The saddest place on Earth.
Sarah and I went to Macy’s over the weekend. Ever since we moved in together, we’ve hated our towels. Even though we have pretty nice towels, our towel of choice is still the ratty old giant blue thing I’ve been using since college. Here’s the problem with towels: the fancier they are, the heavier they get. Heavy towels are the worst. They make you not even want to take a shower.
We went to Macy’s because we had returned a wedding present there a few years ago and we had a bunch of free money to spend. Macy’s has really gone downhill. When I was a kid, I remember it being one notch below Bloomingdales. Now it’s a sad collection of unfashionable, overpriced merchandise that is about on par with TJ Maxx. Although TJ Maxx is way better because it’s at least super cheap.
It doesn’t help that Macy’s is in the saddest mall in the world, the Eagle Rock Plaza. The Eagle Rock Plaza looks like it was made for a movie in which none of the stores were allowed to have real brand names. Some of the highlights include “Anna’s Linens,” “Dress Town,” “Fashion City,” and “MasterCuts.” It is both the saddest mall in the world and the best place I’ve ever been. This weekend they were piping karaoke renditions of popular songs through the mall, coming from some unseen location. I heard two different people sing Band Aid’s “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” which I never realized was such a popular karaoke choice.
We managed to find our towels, or at least a reasonable approximation of what we were looking for, and I got in line. The short, fiftysomethingish woman with meticulously painted nails and giant sunglasses in line in front of me had written a check, and she was searching desperately for her license. I stood behind her patiently for about 5 minutes while she searched through every pocket and crevice she could find. “Do I need a license?” she finally asked. “Yes,” the woman behind the desk said. The woman behind the desk did not appear to be in any particular rush, either.
“I can’t find my license,” the fiftysomethingish woman said.
“Well, I have to put a number into the computer,” said the woman behind the desk. “I need an ID.”
The fiftysomethingish woman continued to look. Sarah whispered across the store, “why is this taking so long?” I shushed her because sometimes she says rude things a little too loudly and I get embarrassed, even though they’re usually things I’m thinking, too. Finally, the woman managed to exhaust every pocket she had.
“I can’t find my license,” she said. “Can I give you anything else?”
“ID, passport,” the woman behind the counter said, “military ID …”
“Oh, I have a military ID,” the fiftysomethingish woman said, immediately pulling a military ID out of her wallet.
I admit, I didn’t see that one coming.