Crazy Kids

So Roman and I stumbled into the American Eagle this weekend to check things out. I found a shirt I liked and the price was good so I went to purchase it. While waiting for the barely out of high school clerk to ring me up I got my billfold out and began to prepare for the process. I knew the drill, scan the card, punch in my top secret password, take the receipt but STOP… this time was different. The clerk’s first question to me was one I had not heard before. It was a question she had probably asked several customers that day and countless number of people throughout her career at the American Eagle. Little did she know that her question to me would change the way I viewed my world. She said to me, “Do you have an All Access Pass?” I’ll be honest; I think she was a little smug when she asked me. Immediately I felt the need to dig into my wallet as if I had to prove my youth. I felt as though if I could not find an All Access Pass I wouldn’t be able to purchase the shirt or worse yet, I’d be kicked out by some 19 yr old guy named Chris wearing this seasons American Eagle polo shirt and cargo shorts.

While looking for this elusive pass I began to think to myself, “Dave… you have never signed up for this pass and everyone in line knows it. The card is not going to mysteriously appear in your billfold. You’re too old to be in the American Eagle store anyway, turn around and walk, no run out. Don’t forget Roman.” Anxiously searching my over stuffed bi-fold, why I didn’t opt for the tri-fold is a mystery to me, I found my allergy shot card, miniature laminated minister’s license (laugh but I bet you don’t have one), and a Kroger card. No All Access Pass to prove I was still young enough to shop AE.

Much to my surprise the gal behind the counter thought nothing of the fact that I was without the All Access pass. In the back of her mind I am sure she knew I wouldn’t have said pass. She was probably just glad I took my screaming toddler out of her store. Roman hates going into stores. He protests by yelling at the top of his little lungs. Maybe Roman knew my AE shopping days have passed me by. The writing was on the wall when I didn’t know who the radio friendly pop band blaring over the store was.

Back to Macy’s I ran. Good thing Roman and I didn’t attempt to get into the Hollister. They purposely built steps into the entrance to prevent baby strollers from coming in. As if to say, “If your to old or unable to climb the three stairs into our store you should be here in the first place.”