No I Will NOT Have a Nice Day, Thank You Very Much

So during our relaxing vacay from the dog-eat-dog world of noncompetitive blogging, Hattie and I decided that we needed a way to ease the burden of providing you with pearls of wisdom and hi-larious anecdotes on a daily basis. Why not devote one day a week to something totally random, we thought, something that wouldn't further tax our poor, battered minds? And then after a few more glasses of Franzia (Sunset Blush, if you're buying) we came upon a solution. A solution that will heretofore be known as:

Top Five Friday

Regular worshipers at the temple of SUWA know that we are of the kind who like to make ourselves little lists. We don't have a problem or anything, it's just a casual thing, I swear, NO YOU SHUT UP. Awkward.....(This just reminded me of something one of my friends from college used to do in these kinds of situations. Whenever something awkward happened he'd do this one-handed lame robot motion ((and by lame I mean crippled, not moronic, obviously)) and say in a really slow voice 'Awwwwkieees.' Personally I cannot think of any better hand gesture/inappropriate ritual to mark awkward occasions. I'm trying to get Awkies to make a comeback. I'll keep you guys posted.)

So. Anyway.  Every Friday we'll be coming at you with a top five list on a topic of our own choosing, enumerating for you the quinticulous attributes on a particular topic. This week it's

The Top 5 Stores Against Which I Currently Have A Vendetta

5. American Apparel

If you were here at the beginning, dear reader (s), you may remember the little lesson that Hattie gave us all on why leggings are not pants. If I had to teach Leggings Are Not Pants 101 at the junior college, and the dean gave me barely enough money in my budget for an 'educational' school trip, I would take those lifelong learners to American Apparel for an up-close and person lesson in What Not To Wear. Literally every item in their store is either a) a pair of leggings pants, b) a 'dress' (read: slightly longer than average shirt) designed to be worm with leggings pants, or c) a bodysuit comprised of a skintight top and a pair of leggings pants attached at the waist.

American Apparel tries to act like they're the hipper, edgier, black sheep cousin of store like Gap, when really they're the trashier, spandexier back country cousin of stores like The Limited Too. Just look at what they suggested we wear for Halloween. If that doesn't stand as a stark warning, I don't know what else to say to you.

4. Macy's

Macy's is a complicated place. On the one hand, it's an American retail institution and I feel that as a proud New Yorker I should give them a little (fake) respect, but in the end I can't because they are just too shitty a store. They routinely break one of my cardinal rules of retail: if someone comes in and tries to buy something with money,  give them service and/or a good in exchange. I believe that Hattie touched on this issue briefly in her MH v. Russia post yesterday, and I have to tell you that this practice is sadly not relegated to vodka-soaked communist empires. I cannot tell you how many times I have gone to Macy's and had approximately the following conversation 'Excuse me, I'm looking for...' 'WHAT do you want?' 'Um...I'm uh...looking for jeans?' 'Yeah, AND?' 'Um...where are they?' 'HAH! This whole floor has jeans. Just look around.' Look lady, I get that you have better things to do all day than stand around and get paid to help people find what they're looking to buy...OH WAIT THAT'S EXACTLY YOUR JOB. Never mind.

It's not just the salespeople at Macy's that make shopping there an unholy experience, it's the physical nature of the store itself. It seems to be forever in a state of reorganization, with clothes and home goods strewn haphazardly all over the place as if the Mongols just got came through raping a pillaging and shopping for prom. Also Macy's is just...dirty. Every time I'm there there seems to be a fine layer of dust or soot or maybe broken dreams coating the whole place. About the only thing I like about Macy's is the basement, and that's only because there are pretty shiny things down there. True story though: when Hattie and I were apartment hunting we hatched an Elaborate Plan^TM to move into Macy's Basil E. Franweiler style and live there rent-free. It's really close to my work and to K-town, which were two of our core neighborhood criteria, and they do have all of the essentials. Luckily we found ourselves a great apartment because I'm not sure I'm ready to make up with Macy's just yet.

3. Meijer's

For those of you who have never had the pleasure of living in the Midwestern United States, let me give you a brief tutorial. Meijer's is basically like Wal-Mart Supercenter or Kroeger's or Target Greatland; they sell all the regular stuff and then they have a full service grocery store as well. When I lived in Detroit I would make a Meijer's run once every two months or so (read: whenever my parents/friends/saviors came to visit) and stock up on the essentials. Since they don't have Meijer's in the New York Metro Area (thank GOD), I can probably retire this vendetta, except that every single time I think about the following experience I want to sucker punch all Meijer's employees individually and collectively, so I think the wounds are still somewhat too fresh. Let me a-splain.

On my first trip to Meijier's my mom and I bought a bottle of vodka. I had just moved to the big 313 and we were going to unpack us some boxes and drink us some martinis in my swanky new apartment. Since I had exactly nothing in my brand-new pad we bought a fair amount of groceries, and as a result didn't notice amidst the piles of toilet paper and canned soup that the vodka still had it's adorable plastic collar on, until we got back to my apartment. You know those collars, the kind of 'security device' they put on the liquor so you can't take it out of the store without paying. Maybe those things are effective at deterring potential vodka thieves from enjoy the rewards of their ill-gotten gains, but they are also effective, let me tell you, at deterring people who actually bought the vodka from enjoying it. Needless to say mom and I were a little bit bummed. But no worries, we figured we'd just take it back to the store, show them the receipt, and have them remove the thing. God knows I've had to pull that maneuver before (Woodbury Commons anyone? anyone?). On the way back to Meijer's we noticed another Meijer's, and decided to pull in and see if they could take the damn thing off, thereby cutting our little trip short and bringing us just that much closer to martini time. Big. Mistake. First of all, when we get into the store, the alarm goes off (due no doubt to the plastic collar). The appointed Meijer's 'greeter' then comes over to see what this middle-aged white lady and her daughter are trying to get away with, the full force of fury in his eyes. Seriously? I just walked into the store, a), and b) does it really look like we're here to trey and make off with the $5 Tees? Honestly.

Anyways, I casually explain to him that no, we are not here to rob you sir, we merely would like to be able to drink our spirits in peace, and I ask him if he could kindly remove the plastic thorn stuck in our metaphorical craw. He takes the bottle, makes us wait for approximately three days, and then comes back and says 'Sorry ma'am, but we don't sell liquor in this store.' Uh...I'm pretty sure I bought that from you guys, and to prove it here is my little piece of paper with the price on in and my credit card information and everything. Look it up. No no, he informs me, Meijer's sells liquor, just not this Meijer's. U-G-H. First of all, now we have to go to another Meijer's , and second of all, if you don't sell liquor in the store then WHY DID YOU HARASS ME FOR SHOPLIFTING THIS BOTTLE WHEN I CAME IN??? Wasted, wasted, wasted time. This should have been a clue that this night was not destined to end well, but we were pretty thirsty so we hopped in the car and went back to the original Meijer's from which we bought the vodka, thinking that surely they would be able to crack it for us. Right? RIGHT??

No. F*cking. Dice. When we get there we set off the alarm again (of course we do), and I have to explain to yet another person what in the hey-ho is going on here. I show her the bottle, show her the receipt, and in my nicest grown-up voice ask her if she could pretty please open our little bottle for us. This crazy bitch looks me straight in the eye and goes 'No. We don't take those off here.' WHAT??? You guys SELL THIS in the back of your store!!! I CAN SEE IT FROM HERE!!! Are you telling me that you purposely sell people liquor with these retarded child-proof locks yet don't have the capability to remove them?? SERIOUSLY?? Seriously. Sorry, she tells me, we can't take that off. You're going to have to go to another store. At this point my mom said 'F*ck this shit, let's just go home and drink the Martini & Rossi straight up' to which I said A to the Men, and we got the hell out of that bag of crazy.
The real turn of the screw? That stupid collar just came off like three days later.
F*cking Detroit.

2. Au Bon Pan

Sigh. This one is hard for me to talk about. The thing is, I used to like Au Bon Pan, and under normal circumstances I probably would have gone on liking them, except for this one isolated incident which I am about to relate. Warning: if you like ABPand would like to continue eating there, I recommend you skip this and move on to #1. So a while back I was working downtown, and it was right near an ABP, so I would usually stop by there to get my morning coffee. Now for those of you who don't know, at ABP there are cups, and there is a big carafe of coffee, and you usually pour your own coffee yourself, pay, and be done with it. On this particular morning though, I had the barista pull me a-something special from behind the counter because, as I recall, I deserved it. This turned out to be the worst move I could ever have made. Off I went to work, sipping my exotic drink and having a grand old time.

Let's jump ahead a little bit here, to about half an hour later when I had finished off approximately 2/3 of my hot beverage and was sitting at my desk, dutifully working away like the little busy bee I am. I go to take a hearty swig, when all of a sudden I feel something oddly solid going in my mouth. FYI I am literally gagging as I write this, four years later, that's how traumatized I was by this experience. Anyway, soldiering on. So surprised and shocked am I by this unexpected sensation that I do a totally reflexive spit take right there, all over my desk, my computer, and the wall. You know that old joke, what's worse than finding a worm in your apple? Well let me adapt that a little bit: what's worse than finding a worm in your coffee? Finding half a cockroach in the coffee you've just spit all over your office.

...

...

Okay, I think I'm okay. I had to have a little shudder moment as I relived that experience. In case you can't comprehend the enormity of this violation, let me break it down for you: 1) Au Bon Pan put a cockroach in my coffee. 2) I drank 2/3 of said coffee totally unaware of the prize waiting at the bottom of the bag. 3) Somehow said cockroach broke into pieces in said coffee. 4) I HAD PIECES OF THAT COCKROACH IN MY MOUTH. SHUDDERSHUDDERSHUDDER. To this day I am totally and unequivocally grossed out just thinking about the fact that this is an actual thing that happened to me. I would really like to forgive ABP and move on with my life but I just...can't. You guys know how I feel about roaches; I just don't think I'm ready. I need time. I need space. And right now what I need is five gallons of Listerine. Ugh.

1. Molten Brown

Molten Brown. What can I say. As much as I hate retarded merchandise, as much as I cannot stand apathetic salespeople, dirty aisles, and outlet mall shenanigans, my ninth circle of retail hell is reserved for the lowest of the low: the store that tricks me into thinking it sells chocolate and then sells something totally different from chocolate. I know, I know. It's a sad, sad world out there. Back in the good old days there was only one offender in this category, the good ol' L'Occitane. Take one look at their exterior and tell me that at first glance it doesn't look like a quaint little French chocolatier/bistro/charcuterie. Don't lie, you know it does. The first time I ran up against this place I was mildly pissed off/disappointed to know that I wasn't getting any free truffles. HOWEVER, L'Occitane's saving grace is that is has giant-ass windows, so as soon as you get even remotely close you're like, oh snap, soap, n/m, and you move on. Case closed, problem solved.

NOT SO WITH MOLTEN BROWN. I first became aware of MB when they set up shop a little ways away from Sparks' and my apartment, back in the day. I noticed them because a) they are called Molten Brown. How does that sound like they sell anything else besides chocolate?, b) the entire front windows of their store were covered in luxurious chocolate-brown patterned decals that both completely obscured the view of anything inside AND gave the exact impression of designer truffles a la Max Brenner or MarieBelle. It was like they were begging me to come in for free samples, which of course, I did. And do you know what they gave me. HAND LOTION. Because this is a store that sells BEAUTY SUPPLIES. NOT CHOCOLATE. Now I know I'm not alone on this; I have run it past several scholarly authorities and they all agree that Molten Brown is pulling a dirty, dirty trick. It is one thing to promote clear skin and silky hands, but it is another thing entirely to lure people in under entirely false pretenses and then try and improve their personal hygiene. Until Molten Brown either changes their name or starts selling chocolates, I refuse to bear witness to their low brand of consumer trickery. Shame on you, MB. Shame. On. You.