Yes, Santa Claus, there is a Macy's

I walked into the store through the door I'm used to; so I can find my way out and also locate the mall entrance.  These commercial ventures can be rather confusing.  To the left are the coats; to the right hang the weird, hippy-ish, trashy fashions that junior teens love.  Straight ahead, in front of the escalator, are the black, white and beaded evening separates.  Walking to the escalator I noticed two massage chairs oddly placed among the dressy clothes.  A twenty-something woman, casually up-scale and very slim, was attempting to figure out how to start one of the chairs.  As I started to the next level, the customer was settling into the chair with audible sighs. After some grazing, I found a scarf and sox that I had come for, went to a cashier (now called a service center) who had been there a minute ago.  Peering over the top of the counter, I saw the girl sitting on the floor, arms around her knees.  "Are you on break?" I asked.  I thought that was politic.  "No.  I can help you," she said with disgruntlement.  So I dealt the Macy's cards I'd been receiving in the mail several times a week for several weeks.  "What can I use?"

The salesgirl calculated the cost, looked over my cards, chose the one that worked.  The amount was 2/3 less than the ticket price after the reduced sales price.  Delighted, I thanked her and walked off with my happy parcel, glancing back to watch her slip down the wall to the hidden position I'd disturbed.  

The store was extremely busy.  Well, it was December 23rd.  But the customers appeared blithely occupied.  Not sure what my next purchase should be, I sprayed myself with Chanel Number Five and walked out into the mall.  I visited several stores: strolling through, looking at various articles, pausing, trying to decide.  In one store I was followed around (stalking?).  In another, the salesperson told me she'd be right with me.  I left ten minutes later.  She hadn't shown up.  All the shops boasted sales, but none as good as Macy's.  So back I went.  I'm not cheap, just unemployed for almost eight months. Anyway, I only had two more items to buy.  I found both of them; each at fifty percent off.  I laid all my cards on the counter of a more diligent saleslady.  "What I can I use?"   She did the calculations, looked over my hand, and offered a better percentage from the most recent advertisement.  I used my Macy's card, signed the little signing machine, and gathered up my cards.  As the lady handed me my package she said, "You saved $35."  I backed away looking over the receipt.  A two percent further reduction and Macy's would owe me money.  As I rode the escalator down to ground level, it occurred to me that it must cost like ten cents to make most of the articles sold here. I turned toward the exit as the twenty-something customer was just standing up and turning off the massage chair.  I looked at my watch.  Two hours had passed.  How hospitable of Macy's to permit the young woman a spa treatment.  

I can joyfully report that Macy's is more than a parade.  It is a pathway to a jolly red suit.  Happy Christmas!