
Gentle reader, are you ready for a tale of much woe? I hope so, because there's one a-brewin':
Part 1:The First Half of yesterday was shaping up to be just peachy and lovely, I was shopping in Soho with Sarah and Liz and Liz' sister Mary (who is an undiscovered comedic genius sometimes) and we went to Anthropologie, with various goals in mind. Mine was to celebrate my great shop-week by buying
A.) My first pair of "fancy jeans" (ie: jeans that cost more than $40 and make me look like a mod fashionista) and
B.) a cute outfit for my meeting on next Thursday with the Art Director and Editor at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, about which I am really, really excited! Mostly I'm so happy that the editor, Nancy contacted me about a meeting, after purchasing some things from my shop, and says that the art director also loves my work. So the pressure is off, a little bit, because they already like me, and I like Nancy (via emails, anyway)...and that is good for a gal who is uncomfortable "selling themselves" (like I know that alot of us are).
So I bought these hideously expensive jeans that are just so sassy and adorable, a lovely gray skirt with sweet little front pockets, and a polka dotted blouse. All totalling to...well... alot of money, for me (remember where I am).
Part 2: The quality of the day began to sharply decline when I had an upsetting phone conversation in Ann Taylor Loft (whilst helping Sarah look for grown-up clothes for her new job), which ended in me bursting into tears in the presence of all the Ann Taylor shoppers, and for the next hour or so...crybaby central. But I started to calm down, and feel a bit better when we sat down for an early dinner at a resteraunt in Union Square. After all, things are really fine, and I did have my lovely new clothes to comfort me. When we finished, we paid and then waltzed out the door across the street to some shop ISO shoes for Sarah. After a few minutes in the shoe store, Sarah exclaimed: "Where is your Anthropologie bag? Did you leave it at the resteraunt?!" Oh, no. Oh, no.
Oh, yes I had.
Part 3: I walked (briskly, though) back to the resteraunt (which was less than a block away) and went back to the table we were sitting at. No bag. Nil. I ask the frazzled hostess if she knows anything...she sweetly goes back to the back and asks around. Nothing. I ask the portly guys sitting at my former table if they know anything...nope. The manager comes to talk to me, and at this point I am really really sad, and the reality that someone swiped my beautiful clothes is settling in. I say in a wavering voice "I just can't believe that someone would do this! Isn't it a shock to you", to which the manager very calmly replies "No, it's not. I've had this happen to me twice before".
SO DEPRESSING. So, so depressing, because I am not a rich lady, and I really didn't need to have hundreds of dollars worth of clothing stolen from me. But even more depressing is that this was a nice resteraunt. All around me were little yuppies and middle aged, upper-middle class folks.
I was not in a bodega in Brooklyn, where somebody might've genuinely needed and been desperate enough to swipe that shopping bag. Whoever took my things (with the hope of returning for cash maybe? Thankfully, they can't do that because I paid with my card, and they can only get store credit if they don't have the card to refund the money to) didn't need those clothes.
I called the Soho Anthropologie and asked if I could give them my card number, so that they could flag the transaction, or something like that. They basically told me that there was no way that they could ever accuse someone of stealing...even if they are returning my exact 3 items in my size with MY reciept that has my info on it. Ugh.
So, that, my friends, is my sad tale. I think the moral of this story is "Don't be forgetful" & more importantly "Don't buy fashionista jeans" or you will meet a sad end. I just hope that whoever took my things feels a little bit gross when wearing whatever clothes they buy for themselves with their "store credit". Jerks.