Top ten reasons why Century 21 is NOT a secret worth keeping
10. Men sniffing and fondling and hoarding Cosabella bras for their illicit mistresses out in Flushing, only to leave you with the really useful sizes (48F, 28AA, and 38DD)
9. Women with multiple spawn meandering down these tiny skinny little aisles with those enormous knock-off Maclaren strollers, fitting as we are in discount central and knockoffs are quite common, blocking every possible angle to get to the most deeply discounted piece of all-synthetic made in China pair of shoes.
8. It’s a veritable shoe graveyard … where shoes go to die after their season has long passed, or they were hideous to begin with, or they were gently worn (kept inside the handbag until the temporary owner got to the restaurant or whatever and put them on) enough so that foot grime remained caked on the label, that at one time read Marc Jacobs, or they are more appropriate for donning the feet of made-to-order Christopher Street drag queens.
7. The really friendly staff that can barely speak English and elbows you in the groin while you’re trying on a pair of shoes and screams at you to put them back in the box
6. Nothing in your size. They knew you were coming and took it all away. That takes time. And a lot of effort.
5. The people walking up the stairs who stop right in front of you. This whole time we’ve been blaming the tourists. But here it is, this bitch is one of our own, holding up traffic all over Herald Square and Times Square and Tompkins Square and Union Square and you go off at the tourists for being slow as fuck bunches of Midwestern hippos when the whole time it was YOU. Since this place is New York City’s best-kept secret and all, you know.
4. People there who were definitely on their way to the airport and thought it would be a good idea to bring their fifteen roller suitcases and hatboxes before strolling to your shuttle bus. Don’t you realize with the liquid bombers that you better get the hell on your way to the airport at least six hours in advance rather than pausing to further wreak havoc on our city’s best kept secret?
3. Returning the pen to the cashier after signing your slip, only to find that your cashier has been chomping at the bit to staple your sales receipt and your bag of purchases together. If your hand becomes a part of this equation, she merely applies extra force and staples it along with everything else.
2. Where are the goddamn fitting rooms? Where are you supposed to rip your knickers off and try on fucking bras and shit? In the linens aisle? Across from the children’s section? I bet that would go over well, you perv. Maybe this is why the bridge and tunnel girls let their sugar daddies shop for their stringy lace underoos.
1. Realizing that we are born and bred boutique shoppers, though we have no idea how this came about, or how to finance our preference for shopping in perfectly displayed clothing stores that Malcolm Gladwell would approve of.
9. Women with multiple spawn meandering down these tiny skinny little aisles with those enormous knock-off Maclaren strollers, fitting as we are in discount central and knockoffs are quite common, blocking every possible angle to get to the most deeply discounted piece of all-synthetic made in China pair of shoes.
8. It’s a veritable shoe graveyard … where shoes go to die after their season has long passed, or they were hideous to begin with, or they were gently worn (kept inside the handbag until the temporary owner got to the restaurant or whatever and put them on) enough so that foot grime remained caked on the label, that at one time read Marc Jacobs, or they are more appropriate for donning the feet of made-to-order Christopher Street drag queens.
7. The really friendly staff that can barely speak English and elbows you in the groin while you’re trying on a pair of shoes and screams at you to put them back in the box
6. Nothing in your size. They knew you were coming and took it all away. That takes time. And a lot of effort.
5. The people walking up the stairs who stop right in front of you. This whole time we’ve been blaming the tourists. But here it is, this bitch is one of our own, holding up traffic all over Herald Square and Times Square and Tompkins Square and Union Square and you go off at the tourists for being slow as fuck bunches of Midwestern hippos when the whole time it was YOU. Since this place is New York City’s best-kept secret and all, you know.
4. People there who were definitely on their way to the airport and thought it would be a good idea to bring their fifteen roller suitcases and hatboxes before strolling to your shuttle bus. Don’t you realize with the liquid bombers that you better get the hell on your way to the airport at least six hours in advance rather than pausing to further wreak havoc on our city’s best kept secret?
3. Returning the pen to the cashier after signing your slip, only to find that your cashier has been chomping at the bit to staple your sales receipt and your bag of purchases together. If your hand becomes a part of this equation, she merely applies extra force and staples it along with everything else.
2. Where are the goddamn fitting rooms? Where are you supposed to rip your knickers off and try on fucking bras and shit? In the linens aisle? Across from the children’s section? I bet that would go over well, you perv. Maybe this is why the bridge and tunnel girls let their sugar daddies shop for their stringy lace underoos.
1. Realizing that we are born and bred boutique shoppers, though we have no idea how this came about, or how to finance our preference for shopping in perfectly displayed clothing stores that Malcolm Gladwell would approve of.
posted by hobos in space @ 11:22 AM
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