growing in the goo

Last night I met up with E for some dinner in Silver Spring. After finishing off a hearty meal at Noodles & Co, we decided to partake in the joys of discount shopping.

There's this...let's put this delicately...up and coming mall right next to Noodles. It's experiencing a growth spurt/identity crisis, and is trying so hard to be upscale with stores like Nine West, but still supports the likes of The Rave.

We made a beeline for Steve & Barry's, which is the home of Sarah Jessica Parker's line. Every item in the store costs $8.98 ($8.97? $8.99? something like that), so you have jeans for 9 bucks, but also semi-crappy necklaces for 9 bucks. It evens out.

I picked up a few pairs of shorts, a bright yellow cover-up thingie, and two shirts. E was still wandering around when I made my way to the back of the store. There they have a line of dressing rooms. It's not a separate area, just doors against the wall. Comprende?

The dressing room attendant was off flirting with her little boytoy coworker, but I spied the key to the doors dangling from a rack. I looked around, and seeing no employees, I gingerly grabbed the key off the rack and used it to open a door. I even thoughtfully grabbed my number (okay, it was the wrong number, but it was a number) and hung it on the door. Looking to my left, I saw a guy on his cell in the corner. Late-teens, early 20s. Nothing special, you know? I made a conspiratorial "sshhh" look at him (you know the drill, fingers to lips, saying "shh"), and then went off on my merry way into the dressing room to change and try on the clothes, which I was anticipating to be ill-fitting.

The first pair of shorts were indeed ill-fitting. While I was taking them off and putting on the next pair of shorts, I heard a knock at my dressing room door. How awkward. I projected my voice and said "Someone's in here!" Silence. Then another slight knock. I said it again, louder. Another knock. I looked at the floor and could see sneakers, probably a male's. Then a male voice, saying something to me, and I had NO IDEA what he was saying. It was heavily accented English. I was like, "what?" "huh?" He repeated. He said something like "I *unintelligible* phone *unintelligible*. It's Me."

By this time I was getting annoyed and feeling rather threatened. He jiggled the handle. I said, forcibly "Give me a Minute!!"

I started buttoning the buttons on my shorts, and decided that I should put a shirt on so I could open the door and be like "What?!?!" Still shirtless, I was feeling very vulnerable.

Then.

Then.

THEN HIS FEET STARTED COMING UNDER THE DOOR AND HE WAS SLIDING UNDER IT.

I started kicking him frantically, barefoot, saying "What are you doing?! Stop!! Stop!! Get out!!" He got as far as up to his thighs, then realized that he was not welcome in my 3 x 3 box of hell, and reversed out of there.

I tried to pretend that all was normal, but after that invasion of privacy and decency, I was not equipped to determine whether or not the shorts looked good on me. I was kinda shaking as I put the shorts back on the hanger, and I heard E come into the room next to me. She was all "Hey Meg!" and cheery, and I hissed, "E. E. E. I have to tell you something. I have to get out of here. Meet me at the accessories."

She thought I had some cool boy story (oh did I ever!), but didn't understand my manner. Finally fully clothed, I shot out of the dressing room and hung out sketchily at the front of the store, flitting around like a moth, touching everything, and looking shifty.

We met at the register (I decided to get the shorts afterall. We'll see how they really look without the flattering light of terror), and I told her the story. Our assumption is that cell phone guy thought that I was telling him "Shhh. Meet me in the dressing room for sex when you finish your call! It will be great!" She also pointedly thanked me for leaving her in the danger zone, oblivious, and said that Darwin would have approved. Whoopsie. You only have to be faster than the slowest person, right?

Every guy that walked by, she asked if it was him. I had no clue. All I knew was that he was wearing jeans and reddish sneakers. And his shins are hopefully covered in bruises begotten by my punishing bare feet.