I'll miss you... nice people

7:57 a.m.  3 minutes until the public can get their hands on a coveted new clothing line, one that is sure to sell out in a few hours. In larger cities, lines twist around city blocks and claws come out as the doors open.

A Target employee is starting to open our store, and the five of us that have gathered outside move inside, discussing what we hope to find. There's a woman whose daughter can't bear to face the lines in New York where she lives  and sent her mom to pick up a list of items. My pilates teacher is there, deciding which pattern of plates she wants to buy her kids. Two more strangers compare printed out lists of what they were going to buy before Target.com crashed for the morning. We walk around the store at a quick pace, not wanting to seem too eager but not wanting to miss out on anything.  We discuss our surprise that there are actually other people in this town who knew what was happening this morning.

In the sporting goods section, a mom and I chat about the availability of the zig-zagged bike that I'm currently drooling over. She buys one, I don't. Later I see her with her teenage daughter, and they wave me over, holding up the cute dress they found. In another section, the mom to the daughter in New York asks what size I would take in a particular shirt; I'm about the same height as her daughter. I tell her one size would probably be too short on me. "Well she's in New York," she drawls, winking, "you know how much less conservative they are up there."

I wander back to the bike. There's one left. I pace in front of it. I text Y. He says, "Gross. that looks like Beetlejuice's bike." I reason that we'll be buying at least 10 plane tickets in the next few months; I can't justify a $499 bike. I wander across the store, grabbing a zig-zagged coffee mug for $4.99 instead. "We decided we can't get the bike." I say to the crowd, because by now they all know my plight. They groan, not missing a beat shoving melamine plates  into their carts. I hold up my consolation prize. "But I am getting a coffee mug!" They laugh. We're old friends.

I venture to guess that not everyone's 8 am Missoni experience was like this. I consider myself lucky.

{By the way, although the selection was vast at my store, I kept all those plane tickets in mind (and thought a lot of the clothes were ugly) and left with only the mug, some pencils, and the softest, longest cardigan that I can't wait to snuggle up with on an airplane.}

I'll miss you... archive:

what is it?

roundabout

coffeeshop where everybody knows your name

crape myrtle

corn

movie moments
antique stores