Do I look like a matron?

I had quite an unusual experience during this morning's monthly mall trip. Suddenly, all the sales people were eager to assist me. I'm still not sure whether I like it or not, though, since I like being left alone when I'm choosing what to buy. The good thing was, they weren't trying to help me out with my choices, they were helping me out with my load.

First, the shopping basket. I didn't get one immediately because I wasn't sure where the first item on my list could be found, but I saw it immediately and got it. So I was carrying it to the counter where I knew the baskets would be, and I was met halfway there by a salesman who handed me one.

Second, the rug. I had chosen a small one to put under my husband's narrow bookshelf and had it rolled neatly in my shopping basket. When I got to the other end of the store, I saw more choices and found a pattern I liked better. So I unrolled the first rug and put it back on the display pile. Then the salesman there rolled up my new choice for me and placed it in my basket exactly how I had the first one in.

Third, how about a shopping cart instead? As I was on my way to the other end of the store for the last item on my list, yet another salesman walked up to me and offered me a shopping cart so I wouldn't have to carry a basket. (Uh, no thank you, I'm not buying that much.)

Fourth, yet another shopping cart. After the department store, I decided to buy some chicken pieces in the supermarket one level down. (Our neighborhood grocery usually only has whole chicken.) So I deposited my three shopping bags in the package counter and bought the chicken. And a few other items, so I ended up with another three bags. As I was walking to the package counter, another young man, a member of the customer service crew this time, came up to me with a shopping cart to put my packages in. So I thanked him, placed the bags inside, got my other packages and rolled the cart over to the taxi stand. And the nice cab driver came out of the car to help me place my packages on the back seat.

So the first thing I asked my husband when I got home was, "Do I look like a matrona?" My smart husband, knowing there's no safe answer to a question like that, instead asked me what brought the question on, so I told him about all those young men helping me out. He laughed, nuzzled me a bit, then said, "Maybe they think you look rich." Ha ha.

Anyway, I have three hypotheses about today's experience. One, that I am really beginning to show my age. Two, the service personnel are finally getting the training that they need. (That company has always been notorious for having awful service.) And three, if you want good service, don't just be in jeans and a t-shirt. That's my usual outfit when shopping, but for some reason, this morning I decided to wear skinny, red-orange cropped pants and a chocolate brown top with a beige neckline. Did that make a difference? Probably. But I suspect that today's experience was really caused by a combination of all three.