Two women sit down in a mall...

Sounds like the opening to a bad joke, yes?

But yesterday I was at Willowbend Mall in Plano. It's a lovely place, pleasing to the eye, but I don't know that it's ever caught on with the public like its too-close kin, Stonebriar in Frisco. Still, I like it and I was there for the Apple Store, my "home" store.

After my purchase (next post), I decided to try the new seafood place. I had to walk through the food court, which itself seems to always have some new fast food there. I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see two women sitting companionably on a bench.

They were older than me, which I suppose isn't saying much the older I get, but it does narrow the field a bit, and they weren't eating. Indeed their bench was built for two and was placed so they faced the main aisle. They were turned a bit toward each other. Old friends, I thought, waiting for a third, or to get up and finish their shopping.

Went to lunch. It was good and interesting. I asked to see a dinner menu, found it concentrated which is probably a good thing. What they do, they will do well. Thirty, forty minutes later, I'm back in the food court and heading to my car.

And the two older ladies are still there! Still talking! They haven't moved an inch!

How delightful to sit and be so interested in someone else's ideas/problems/observations and to have them that interested in yours.

I wonder how long they stayed.

The Curmudgeon learns a lesson or By now, I should know better

So I'm in my boutique make-up store, having made a couple of purchases which I don't need immediately, but I can see the bottom of the bottle, so to speak. Therefore, it's time to buy while I'm there since said boutique is in Dallas and I am not.

The clerk is new and anxious to please and we've chatted amicably. The bill comes to just under $20 since I've been able to cash out my frequent shopper card for $10 off. I hand her a fifty, and as I'm doing so, a little voice is whispering in my ear: "Ask if she can make change for that." Despite being near closing time, most people pull out a card and she might not have change for that, but I don't ask, and thereby hangs the lesson.

She doesn't look at the bill. She plops it atop the twenties and counts out my coinage as she shuts the register drawer.

"I gave you a fifty."

She is flummoxed and looks at her supervisor (store manager?) to open the register. The store manager shoots us both daggers with her eyes. All of a sudden I'm the customer out to bilk the store for $30 and her new clerk is the annoying victim. But she has to open the register and she does so with much punching and distrust.

Oh, my. Look atop the twenties. There's a fifty. Hmmm... I don't say anything. The manager grabs the bill, puts it where it should have been put in the first place, the secret fifty/hundred slot, and smiles weakly as I get my $30.

Next time I'm asking if they have change for that.

The curmudgeon taps her foot again

So I have a question, just a question mind you, of a salesclerk in a store. This store sells wine and kitchen gizmos and exotic jewelry and furniture from around the world. Nothing's real expensive, but there's not a price displayed on a package of cookies. They come in three flavors, mango, strawberry, and apricot, and they look like they'd be just right for the bridge group. But I have my financial limits on what I'm willing to pay for 12 cookies from Portugal, so I take the package to the front counter.

Which is where our story really begins. The young woman in front of me is having a heck of a time getting her credit/debit card to go through. The young male clerk is little help. He keeps pushing buttons on the register which will lock up, then not. The woman explains that there's lots of money in that account. Lots. They just sold property. Oh, maybe it's the wrong card. She tries another. Same song, second verse.

Then our clerk lets go the truth: the machines were down the evening before. I'm thinking it's not that someone has drained the accounts, but that maybe the machine isn't back up and no one in the invisible back office has told the clerk. Finally, she pays cash, about $20, and vows to go check at the bank. I bet the teller got an earful.

I find out my cookies are reasonably priced, the register is working for that bit of info, and I go to load up.

Reappear at the same register, same clerk, different shopper, this one about my age, same problem. By this time, I'm wondering 1) where management is and 2) why this guy isn't still stocking, because customer service of the-credit-card-machine-isn't-working-ma'am type, is severely lacking. The amount in question this time is a bit over $5. She gives up and writes a check.

Now, if the credit card machine isn't working right, then the instant-verify your check isn't working either. Finally someone shows up to take the line of customers to another register. Trust me, I paid cash.

Management said she was sorry for the wait. That's when I unloaded: told her I'd waited twice. That the clerk was on his own. Why hadn't someone come to help him sooner?

As I'm leaving the cashless woman with the still spinning check standing at the counter, management is leaning over asking what's wrong.

Sheesh! And she even tried to get me on their mailing list!

En-robing

I need a new winter robe. My last one, made of terry and showing serious signs of wear, was cut up last spring and recycled into dust cloths and a blanket and pillow for the granddaughter's baby doll. That left me with several lightweight options and an entire summer and fall to find a replacement.

It is snowing outside (but not sticking) and I have no robe.

I spent yesterday shopping three big department stores. I don't want terry or velour. I don't want white or black or red. I want long. I'd tolerate a zipper-close instead of a tie. I'm not into paying $100 for it. If the weight was right, the length wasn't. And that's the closest I got: right weight, wrong length. To my knees does not a winter robe make.

Sheesh! Who knew it could be so hard? I've made my own from chenille bedspreads in the past and I may have to accomplish the same task again. Just not what I wanted to do. Plus, I don't think I have any on hand.

Perhaps I'll just wear two summer robes instead/until I find what I'm looking for.