My mother and I have a great relationship. I make it a point to have lunch or dinner with her as often as our schedules allow so we can spend some quality time together. We both live in Houston, but don’t see much of each other due to her hectic work schedule and my inordinate laziness. We had lunch a few weeks ago at her favorite French restaurant and talked about the usual things we talk about. After our lunch, we walked to the parking lot together, still laughing over a joke she had told me as I paid for our meal. She stopped for a second.

“Oh, I completely forgot to ask you. Are you going to the Galleria any time soon?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but I can. What do you need?”

“I have these clothes I bought for [my younger cousin]’s birthday, but I decided to get him something else. Anyways, I don’t have time to return them.”

“Oh, ok. I can probably do that for you tomorrow.”

She popped the trunk of her car and pulled out a traditional Abercrombie & Fitch bag with a brilliant damsel strewn across the front.

“I paid for it in cash so just return it and keep it for yourself.”

“Sweet, thanks.”

We said our goodbyes. I tossed the bag in the backseat of my car, but forgot about it until the other morning when I realized I needed money for my afternoon plans, and would need to make a stop at the ATM. On my way to the bank, I remembered the bag with the clothes and the cash that would come from the return, so I detoured to the Galleria.

It was mid-morning, just after 10. The Galleria itself had opened an hour prior, and the stores were just beginning to unlock their doors for the day’s business. Luckily I didn’t have to walk far to find Abercrombie. Eyeing the store from across the walkway, I saw the typical giant poster in the front entrance of a young shirtless guy looking off in the distance, hair perfectly shaped, chest sculpted to perfection, nipples erect, and abs subtle yet noticeable. I walked in the store and was immediately struck with a familiar scent that I hadn’t inhaled since high school: that stupid ass Abercrombie jock cologne. Ugh. Shaking it off, I stopped for a moment in the dim lit men’s section and looked around at the same tired style A&F has had for the past decade. Ripped up jeans, polo shirts underneath other polo shirts, baseball caps with A&F branded on the front in dull primary colors – standard douche bag wear. I made my way to the back of the store looking for the cashier. There was literally no one in the store aside from myself and some scrawny guy with curly red hair walking around folding shirts. We nodded in acknowledgement of one another’s presence.

I stood at the counter for a moment and felt the primed mahogany table top against the back of my hand. A blonde girl, easily mid-20s, hair pulled back in a pony tail, decked out in Abercrombie bull shit approached me with pep in her step.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I just need to return a few things.”

“Do you have the receipt?” I handed it over. Our fingers touched for a moment — I felt nothing as usual.

She typed in some information into the computer while I messed around with a half empty bottle of the same signature Abercrombie Fierce cologne I smelled earlier, and then asked, “And why are you returning these items?” She pulled them out of the bag one by one.

I fibbed so as to not seem like the errand boy that I was, “I just don’t need them after all.”

“Not your style?”

“Not since high school.”

She smirked and began folding the three separate articles of clothing on top of each other while I still fiddled with the cologne. She made sure to check for the tags before she scanned the receipt. Racist.

“Hey, let me ask you something… do you guys still sell a lot of this cologne?”

“Yeah, it’s our biggest seller.”

“I haven’t worn this stuff since high school, let alone come inside of this store… brings back memories.”

She wasn’t interested in conversation, or rather, she hated me – definitely the latter. The total being refunded to me was just over $50 (perfect). She asked if I want it in cash or on a store card.

“I’ll take the cash please.”

She sneered and said with somewhat of a joking tone, “Why not on a card? Not good enough for you?”

“No not that, well, maybe. Like I said it’s just not my style.”

“So what do you wear then?”

I was wearing a black and grey short sleeve button down Armani Exchange shirt underneath my cool black Calvin Klein jacket and Lucky Brand jeans.

“I don’t know, my style has changed as I’ve gotten older. I’m not really into the Abercrombie, American Eagle, and Hollister thing anymore.”

“Abercrombie is better than American Eagle.”

“Neither of them do it for me.”

“Well you should seek a fashion counselor then.”

I was slightly taken aback, “What? I don’t need shells around my neck and eight polo shirts on top of each other to be considered a good dresser.”

She was obviously taking this very personally as she no doubt failed out of community college, and after several years of hard work, finally made her way up the ranks to shift leader. Also, I can’t remember exactly, but I’m pretty sure crumpled up my receipt in her hand. She thrust my cash at me without counting it.

“That’s not all we are!”

“That’s all I see.”

“That’s because you don’t look good in Abercrombie wear!”

[smirking] “Oh yeah, that’s it.”

I turned to walk away.

“Where are you going?!”

“To consult American Eagle.”

“Wait, hang on a second. Look, I’m sorry, I’m having a bad morning.”

“It’s cool, no worries.”

At this point I was thinking, ‘Alright, this is tight. She apologized, she’s on the defensive. Maybe I can swing this around to my advantage and get her number. She is a cutie after all.’

“Well?”

I was caught off guard.

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to apologize too?”

“For?”

“For saying Abercrombie and Fitch isn’t very good.”

“I didn’t say it in those words… I just said it’s not my thing anymore. You want me to tell you I like Abercrombie?”

“No, I want you to appreciate the style.”

I laughed, “Hell no.”

“I can’t believe you.”

This is where I fucked up; I decided to turn it into a game.

“You know, I was going to ask you for your number, but I don’t think I will anymore.”

“You could never get my number, and plus I have a boyfriend.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, he works here too.”

Hoping she understood the stereotype that all douche bag, Abercrombie males have abnormally large necks, I asked, “How thick is his neck?”

“Um, what the fuck? Are you gay?”

“No.”

“Then why did you ask that?”

“Ask what?”

“You asked about his dick!”

“Dick? I said neck.”

“Oh.”

I started to leave without saying anything. I find myself in this sort of situation all the time; where I’ve ended up offending someone – usually on purpose – and then walking away from it, entertained by their own idiocy.

“You’re lucky the manager isn’t here.”

I disregard her comment and walked back through the men’s section to leave. She ran after me and tapped my shoulder. I turned around.

“Yeah?”

It wasn’t her. It was the scrawny red head guy from earlier.

“That’s my girlfriend you faggot.”

“So? She needs to have her attitude checked.”

“Don’t talk to her that way, now get the fuck out of here and don’t come back.”

“Chill out Chad, I’m on my way out anyway.”

“My name isn’t Chad bro.”

I shook my head, “Regardless.”

I turned on my heels and left, then stopped at Starbucks to grab an insufferable shot of overpriced espresso on my way out of the Galleria. In retrospect I probably should have beaten the shit out of that guy, but putting myself in his shoes, I probably would have done the same thing. I’m pretty sure his name was Chad though. If not Chad, then Brandon or Todd or some other douchey surfer name. Furthermore, I’m sure we can all agree that Abercrombie’s style is atrocious for anyone over the age of 18, oh, and also that she was being a hyper sensitive megalo-bitch. I’m no longer surprised things like this happen to me as often as they do. That’s what I get for instigating. I’m a moron.