An Open Letter to Dressing Room Patrons

I had a solid four hours to kill in between work events on Tuesday so after I ate two bagels in my car like a sad lonely squirrel, I obviously stopped at Marshalls to browse. While I'm not currently purchasing, obviously I can still browse and try on. I had about ten items to try on so I headed into the dressing room. This Marshalls is located near one of our "nicer" malls, at the crossroads of major highways, near an affluent town, and on the bus line. I say this because you literally never know what demographic will be in the store.

Dear Dressing Room Patrons,

     When you accept the ticket with the number of items you wish to try on, you are not accepting a ticket to Narnia. When you walk into the dressing room, you are not magically transported into an alternate universe. You are still in public. And by public, I mean that I can essentially see and hear anything you do in the general dressing room area. Even when you close the flimsy latch I can still hear you. So when you are a grown woman and you try on a juniors dress and proceed to flit out into the main dressing room area while I'm frantically trying to find a non broken room to try on my moderately priced Calvin Klein, you are going to be in my way, and I'm not going to be that apologetic. P.S., when your boobs meet your waist, it is time to a- get a new bra b- stop wearing juniors.

    When you are a mother, and your sixteen year old daughter is in the room next to you and you demand she comes out to show you a TANK TOP she tried on, you are going to annoy me. When she comes out to show you said tank top, and you proceed to tell her she is not going anywhere looking that ghetto, you are going to bother me.

    If you answer your phone while you are trying on clothes, and have a conversation regarding a custody dispute, I am going to judge you. The family court is closed for a reason, these are matters best kept between the family and only a select few who need to know.

Best,

 KK

The woman who kept saying ghetto this, and ghetto that, probably had never even driven in the "scary" part of town. She had no understanding of the word, and the history behind it. What did she mean by ghetto? Did she mean a government contrived section of Venice where Jews were required to live starting in the 1500s? Or was she referring to a sociologically perpetuated area of a city or town in which ethnic minorities have traditionally lived, usually with rampant poverty, crime, and social disorder? Either way, I doubt a tank top from Marshalls could express ghetto-ness. What she was doing was perpetuating a stereotype. Based on her and her daughter's conversation regarding school, I figured out where she lived- an affluent, roughly 95% Caucasian town where the term ghetto was used by privileged white kids when they wore their hats crooked.

How did she know that I wasn't from an inner city community marred by stereotypes? There is no way to know that about anyone.

Basically, keep ya mouth shut in public unless you absolutely know what and who you are talking about.