I'm astounded all over again at how many people have claustrophobia. Here's a tip, asshole--if you tell me in a conversational tone of voice that you are suffering from this problem, if you try to, y'know, not *shout* it at me, or stamp your little feet, or give me a look full of challenge, I will show you to a large fitting room without question. If you ae obviously struggling--broken bones, back pain, pregnant, you are automatically getting the big room. But here's what you can't have, no matter how much you glare at me in hatred--you cannot go into the wheelchair accessible room because your ass doesn't need it.
WTFuck? Why do people want that damn room? What the hell? The door opens outwards, that's *it*. That's the only difference between the family fitting rooms and the wheelchair accessible ones--that and maybe a foot more of space. *smh*
I'm leaving them in June. I intend to dedicate the rest of my life to painting tiny watercolors of kittens and flowers. Maybe I'll join one of those senior art classes, make little ceramic penis vases, maybe little ring dishes shaped like vaginas. I'm looking forward to it.