I really think that there should be a "code of ethics and behavior" for dressing rooms.
For example: I decided with my new pilgrimage to find anything resembling a pre-baby body, I needed a new workout wardrobe. The high school gym uniform just isn't cutting it anymore. I'm sick of all the "up and downs" I'm getting at the gym and all the "once overs" are getting annoying. So...A trainer at the gym suggested I try Marshalls.
Let me be clear here. I never have shopped at Marshalls in my life. Probably because I am a snob and a label whore and I insist on wearing clothes from certain retailers. But, times are tough and I wasn't going to spend $60 on a pair of pants that I was going to drip sweat into and rip to shreds with my hectic turbo kickboxing. So, I took the plunge and headed over to Marshalls. First, I was assaulted by all the freaking fluorescent lighting..I felt like I wanted to put on my sunglasses for goodness sake. I couldn't see anything. It was 8pm and I felt as though I was looking at the sun at high noon.
Oh well. If the rumor was true I could score some Nike pants (which ALL the women were wearing at the gym) for a mere $16 instead of the near $40. I also needed some t shirts that wouldn't mind smelling like a locker room for their entire lives. So I ventured over to the "Sportswear section". And the clothes are hung by SIZE! on LONG rows. I felt like I was shopping- buffet style. Not only that, but people could TELL which size I was looking in..There was no hiding here, folks..If you're an XL..Well, sorry, but the WHOLE STORE is going to know because everything is sectioned off...And if you're a size 1..Well, just get out..Get the heck out. Go eat at Olive Garden across the street..Anyways, Marshalls is pretty much "sizist", meaning they don't carry many small sizes. This, I noticed.
So I grabbed some Nike paraphernaliaa and headed to the:
DRESSING ROOM
A girl counted my clothes and gave me a tag. Ok..I can handle that..Never happened to me before, but ok. Then I saw them.
The rooms.
They were in a maze-like pattern and with all of the doors open, it looked a bit like a carnival fun house..without the fun..And certainly without the cotton candy.
I blindingly made my way to a room and went in.
I went into a place smaller than the size of my closet. I could not even turn around with my puffer jacket on and my purse and all of my clothes and my tag. And there was NO PLACE to organize all of my things.
Rule 1. Supply Adequate Space in Dressing Room for Patrons...And Adequate Hooks to Organize Clothes/Belongings.
OCD kicks in.
Then I look at the floor. omg.
filth with clearance stickers littering under the doorway. Also a fast food wrapper.
Rule 2. Cleanliness. Please no evidence of STDs on the floor..Or evidence of Taco Bell.
Rule 3. Provide Adequate Lighting and not lighting that assaults ALL senses.
I looked at myself in the mirror (under the VERY BAD lighting) and told myself to muscle through this. In the name of Nike and in the name of sweat. And in the name of taming my ever growing problem of cellulite.
I started to dismantle myself. Without touching the floor. I would take out one pant leg and replace my foot into my shoe. I had a pretty good system going on and I got really good at not touching the floor with anything. Even the bottoms of the pants.
Then I got a "roommate", as I would call her. I would call her my "roommate" because probably .25" of cardboard separated us from seeing each other in all of our glory. I was ok until she started to sing.
Rule 4. Respect other patrons..NO SINGING (unless you're someone like Britney Spears..Then I would expect a free full out singing and dancing concert..in the dressing room)
And you know what she was singing?? Eminem..Words? Sure! "So crack a bottle..Let your body waddle.." Yup. I am so not kidding. My mouth hung open. One does NOT sing about bodies waddling in DRESSING ROOMS.
She also was yelling for her friend to get her different sizes..Screaming about her mother not letting her wear the jeans she wants. Then complaining to her friend that she wanted to find a "leather skirt" but not "real leather" because isn't that made out of dogs?? ugh. I wanted earplugs. And half of the conversation was in a different language, so for all I knew they could have been planning to take over the entire store...Or been planning to order a pizza delivered into the dressing room...Hey, evidence proves that meals have been eaten in the dressing rooms here.
Then she did it.
Rule 5. No passing gas.
She farted. And, my friends, I was gasping for air that I didn't even want to breathe. I could have cut the air with a knife. I stared at myself in the mirror and threw a bit of a tantrum. Ripped down some clothes (that hit the floor-not trying THOSE on). And jumped up and down a little.
That was it for me. The clothes that I had tried on were ill fitting and the lighting drove me batty. I found in the heap 1 pair of pants that I could live with and made my escape from the dressing room from hell.
I couldn't get out of there fast enough. First to get some oxygen and secondly to wait for my "roommate". I wanted to put a face to that smell.
I lurked in the men's section until she came out. And when she did? I so wanted to speak to her about a certain code of behavior one must maintain in a dressing room, but you know?? Sometimes I just have to let things go. I paid for my pair of pants and walked out into the parking lot where I instantly felt so much more normal. No hazing myself with lights and no racks upon racks of clothes that will never find homes...Although, with my experience, maybe it takes all kinds to give those clothes their homes..Just not me and my home. The assault on the senses was too much for me to bear, in every way imaginable.
