The other day I went shopping for jeans with my niece. Jean shopping is notoriously a personal thing. Despite what the fashion world tells us that we should be wearing, our bodies ultimately guide us to that treasured pair of jeans we will wear and repair despite the well-deserved and worn holes in the crotch or knee. My niece has an even finer affinity for a treasured pair as they are not easy to find for her. She is 6’2” and strong. She moves around and works as though she were indestructible. Her jeans need to follow suit. There was only one place I could think of that would accommodate our requisite. We went to Bloomingdales.

Bloomingdales is the mecca for denim. There is an entire floor devoted to our mission. Rack after rack has brand after brand. J brand, 7, Citizens of Humanity. If you can conceive of it, it’s probably there. Tall skinny leg, petite yet stocky, boot cut, flair, boyfriend. The fits are endless in options and the sales girls know where everything is on the floor. We grabbed one of them immediately upon arrival to point us in the tall and sturdy direction. Options upon options. Dark blue and soft, stone washed and brawny, more holes than you could conceivably create from wearing them. I grab a hefty stack and pull her into the fitting room. And Wow. I mean WOW.

Most of us are fortunate enough to have not born witness to the occasion of battle. If denim were red, we had just stepped into an inglorious defeat on the battlefield. Jeans of every shape and size were carelessly flung about. In each of the fitting rooms were piles and piles of discarded items. Girls were navigating about, completely numb to their surroundings, hopping over piles to get into rooms. Each time they left with only their chosen items, continuing to contribute to the compilation. I claimed an empty room, closed the door for her, and sat across the hall in one of the other vacant rooms.

I couldn’t help myself. My OCD had officially taken over. Within moments I had completely organized the room and returned the discarded items. My niece comes out to show me her first pair of jeans. Not bad, I say. I peak behind her and notice that she has done exactly as I have but in her room. It is impeccably organized. I have never been so proud. We don’t speak of it. She closes the door and I run to another empty room.  My mission is clear to me.

When I was a child my grandfather used to threaten me with burning any article of clothing that was left on the floor when I left my room for the day. At bedtime my grandmother used to tell me that my naked dolls would sneak into my room while I was sleeping, nestle under my piles of laundry on the floor, and disappear into the mess if I didn’t dress them or put away my clothing before I went to bed. Needless to say, there were no lost naked dolls in this fitting room anymore.

We left that fitting room with everything that we brought into it and deposited our discarded items with the attendant, who genuinely smiled out of gratitude for our efforts. As we turned to walk out of the fitting room, we heard a clear gasp as she had clearly just gone into the fitting area. She ran after us and hugged me at the check-out counter. No words were exchanged and none were needed.

What is it that causes people to carelessly fling an item of clothing on the floor and walk out of a room let alone on average about 20 items? Do we just expect people to constantly be picking up after us? And what if that doesn’t happen? We put on clothing every single day which means that every day we take some clothing off. It’s not that complicated, merely an accumulation equation. When you go to the bathroom, do you not wipe yourself and throw away the paper? If there were bathroom attendants in the stalls, would we grow accustomed to just not wiping at all or throwing the paper on the floor? People protest, post political comments online, and start rallies, but maybe we all need to start a little closer to home if we want to see some change in who we are becoming as a society. Talking isn’t doing and words are not good deeds. Only our actions can reap those punishable rewards.

LJE