A Pink Nightmare

10-23-2005 - 8:20 p.m.

I left my cell phone in the back of a cab on Friday. Luckily, a lady who had boarded the cab after me answered my calls to my little lost phone-- and she said she would leave my phone at the concierge desk of her destination... the American Girl Place store.

Gulp. That meant that I had to enter the store I've feared and despised for the last few years. Either that, or sacrifice my entire list of phone numbers.

I approached the door of the store and watched shiny, happy families posing at the door for photos. My discomfort was actually palpable. Dads held baby girls who were dressed in tacky pink fleece outfits. Those men may have well checked their testicles at the door, because they obviously could make no claims to their manhood for the rest of their lives after posing for that photo.

Luckily, the conceirge desk was immediately inside the entrance. I asked for my phone. The chipper girl (was she American?) at the desk told me that I needed to visit Lost and Found, which was "through the library, last door on the left". I hesitated, wondering what kind of kids store required a library, and then walked slowly through the room. The floor was coated with pint-size book shoppers clutching their newly-bought dolls, which sported long, flowing locks and names like Marisol and Felicity.

I commanded my legs to keep walking--don't stop now-- and I came to a doorway. Was this Lost and Found? I peered in. Gasp! A magenta hallway led to a hidden photo studio, where families were lined up to take snapshots with their dolls. I quickened my pace and finally came to another door, this one closed and nondescript. Surely this was Lost and Found. I opened the door and met eyes with a pudgy brunette woman, who was leaning over a little girl in a room filled with magenta and lace. Flashbulbs were going off in the background. "Lost and Found?" I naively asked her. "No, one more door down," she snorted, and went back to posing for precious photos. I let the door close and kept moving. Must keep moving.

I finally came to yet another closed and unmarked door. I carefully opened the door, expecting another pink nightmare. Luckily, inside was a bored-looking woman manning a formica desk. She had my phone, and handed it over after I signed a slip of paper.

I spun on my heels and starting walking back towards the store's entrance. I sped pass the photo studio. I manuevered carefully around the whining girls in the "library". I breathed quietly and tried to stay calm... after all, these creatures could probably smell fear and I didn't want to provoke an attack.

I kept walking-- towards the light, the glistening sunlight of Chicago Avenue-- almost there, past concierge, until YES! I was out in the chilly October air. The passing tourists, in their "Iowa" sweatshirts and feathered bangs, never looked so good.

I have seen the enemy, and they are named Felicity.

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