I was sucked into the 8th level of Dante's Inferno, otherwise known as Macy's Bridal Registry floor today. Miracle on 34th Street, you aren't Macy's.
Let's back up, shall we, dear readers? Bride-to-be, is a dear friend of mine. Such esteem and love do I feel for her that I will forgo my usual dread of such estrogen-fueled events and happily went in search of a gift for the function I will gladly be attending next weekend. Enter: The Registry.
In hindsight, I should have just swung up to Columbus Circle or headed to 17th/Broadway for the two William Sonomas in the city. I LOVE these stores and am like a suburban dad wandering through Home Depot when in them; gawking at all the endless fun-filled domestic opportunities.
But, no. I decided to make my life and day easier and head to the Macy's flagship store located on the corner of Hell and Hell in Manhattan. The Boyfriend had to go into work for a special project today and having had On The C, by TIWWDN
blogger extrodinaire's text messaged recco hand deliver me a helluva headache this fine morning, opted to commute with The BF on the F line to Herald Square.
Ice coffee working it's magic, I exit the station and saunter on up to Macy's with a smile as I spot Victoria's Secret right across the street. Perfection, I think as I ponder the list of domestic goods for her and figure I'll throw in a little something Hubby-to-be will enjoy. (Z's an equal opportunity kind of girl, dear readers)
My whole plan was to get there early, purchase said gift, and get the hell out. The side trip to Vickie's Secret was an addendum. I still had to head back to Brooklyn and do all my weekend errands (ie: a mountain of laundry, food shopping - forgot to order freshdirect yesterday, et al).
I notice it's a little emptier than I would have thought as I approach the main revolving door. Lights are off. SHIT. It doesn't open on Sundays until 11am. Going home and coming back into The City is not an option I will fulfill. I decide to wait it out. I have The Times on me, and can kill at least an hour and a half with that. And............wait I did. Having gotten through the entire Sunday Times, cutting off a beggar at 'hello sugar', providing three sets of tourists directions to the Empire State Building (I was seated on 34/6th - ESB's on 34th 5th, and what, about 80something stories tall and casting a huge shadow on the area?), I look over to Macy's entrance.
There's an actual line formed.
Well, I figure, I'd best head over to Vickie's Secret to select 'something blue' for Bride-to-be. It's 10:56 and also doesn't open until 11. So, I wait with about 20 other tourists for it
to grandiosely swing open its doors five minutes late.
Ignoring eye contact with any sales 'help' I head straight upstairs to the Angels section and happily find that there's a buy one get on free sale going on. Two for me, one baby blue for her later, I exit sans gift box. No worries - Macy's will hook me up.
I trot across the street where the doors are swinging open in the scorching sunshine. After consulting the INFO booth, I take the express elevators to the 8th floor. It's now 11:15. I find a
helpful touch screen registry print out portal and, again, consult the list. Kate Spade home goods. Perfect. I head right over.
Um, where are the actual goods? I think to myself while scouring the section like I'm on an Easter egg hunt. After 15 minutes (for those keeping time), an unhelpful sales person strolls by, clearly intoxicated on Happy Meds. After five long minutes of banter with her, I reason that she has no idea where the actual goods for purchase are housed. She assures me that someone who actually works in the section will be by soon, as she's 'on the floor'.
Ten minutes later, a harried looking women rushes past. I lurch. She does not know how to go about finding such an item as the beautiful crystal vase I've helpfully upturned the UPC code towards her at, but assures me that someone will be by soon.
Ten more minutes of my life I'll never get back pass. A mousy and clearly overwhelmed petite matron fusses about. She had no idea about the kate spade good I wish to purchase and has to rush to as yet unknown depths of the dishes/crystal floor.
Seeing no boxes hidden in the display, I head over to Calvin Klein. There's a crystal item that I'm admiring that would be perfect. Mouse rushes by. Like a linebacker, I tackle her for any and all information. It was a simple request. Provide me with a box containing specific article held in hand for purchase.
In an anagram, WTF.
First, she went back and had no idea where to find the item. Then, she came out with an item that, while looking a helluvalot like what I was asking for, in fact was NOT the said item. She
remained perplexed as to how the UPC codes were, in fact DIFFERENT, for seven minutes. To her credit, the item on display was not the one on the registry. In fact, the one Mouse brought out, was the item I wished to purchase. Smiles all around. She went back to see if there was an actual CK box for said item.
Ten minutes later, (I shit you not dear readers, I've now been trying to purchase one item for an hour now) she comes out and is apologetic that she does not have a box. No worries, I assure her, I'll be ok. She rushes back, with the item in hand, to the Netherlands beyond customer reach. When she finally reappears, it is to profusely apologize that she does not have a box for the item on display (which we've already agreed upon that I don't want to purchase as I want to buy what the bride and groom actually registered for).
I want to go postal on Mouse. I want to rip the glasses off her face and skullfuck her with the nearest Mikasa champagne flute. However, I summon up my integrity, shoot her my best condenast/hearst/reptile learned faux smile and purr, "No, don't worry about it. X is fine. X is good. X is what I want." while grabbing at the non-CK box in question. She's happy to tell me that she can ring me up.
Realizing that I do not have a box to wrap from Vickie's Secret, I hand her my pink tissue wrapped surprise and ask her to place it in the item to be secured within said non-CK box. She informs me now that she is 'only a weekend worker' and today is INSANE. I look around at the two other couples roaming the goods with registry guns in hand and assure her that, yes indeed, I can sympathize.
Just ring me up and give me the fucking box.
Mouse helpfully informs me that gift wrapping can provide me with a MACY's box and wouldn't that just be so much more precious than the bare bones one I have. I actually agree with Mouse for the first time today and after fakely thanking her, head to gift wrap, otherwise known as Dante's final ring.
After contemplating which crappy design to pick for seven whole minutes without any attention from the Neanderthal behind the counter, I say SCREW IT, pick up my box and head to the elevators. I ride express to the main floor and approach the nearest handbag checkout to simply get a bag.
The troll behind the desk is not making eye contact. Politely I say hello. She abruptly snarls that "I'm not on yet." But, I just need a bag! I helpfully say. She snarls back "I'm NOT on yet."
"Fine," I say as I reach over the counter "I'll help myself to a BAG. This whole experience has been SO LOVELY so far, it's only fitting that I should inconvenience you for A BAG."
I will never look at the Thanksgiving Parade the same way again.