SuperTween needs a special dress for an event at the end of June. Two weeks ago, I scheduled an appointment to find that dress. I told the person on the phone what size dress SuperTween currently wears. I told the person on the phone exactly what style and color the adult females would be wearing to this event. I even suggested the style of two dresses that might work on SuperTween. Saturday was our much anticipated appointment.

We checked in at the desk and stood, waiting until half an hour past our appointment time. Hordes of women traveled the store like a bad reality tv show. “I had to move my date cause there is no way she’s beating me to the altar.” When we were finally called back, the store employee had exactly zero dresses waiting for SuperTween to try. I dug out all the information that they did not write down when I called and made the appointment. The first dress that SuperTween tried was cute, but the store employee frowned and said it was not the same fabric as the dresses that the adult females would be wearing. SuperTween tried on the second dress. It looked… terrible. The fabric gaped and sagged like a burlap potato sack. I asked about alterations and the employee claimed that the dress was supposed to fit like that. They brought out the same potato sack one size smaller. SuperTween looked like she was wearing an infant’s bubble romper. When she sat down, the dress popped up above her underpants. I offered to buy the dress that adult females would be wearing and have a sash sewn on as straps. “Our smallest adult size is a two.” I offered to drive to Atlanta where they might have a larger inventory. “That won’t help you.” I asked about finding a dress online and bringing it in for alterations. “We are not affiliated with our online shops.”

“I want the first dress.”

The scowling employee wandered off for a few minutes before returning to tell me that the first dress is discontinued and unavailable in the out-of-season color that we were seeking. “I made an appointment two weeks ago for you to prepare nothing and then offer me only one, ill-fitting dress?” “Yes. Also, the dress won’t be delivered until one week before your end of June event.”

We left the store. It is very easy to see how 22-year-olds can become Bridezillas when they have to deal with uncooperative, unpleasant store employees who SHOULD be going out of their way to sell clothing but aren’t even trying. Do you know why all the hordes of women shopping in this store were twenty-somethings without their middle aged mothers? Moms don’t tolerate bad service. Now that my misconceptions about this store have been shattered, I am going back in the store on a weekday. I’m going to solve this dilemma, even if it means buying three yards of fabric and having a dress made.