I usually avoid malls, but had to stop into the Banana Republic to check out how a shirt or two that I was eying on the internet. With color names like Sorbet and Sonnet Green, I had to see them in person before, instead of dropping $70 on each and hoping for the best. The occasion that brought me to the store on this day, required that I bring my one and a half year old with me. He was between naps and was well fed, making him the perfect companion for such a trip.
So we're in the store for less than a minute when I come eye to eye with this guy... He had a buzzcut that had grown out a bit, but then this long beard that went to the center of his chest. He was young too; maybe in his mid-twenties. He looked really pissed off. I glanced down and then back up. Yep, he was looking right at me.
Who the fuck is this guy and what is he doing in THIS store?
I could tell that the displaced lobster fisherman's disdain might have had something to do with my son.
A stroller? Really guy? You have to bring your small child into THIS store? In a stroller? For fuck's sake, man! This is Banana Republic!
For what its worth, my son was sitting quietly in one of those pricey Bob strollers. He was dressed in a cute robot t-shirt and a pair of shorts.
The guy was so disgusted with us, that he had to turn his eyes and instead focused on a stack of slim-fit, non-iron, twill gingham shirts. His fury must distracted him from the folded stack of shirts because he kept looking up at us, still upset.
Is someone going to do something about this guy and his little person or what? Do they even care that he's here? What if he wants to buy something? Damn it!
He glanced around the store, but none of the sales associates recognized his distress signal. By then, I was paying more attention to a folded stack of polo shirts. As I slowly pushed the stroller past the rack of micro-houndstooth blazers, I saw the man again. Again, we made eye contact. I could tell that he was still pissed by his furled brow. Knowing it could possibly lead to me getting punched in the face, I grimaced right back at him.
That's it. I'm outta here. You can sell your textured-front, shawl-collar pullover to this guy pushing the stroller, for all I care.
He stormed past me and exited the store. I passed on the luxe-touch, mixed-stripe polo and exited shortly after.