I was attacked at Bloomingdale’s. Not physically, no. Verbally. It all started in December when my neighbors got me a lavish gift card to the department store as a Christmas present. I was so excited to unwrap it; my hands anxiously pulling apart the red, silk ribbons, so eager to see what was inside. I assumed it had to be good; after all they are not exactly stingy when it comes to gift giving.

After all the tissue paper and ribbons were on the floor, there it stood: a shiny silver Bloomingdale’s gift card in an impressive amount. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was happy for even getting a present in the first place, and thanked them endlessly for it. But I was frowning deep inside, because I have no purpose whatsoever for that store, nor any of its contents.

Macy’s has always been my store of choice; I find everything and anything I need in there, and often walk out with a smile as big as Isla Fisher’s in “Shopaholic,” after hitting a good sale. While Bloomingdale’s carries almost the exact same items on its shelves, there is one minor detail distinguishing the store: the price tags. Almost 20 percent higher than Macy’s (and Lord and Taylor for that matter!), Bloomingdale’s idea of a sale is having a Juicy Couture jumpsuit on the clearance rack for $150. Might I add that we are in a very deep recession? Let’s use our heads a little, Bloomies.

So I decided to give the store a try anyways (hey, I wanted to use my gift card!), and wound up feeling like some poor hobo on a New York street corner. I sauntered around the store, going from misses to sunglasses, to purses, then back to misses. Nothing. While I enjoy going to the mall, I wouldn’t say I live for it.

I then found some really cute Coach sunglasses but found out I had to add an additional $50 on top of my gift card. I politely said “no, thank you” to the sales girl helping me.
“I’m not paying an additional $50 out of my own pocket for sunglasses that chances are will get sat on or lost at the beach,” I laughed, to which she managed a small chuckle.

I sauntered over to the dress section, thinking perhaps I would find something for a night out with some friends. When I picked out a beautiful yet practical black dress, I noticed a sales sign gleaming overhead. “Yes - finally something good in this hell hole,” I thought to myself! I made my way to the nearby register to inquire about the sales price before I wasted my time trying it on.

“Oh no, someone must have put that back on the wrong rack. This one is not for sale, just the others are,” the saleswoman said. Fantastic. Then I got a bright idea.

I could always use new makeup, so I made my way over to the Clinique counter. The woman at the counter was in her early thirties, heavily made up, and on the phone gabbing away as I browsed the glass countertops. Eye shadow, check. Blush, check. Powder? Maybe.

After deciding I definitely wanted eye shadow I asked her opinion on which color to get. “I don’t wear a lot of makeup, so I would like something natural,” I said. “Nothing too clownish,” I added for emphasis.

She smirked at me and told me purple would look nice, because I have green eyes. I asked her for a tissue (after I used the tester to put some on) to wipe the excess color off my hands to which she pointed to the box a few counters over and said, “It’s over there.”

Are your hands broken? I wanted to say. So I went over and got myself a tissue and told her I also was thinking about lip gloss. “Would you say it’s sticky?” I asked her. “I donno…not really?” was the response I got.

I decided to skip the lip gloss altogether but refused to walk out of there without using up my entire gift card. So I inquired about powder, to which the real icing on the cake moment came. After putting my face under a blinding light and looking at me in a mirror, she remarked that I “had a face full of dead skin, and powder would do me no good.” What I needed, was an exfoliating cleanser. “Do you even have one of those? Because if not, you need one,” she commented.

After getting hot in the face, I replied quietly, “Well I go to the dermatologist twice a month and use a mask twice a week, so I can’t possibly have any dead skin.” Especially not all the kinds you’re talking about, I wanted to scream. She looked at me and I swear, raised her eyebrows, while continuing on about her stupid mask that her stupid counter in her stupid store, carried.

“We have a mild one, a medium one, and a strong one, but for you, I would definitely say to go with the strong one.” I looked her square in the eye and said, “It all depends on the cost, because I am not going over the amount on that gift card, nor am I paying more than $25 for a silly cleanser.”
Turns out it was $17; still more than I would have preferred but it worked out perfectly with the eye shadow and I ended up breaking even with my gift card. Thanks, I said as I walked out of Bloomingdale’s feeling more awkward that I had felt since middle school. That eye shadow had better look good, I told myself.

KATRINA MUSTO
Staff Writer