11 years ago

Why, Macy’s? Why?

So what is it with Macy’s anyway?

Every time I go in, I see a pair of shoes I love. (I have these ones and they’re my favorites!) Usually, I’m walking by at a brisk pace, intent on getting to where I’m going and doing whatever errand sent me to the mall in the first place. And I’m in Macy’s because its entrance is the closest one to where I always park the Murano. And walking from the parking lot entrance, through Macy’s, to the main part of the Carousel Mall, always takes me past the shoe department. Or at least close enough to smell the leather.

So every time I pass, which is often, eyes straight ahead, striding like a . . . well, like a female in the mall who means business . . . something grabs at the corner of my eye. It makes my gaze shift, and then brings my entire head around until I’m facing a beautiful, unique pair of shoes that have ME written all over them. The lights get brighter, and I hear a choir of angels singing one harmonic chord. And my purposeful stride slows, and I tell myself, “No. Don’t put yourself through this again. You’ll just get your heart broken, like you always do.”

But of course, my “self” doesn’t listen.

I stride right over to the shoe department where the apparently cherub-sanctioned shoes stand on a display. I don’t waste time browsing. I know what I want, and I pretty much already know what the answer will be, anyway. So I march straight to “my” shoes, pick one up, and turn, my eyes searching for an employee like heat-seeking missiles seeking a target. I’m a busy woman. I don’t have time to sit around waiting for them to notice that I need help. (Although most people claim to have noticed that long ago. But I digress.)

(I have these, too, btw, but the dog ate most of the fringe, so they need replacing. I just saw a purse at Aldo that matches perfectly, too!) I approach a salesperson, hand them the shoe and ask if she would mind checking for it in a size 7.5 or 8. (The higher the heel, the tighter you want the shoe, you know. Besides, at Macy’s, you ought to give them as wide a range as possible.) I always ask it with confidence in my voice, as if I have no doubt they’ll have the size I need.

Inevitably, the salesperson smilingly disappears into the back with my shoe in hand, acting just as confident of finding what I need as I’m pretending to be.

We’re both lying. She knows it. And I know it. But this is a little dance we seem to have a bizarre need to repeat often.

I think she goes back there and pours a cup of coffee, sips it, catches up on her soaps, files her nails, and then returns. I mean, it’s a mall store. She’s gone long enough to walk the entire length of the mall. Anyway, she returns, looking heartbroken, and tells me not only don’t they have it in my size, but the pair on the display is the only pair left. And then, she cheerfully adds. “But they’re a six! Will they work?”

No. No heel is quite high enough to make me force my size 8 foot into a size 6 shoe.

So then I go home and order it online.

But what I want to know is why. Why, Macy’s? Why? Why do you insist on leaving the last pair of every style on display like that? Why is it that you never have my size in any shoe I might want? Never, ever. It’s not like I’m an odd size. It’s a pretty ordinary, pretty common size. Probably one of the most common. So why can’t you stock shoes in that size?

And why, Macy’s? Why? Why even have brick and mortar stores if you’re going to force your customers to order everything online anyway?

And why, Macy’s? Why? Why the Ipod Vending Machine just inside the entrance to the mall? There’s an Apple store a bit further down the mall hall. So why an Ipod Machine? What’s wrong with a Coke machine? Or maybe a shoe-vending machine? You could look through the glass and SEE if your size was there, save us all a lot of time!

(And by the way, I have this boot–am wearing a pair of them in my saloon girl getup, above, but I didn’t buy them for that.)

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