Some crazies in da fittin' room, ya'll

For the most part, Podiatry patrons have been generally easy to wrangle.  Despite the fact that I have had an experience with one inebriated customer (Seigfried, who stumbled into the back with an armful of clothes then, when in front of the three-paneled mirror couldn't stop from wobbling back and forth while staring somewhat blankly at her reflection), the rest of the folks I've dealt with have been mild-mannered, polite, or boring.

Today, the streak was broken.

First the mother-daughter duo, Sauron (the mom) and Nancy Drew (aged fifteen).  They were hunting for beach attire for Nancy Drew's upcoming trip with her fellow teen friends, and if I didn't know better, it seemed to me as if Sauron were trying REAL hard to introduce her daughter to hooker attire. Nancy Drew emerged at one point in a brown, sparkly, low-cut, racerback tank top remarking, "Yeah, I like this, but where would I wear it?"  Sauron responded immediately, "Oh you know, when you go clubbin."  There's no way she can be referring to "clubbing" as in the activity in which packs of friends dress themselves in as little clothing as possible then visit one over-21 only establishment after another for the purposes of drinking themselves silly, gyrating on strangers, participating in "drama," and going home with boys who smell of equal parts sweat and Hollister fragrances.  She MUST be referring to clubbing as in using large weapons to bludgeon animals to death.  That would make much more sense in the context of this FIFTEEN YEAR OLD'S upcoming summer plans.

But instead of the "clubbin'" top, Nancy Drew ended up settling on a skin-tight (but at least skin-covering) top.  "You sure it's not too tight?" she asked her mother, turning from one angle to the other.

"Honey," Sauron exclaimed, "if you got it, FLAUNT it!"  Wow. Good advice for a sophomore in high school.

The second group of crazies: Hanz, Malibu Stacey, and Cowshark.  For the most part, the men who accompany Podiatry patrons are of a quiet, submissive type.  Most plop down on the furniture in the store while their lady-friends shop, play with their Iphones, and hope for a speedy exit.  Some venture into the fitting room and sit cowed in the corner, waiting for their lady-friends to come to them asking "Honey, how do you like this?"  The answer is almost always an unenthusiastic "I like that," and then the lady goes back, puts on more, and repeats the process.  There's an even sadder situation, and that's the one in which the lady-friend barks at the man to get her different sizes or find her accessories.  The man obeys, dog-like.

Hanz was unlike any man I've ever experienced in Podiatry.  A tall, dark, salt-and-pepper haired dude dressed in a baby-blue button-down top and excellent dark jeans, Hanz was strangely present in the fashion experience of the two females he was accompanying.  My first interaction with him came when he ushered teeny tiny little teenaged Malibu Stacey into the fitting room to try on her teeny tiny little floral-print silk skirt and see-through white top.  I initially thought that he was her father until she referred to him by his first name.  It is for that reason, and because of the fact that most dudes take a back-seat role in this trying-on phase, that I was surprised--and a little creeped out--when he said "I REALLY wanna see those when you get them on."  She came out, he immediately inspected, and then began badgering her into consenting to purchase it.  "I love that skirt, it looks great on you, aren't you glad you tried that on?  I knew you would like that.  You HAVE to get that.  It's great."  Hmmm, I thought.  Perhaps he's the mom's boyfriend or he's the step-dad.  Yeah, the creepy stepdad trying to win his newly acquired step-daughter's love by watching her try on clothes and then buying them for her.

But I got a different point of view when Cowshark (who Malibu Stacey called "Mom") finally made her way back to do her trying on, Hanz and Malibu Stacey serving as the audience members and peanut gallery for this process.  Cowshark came out first in a dress that seemed to me to fit fine, but Hanz insisted she needed it in a smaller size.  "You want a different size?  I can go get it," he seemed to plead.  "No, Hanz, it's fine, I don't really want it."  "But I think it would be great in an extra small, really I can go find the size."  There was a pause as Cowshark continued her trying-on.  "So do you want me to go get it?" he persisted.  "No!" she almost yelled, exasperated.  "What did I say?  When I tell you something I mean it!"  Hanz backed off and chatted idly with Malibu Stacey.

"I really want to find a strapless dress for Wednesday," she told him.  "Didn't you find one in here?"  "No, there was a one-shouldered one," she suggested. "There is NOTHING worse than that," he said before commenting on his chair.  "You know this is really comfortable, but you can never get something upholstered like this if you have cats.  Bartholomew would tear this apart."

Cowshark whipped open the door and stuck out her neck, hissing at her posse, "Could you keep it down out there?  You are really embarassing me!" she said before retreating back into her room.  The two were silent for awhile.  Maybe I've been all wrong, I thought.  Perhaps this is Cowshark's dimwitted brother or gay shopping buddy?  But I don't know.  Malibu Stacey did not address him as uncle, and while sexuality is not a trait that one wears on one's sleeve, it seemed possible that he could be dating/married to this heinous woman.  Except she exuded nothing but hatred for the both of them.  Every time she came out to show them an outfit and they praised her, she undermined their comments.  What they hated, she loved.  "It washes you out," Hanz said of a blue dress with zig-zags running horizontally around it.  "How can it wash me out?  It's BLUE."

I'll never know the end of their fitting room saga, nor will I ever know the details of their unique relationships, because I was cut 2 hours earlier than I was scheduled to leave.  Podiatry wasn't making a ton of money today, so little in fact that there wasn't going to be enough to pay its employees to watch the crazy goings-on of its customers.  Although I'd love the extra $18.50 (yes, that's how much I make in two hours...splendid), I cannot say that I don't find beauty in getting to escape earlier than foreseen.