JUST GIVE ME THE FUCKING SHIRT AND BACK AWAY

I like to shop. But I hate people. This is a problem, as shopping usually involves interacting with people. It is this pesky people element that keeps me away from the mall unless it is absolutely necessary.

And its not just the mobs of other customers I hate. I also hate the store clerks. These days, store clerks seem to fall into two camps - the ones who totally ignore you, even when you have to build a complicated ladder system out of mannequin parts to reach a display they hung on the ceiling; and the ones who want to share their life story with you because they don't have any real friends. There is no medium ground. You either get a dirty look because your sales transaction is forcing them to cut off their personal phone conversation before they find out what Jen is wearing to the party Saturday night, or you have to hear them talk about how when they were 5, they had a stuffed bear named Teddy that they still miss sometimes late at night when they wet the bed.

Waiters and waitresses are the same way. I had one woman who got pissed off at me because I asked for silverware, and a guy from Australia who couldn't stop telling about how much he missed Australia. I almost bought him a plane ticket just so he'd shut up. Why is it so hard to find someone who will just serve me my food (and bring me silverware) and then leave me the fuck alone?

I have one favorite clothing store I frequent. I can almost always rest assured that at this store I'll find something fabulous, in my size, and with some discount or coupon attached to it. Up until recently, I even liked the people who worked there. They were helpful but not clingy ... they opened up the dressing rooms promptly, but did not feel the urge to knock on the door every two minutes to ask me if I'm alright. If for some reason I have a tragic dressing room accident, you can be sure to hear my screams as I struggle to release myself from pants cutting off the circulation to my brain. I'm not THAT proud.

But over time, some of the sales people I liked at my favorite store left, and in their place there is now one horrible, overly perky, touchy-feely, crazy bitch. I knew things were going terribly wrong when, after I purchased a scarf one day in the store, she rushed over to hug me. HUG ME.

Let's be clear. I don't hug strangers. Until I was 30, I didn't hug my own mother because I didn't feel I knew her well enough, despite the fact I'm grateful for that whole feeding and raising me thing. It seems some people are just hug-happy - using what should be saved for special occasions and special people to simply say "hi" or "it's Tuesday!" or "I like your pants!"

Plus, it is very awkward to be a large-breasted woman and hug other women - the boob on boob action tends to make me feel like I'm in a porn video, or at least that I should buy the other woman dinner. (If you are a man reading this, or a lesbian, you may now take a few minutes to get this picture out of your system. Please make sure to clean up after yourself, however. I'd hate for the screen to get all sticky. Thank you.)

There are other reasons I don't like hugging randomly. First, people smell. I don't want to get their weird stench on me. Second, people are crazy. I don't want to get their weird crazy on me, either.

So when this woman I didn't know who sold me a scarf rushed up to me with her arms outstretched and a look of hug-impending glee on her face, I took a step back, held out my hands in a defensive, karate-like posture, and said "WOAH. What the hell are you doing?"

Her face fell. A little at first. And then hard like a 400-pound klutz in an ice rink. She started making stuttering sounds and her eyes got a little misty. Oh god. Was she going to cry?

"Sorry ..." I told her. "I'm just not the hugging type. It's not that I don't like you ... I just don't know you. I like the scarf though." I tried to smile. I really did like the scarf. She had pulled it off a mannequin for me ... it was the last one in the store. It was silk. And on sale. I'd definitely hug the scarf.

"I'm sorry too," the girl wheezed, obviously trying to regain her composure. "I just ... well, I thought we kind of connected. We have the same taste."

HUH? Why did I feel like I was breaking up with this woman? I was thankful I paid with cash, so she couldn't trace my address and boil any of my cats.

"It's not you ..." I found myself saying. "It's me. I just have people issues ... you know how it is. It takes me a while to warm up ... sometimes years. Many, many years."

I backed out of the store before I felt so guilty I bought matching earrings, just to cheer her up. She just stood there - stunned - with her bottom lip trembling like I had asked her out to the prom and then told her it was all a joke before splattering pig's blood all over her.

I avoided my favorite store for some time after that. But damnit ... why should I let her keep me from buying more pretty things!? Why was I so afraid of seeing her again? She was just one of many crazies that had passed my path. Why did she intimidate me so?

I got up the nerve to go back. I looked sheepishly around, hoping this was her day off. I didn't see her, and breathed a sigh of relief. I went over to a new rack of blouses, looking for something I could wear to work. Then a voice behind me had my stomach doing gymnastics.

"Um ... hi. I'm really glad to see you again."

It was her. The hugger. Crap.

"Yah. Nice to see you again too." Don't make eye contact. She'll think you like her. She'll think you changed your mind about physical contact.

The more I avoided looking at her and talking to her, the more she babbled on. She started following me around the store, telling me her life story. Her doctor has her on anti-depressants because sometimes she cries for no reason. Her boyfriend cheated on her with her sister and gave them both an STD. I knew more about this woman in 15 minutes of browsing for work pants than I ever wanted to know about any living human being. And what I was learning confirmed that this woman was not just one French fry short of a Happy Meal, she was missing the drink and the burger as well.

The anti-depressants were also causing her to gain weight, she told me. If I wanted, she'd give me her clothes when she got too big to wear them. OH MY GOD. If hugging her could get crazy on me, can you imagine what wearing her clothes would do?

But as she talked, she picked out some fabulous stuff. She went in the back and got me two shirts that no one else had seen yet - they were perfect. Everything she chose for me was perfect. SHIT!

I found myself nodding sympathetically, even making a sound that could be interpreted as mild interest - just because I thought she may be able to find a matching skirt somewhere too. What was happening to me? Was I so much of a clothes whore I was willing to talk to this nut-case just because she had a knack for accessorizing and matching patterns and texture?

I walked out with 3 fabulous outfits, and she even gave me a coupon for 30 percent off. At the end of the transaction, she gave me a sideways smile ... one that seemed to be asking me, "Do you want to hug NOW?"

I looked away quickly, putting my purse and packages in front of me to block any type of advance.

"Thank you," I said quietly, looking down at my shoes.

"You're welcome," she said with a knowing smile. And then ... then she winked at me, as if to say "maybe you won't hug me today, but some day you will."

I felt violated, dirty, confused. But damn, she was good. Crazy, but good.

I just hope I don't need to buy a jacket anytime soon. I may end up having to shake her hand.

Comments

[glendale medical marijuana]

A good idea is to wear this shirt by all people in the city in one day.

[Generic Cialis]

what the hell are you talking about? you must be insane! I can't stay a day in my house without contact with the rest of the world, in what way you meet people for...you know.

[Daisy]

Everyone needs hugs Cookie!