under the door, only wishing for his four-wheeled creeper to smooth my journey.  Unlocking the door, I open it to smiles, cheers, and applause!

I’m still savoring my hero status a few minutes later when the clerk says with a cheery voice, “Thank you for shopping with us.  You just saved sixty-seven gazillion dollars today!”

Ah, the simple pleasures …