shirts. Many, MANY years ago, I was shopping with a friend in one of the suburban Dayton Hudson stores (not the flagship). We were at the cosmetics counter, because I was on my endlessly futile quest for a product for my VERY soft nails. My friend and I, both 21, were dressed nicely, but not expensively. The very snobby saleswoman behind the counter rather pointedly ignored us for older, more expensively dessed women who came up after we did. After she pointedly ignored us for about the third time, I told my friend we were leaving. I found the manager's office, and proceeded to explain that I had been intending to buy an entire skin care line, and was treated as if I were something that did not belong there. Just to be a bitch, I drew out the money I had gotten from a rather large (at the time) check I had cashed earlier in the day and tossed it on his desk to show a blown sale. Somewhere in the conversation, he somehow got the impression that I was a spotter for the home office. Shrug.
Whenever I think of that, or reading your adventure just now, I think of that scene un "Pretty Woman". "BIG mistake. HUGE!!!"
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