I stopped in terror. I had not entered the broad, wide-aisled room that I had been anticipating. I had entered a long, narrow room filled with narrow aisles full of shoes...and no clothes in sight. There were scores of people swarming everywhere, and there was a long line backed up from another room. I had no idea that it was an incredibly long check-out line. I was too busy trying to figure out where in the world they had hidden the clothing section.
I had to drag the strollers through the long, narrow aisles (filled with people bending over who seemed mostly oblivious to the fact that I was, like, attempting to get past them). I came to a long, narrow hallway (half-full of people waiting in line in one direction and half-full of people trying to get around the people in line and the crazy woman with two umbrella strollers coming in the other direction...you do the math). And I finally entered the huge gymnasium where I had heard the clothing was hidden.
But the line was blocking the aisle to get to the clothing. The only way through was to wind through the toy tables. So I reminded myself of the coat I needed to find for my oldest and barrelled right in. And promptly encountered more people; people bending over tables, people trying to get their children out from under tables, people leaning against tables, people standing between tables talking on cell phones, people planking between tables...
Okay, just kidding on the planking. But seriously. I could not get through. I kept thinking I saw a way out and discovering it was a dead end. Someone who laid it out thought it would be funny to make it into a maze. Or something.
I had to stop, look hard for the opening, and then slowly trace back what route through the towering toy tables would actually get me there.
So I got there, managing to inconvenience quite a few people in the process as I walked between them and the toys they were looking at with my two umbrella strollers. At the moment I did not feel so much like I was dragging umbrella strollers behind me as I felt as if I was towing two F250s.
And I continued to get amused/sympathetic/irritated glances from people. I was beginning to lose my handle on the Super-Confident look I was trying to pull off and just gave up and focused on trying to avoid creaming anyone in my winding navigation technique.
At last I got out. Or got as far as the exit to the toy section. That was when I realized that the line to get out was two people thick and was completely blocking the way into the clothing section. There was no way around it – not with two umbrella strollers. People who were stroller-free were having enough trouble that they were resorting to crawling under the racks.
Somehow I found myself in the midst of the line, so I stood there wondering if I looked as bewildered as I felt. And once again, based on the comments I get about my facial expressions, I probably looked even more bewildered than I felt. That's how it usually seems to go with me! If I see a cloud go across the sun and wonder if it's going to rain today I'm liable to get comments like: “Don't worry, it's not like it's a tornado.” Just as a for instance. But I digress.
So I stood there in line, wondering if I should just duck under the racks, too. But I sized up my strollers and remembered that when I size up myself these days I usually underestimate – ahem – I decided that I'd better not go there. Perhaps that coat was not in my future after all. I looked around for escapes and saw more and more people resorting to crawling – under clothing racks, under toy tables, in between rows of people...and I decided that I was in a zoo and the best way to preserve any scraps of dignity I had left would be to simply vamoose. Now.
“Okay,” I said to my girls, “That's it. We're done.”
And I began the long, long way back out. I will not bore you with the details, but it was remarkably similar to the trek I had in, only more so. Which sentence is basically nonsense, but it really means that I met even more people who never saw the woman with two F250s approaching and were rather irritated when I said “Excuse me.”
I was exhausted by the time I had safely hauled my two girls back to the entrance and was beginning to realize that I must have tendencies to claustrophobia just based on the number of times I had felt like screaming in terror. Being surrounded by masses of people who don't even seem to see you is an extremely strange experience, and experiencing it when you are laden with two umbrella-strollers'-worth of kiddos makes it even stranger. It was a very trapped sort of feeling. But I was out. I was about to get into the fresh air again.
I went racing for the door when the Legalistic Lady stepped into view with her arm across the doorway. “I'm sorry, ma'am, you can't come out this way.”
I think I just stared at her blankly for a bit. “What?”
“You can't go back out this way – you need to go out of the Exit.”
Oh, great! Just go back out of the Exit. Which is back through the narrow room and the narrow hall and the enormous gym that was absolutely choking itself to death with hordes of people who had no interest in letting me through.
“I can't,” I said piteously, and added observantly, “I have two umbrella strollers.” Just in case, you know, she had somehow missed that.
“I'm sorry,” she said, “You can't come out.”
I think that was the closest I have ever come to having a hissy-fit. Thankfully, I didn't, but I did get angry, I'm afraid. I wish I had just stood there and reasoned with her a bit more, but in the mood I was rapidly descending into it probably would have gone more like: “What, do you think I'm shoplifting? Where do you think I'm hiding the goods? In my umbrella strollers? Do you want to search me? Search me right now. Give me a pat down. I don't care anymore. Just let me OUT of this lousy sale or I am going to turn into a screaming banshee!”
Which might have felt good at the time but it really wouldn't have been at all exemplary. Not that I was exemplary in my manner of exit, either. I was keenly aware that I was rapidly approaching something akin to panic. Before you judge, just ask yourself this: have you ever been stranded inside a building swarming with strangers who don't even seem to know you are there with no way out, after you're already exhausted; and with your arms so full of two umbrella strollers that you can't get past everyone at anything faster than a snail's pace? It's surprisingly disturbing. Try it sometime if you doubt me.
Of course, I had also just recently congratulated myself that I was doing much better at not reacting automatically with drama to every situation that presented itself to me. And I do think I'm better than I once was, but I knew at that moment that the slumbering drama queen was not only not slumbering anymore; she was about to embarrass me big time if I didn't watch out.
So I spun around from the Legalistic Lady, put one stroller in front of me and one behind, and barrelled down the aisle, knocking over at least one innocent bystander in the process. Okay, so I didn't knock her down, but I did crash right into her ginormous tote bag as I hurtled past. I barrelled a bit further before I kind of realized I had hit someone, so I turned around and apologized. She was staring at me like I was a creature from outer space and it hit me that I needed to be careful. Even at a children's clothing sale, where you'd think most of the people are pretty pro-children...I needed to be careful to be a good witness for having children.
My children, by the way, were being little angels. Mommy was not. Even with these realizations, I was still too panicked by the prospect of spending 2 hours trying to get out of this place that I was not reasoning very clearly. I stopped right in the middle of traffic because there was no where to go, pulled my eldest out of her stroller, and collapsed it. This helped slightly, but now I had to figure out how to hold two umbrella strollers AND my toddler's hand.
So we finally managed to work our way into the gym, and when I saw that it was even worse than before, I backed into a blessed corner that had no traffic and thought perhaps I would just stay there until the sale was over. I was getting a lot of sympathetic glances at this point which made me think I must look like I was about to cry. Maybe I was about to cry. That would be great. My children were being perfect and then Mommy has a meltdown? Tears welled up in my eyes and I told myself not to be an idiot and decided that I must have claustrophobia. But I'm not big on just saying, “Oh, I have claustrophobia! That means it is OKAY to freak out right now, because it's just claustrophobia.” So I tried very hard to put a lid on it, and I did.
I assessed my escape options. Let's see. Collapse the other stroller and crawl under the toy tables with my two kiddos and then drag the strollers out after me and then cut through the check-out counters and escape.
Ummm...no.
Hey, there's an emergency exit right behind me. “Alarm will sound.” Just make a run for it before anyone figures out who caused it.
Umm...can you say mass panic, people trampling each other, not to mention breaking rules and at best inconveniencing lots of people?
Definite no.
I'm just being honest! The thought crossed my mind, that's all. Okay, it crossed it more than once.
Or...I can just turn into a broken record and say “Excuse me” about 100 times until I've plowed through the line into the clothing area, from which I will have a clearer shot to the check-out counters and that beautiful, distant spot of sunshine I see under that tiny “Exit” sign over there.
I opted for the latter choice. So I dove into the toy maze, with many repetitions of “Excuse me” and “I'm sorry” and came out of the toy maze in just a few minutes. I briefly pondered diving under the clothing racks again, but turned back into the broken record and hauled my strollers and children through the line into the clothing section.
Now that we were there, I only wanted out. No way was I going to stand in that line to check out. It would be too hard to even navigate my way to the back of the line again. No. I was getting OUT.
And I did. I went right through the checkout counters, had the guy at the door take the tag off my eldest's doll, and burst out into the fresh air. Set up the stroller again, and resumed the man-handle grasp on the inner stroller handles. And raced back to the car as fast as I could.
“That was interesting,” I said as I unloaded my little angels into the car and folded up the strollers and resumed the driver's seat. “You girls were amazing. You were so good. And Mommy is the one who almost had the meltdown. I kind of did have a meltdown.” And I apologized to them for being a bad example. I'm pretty sure they had no idea what I was talking about, but I figured I should get it out there – and so I did.
And resolved that never, ever again, under any circumstances whatsoever, will I go to a consignment sale with two umbrella strollers.
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