David's Bridal

I'm in the process of trying to find a wedding dress, and I'd convinced myself I could do it on the cheap (you only wear the thing once, right?). Unfortunately, cheap meant I couldn't do an "eco" dress, but I relented on that point. Being budget-minded, I sucked it up and went to David's Bridal (too bad, reader, I can't type the apostrophe as a little heart), that strip-mall big-box bride factory. The nice lady at the "reception" desk assigned me to Cathy. Take a look, she said, and Cathy will be right with you. Shortly, a blonde Eastern European woman with imperfect English approached, so I told her I was Paris. "Do you want to schedule your pampering session now," she asks with a thick accent. This was not Cathy. This woman was going to make me submit to a "makeover" in which I leave looking like a circus clown. I declined, and she left.
Rex and I continued looking at dresses, finding most to be much the same, and nothing was particularly exciting, when Cathy finally approached. She grabbed one more dress and we were off to the fitting rooms.
Behind a fully-mirrored door was a fitting room like you'd expect at Wal-Mart, but smaller. At these places they always give you a "bra," which is more like a grandma's foundation garment from 1976. Cathy also furnished a slip (these dresses have, like, 10 layers of material. Do I really need a slip? How crappy are these things?), and told me to get moving. I put on the first dress, and walked out. Totally unremarkable, as you might expect. I tell Cathy that it's not really what I'm looking for, I'd really like x, y, and/or z features. "Brides, they always want something," she says. "Brides are so quirky." I'm a little put off by her snarkyness, after all, we are brides and it is our wedding dress. I go back in to try again. I tell her I really want a corset back. She says, you can have one put in, but it'll cost ya. Again, with that horrid snarky tone. Couldn't I just get a dress that already has one? No, I have to buy the ugly one she picked so she can sell me and move onto the next bride. While she saunters off to find another David's Bridal "creation," I quickly dressed and grabbed Rex. We ran, like we've never run before. David's Bridal is the Wal-Mart of bridal gowns, and since I don't even shop at Wal-Mart, can someone please tell me why I even went in there?
Worst shopping experience. Ever.

But it gets better. When we go outside, and a woman from a DARE tent approaches us, and says "doyouwanttobuyoneofthesebackpacksforunderprivelegedkids?" No, we say. "Butwe'retryingtogetridofalloftheseonthetablefor$20youcanbuyoneorallsix." No thanks, we say. "Mostpeoplebuyoneortwowouldyoulikeoneortwoorallofthemwetakecchecksorcreditcards." Now, it's time to just walk away. I do not want to buy a crappy clear plastic backpack with pencils in it for a kid in the ghetto. If I wanted to help a kid in the ghetto, I could think of a million better ways than that.
Get me the hell out of Westminster. The suburbs are so scary, I'm beside myself.