If the Shoe Doesn’t Fit: Finish Line Sports Store in Laurel Mall Makes up for (Mostly) My Shopping Misstep

Business: Finish Line #370
Location: Laurel Mall, 14828 Baltimore Ave., Laurel, MD 20707
Date of incident: Friday, October 13, 2006

Quick Hit
Ever heard of a shoe merchant allowing a customer to return a pair of shoes after he'd worn them, even though said customer tried the shoes on in the store before purchasing? (I hope the young man who initiated this event, with an assist from my inattention to detail on that day, doesn't pay the price after this write-up...but I've got to blog!) Well, that's exactly what happened at Finish Line sports store in Laurel after a clerk went unchecked when he brought me out a pair of "Tims" one-half size smaller than requested.

The Run-up Pt. 1
I guess there is still some virtue left in the sad little shopping destination known as Laurel Mall. It’s depressing how the once semi-regal, bustling commerce center has basically crumbled, literally, over the last few years. I remember when I used to work there, in housewares at Hecht’s part-time, when a fly-over/breezeway connected open-air Laurel Lakes Centre and the more sophisticated (by Laurel standards, anyway) covered mall. But evidently neglect and abuse eventually did in the short-cut tube (it leaked, and water-soaked insulation threatened to rain down on passers-through the last time I traversed it), and the Mall and Centre essentially became like rival bordering countries with no easy passage to either. In later years, long after my departure, came the stories of collapsing parking-lot ramps at the place. Even the McDonald's in the food court closed! If that weren't apocalyptic enough, I think it officially jumped the shark when the circus tent was erected over the front parking lot entrance, ostensibly as an enhancement? Now my infrequent visits there, usually during times of extreme desperation or utter boredom, have seemed like field trips to a morgue.

But, lest I depress myself and you further, I stopped by today to extol the virtues of one of the brave few still…exiled…in the wasteland of Laurel Mall: Finish Line sports store Sales Manager Aaron Winston. Kidding aside, I'm sure Aaron is perfectly happy plying his trade in that particular outpost of Finish Line, either because it's convenient to home or because the relative solitude suits him. The other night, though, Aaron "blew up" (and I mean that in the best possible way), at least in my eyes. And until you people start to contribute more material to this site, aren’t those the only eyes that matter?

What made Aaron's deed that much more notable, from a customer-service perspective, is that he (with a half-hearted assist from one of his staff) essentially compensated for a rookie shopping mistake that I made.

More Run-up
On Thursday, 10/12, I believe it was, I was strolling around Laurel Mall looking rather pathetic while searching for a pair of casual-Friday shoes of an ilk usually not found in that shopping venue. I abhor shopping, so I had hoped that since Macy’s had replaced the taciturn Hecht’s that their inventory for men had been ratcheted up a notch or two, providing me with a relatively stress-free outing. Not! The only thing that had changed was the name above the door. The couture for men was still pretty much West Virginia chic. So instead of making a hasty exit, which my every fiber compelled me to do, I decided to give the entire feeble place the quick once-over, since I had already expended the gas to get there. (I loathe shopping, but if there's one item almost worth the effort, in my opinion, it's the shoes. They're the undergirding for any decent ensemble.)

I thought my only hope was the various so-called trendy little boutiques that try to attract the young neo-urban Laurel crowd. Quite frankly, I think any young playa caught out in public in most of that stuff they try to move should have his Gangsta’ card revoked. So, besides the confrontation I initiated with the clerk in one store, Ablaze (which was definitely not on fire), for the expletive-heavy rap music (and I make the association “rap” with “music” very reluctantly) they dared blast through the shabby little place (again, trying to appeal to our misguided youth), the boutique visits were uneventful and unfruitful.

Same for all the sports stores: Champs, Footlocker, FootAction, etc., which now carry not only athletic gear, but some casual footwear, as well. But, alas, they didn’t have anything for me. So my very last stop, appropriately enough, was to be Finish Line sports store, and I only stayed the course and stopped in there because I had to pass it to get to my car. And that’s where I struck pay dirt!

I don’t even know whether I knew that Timberland made anything other than boots. I’m sure my fashion-savvy loyal eight readers knew, but I don’t know that I knew. But there they were. The Timberland Men's Grammercy Elite, sitting there with my name emblazoned across them (figuratively speaking, of course). All fine, cocoa-brown, with just the right accents and aesthetic touches that I like, and buttery soft. At about a hundred bucks, they weren’t cheap, but not what I’d call expensive for men’s shoes either. And besides, I make brown shoes last for years since I don’t wear them that much.

So I asked the young clerk to check for size 11.5 (an important detail to remember in this saga). To my delight, he came back with a box, unpacked everything and handed me the shoes to try on. Left, then right, always my order, since my left foot is slightly larger than my right. I laced them up and took a few steps and it was as if my feet had been waiting to exhale. The Bee Gees started singing Staying Alive in my head, and I strutted to the beat. Besides that pair of blue low-top suede Kareem Adidas basketball sneaks with the removable insoles I had back in the late 70s, I don’t think I’ve ever had anything so comfortable engulf my feet. Easy sale.

The Meat
So, the next day was Friday, casual Friday at the office, and I was looking forward to greeting it in my new heavenly kicks. As I slipped them on that morning I was once again overcome with how my feet just melted into them. Stylin'! But flash forward about four hours: Sitting at my desk later that morning I noted that my feet had slowly begun to feel uncomfortable, squeezed, slightly abrased in the back. “It’s gotta be the shoes,” I thought. Either that or I had developed diabetes just that morning somewhere between Greenbelt Metro parking lot and my desk. “But...but the shoes were so perfect!” So, for the first time, mind you, I checked the size.

ELEVENS?! Noooooo!

Now what? For me there was only one way to go. I called Finish Line and pleaded my case with Stephanie, one of the managers, telling her that the clerk had brought out a size one-half smaller than I had requested, and that since they felt fine when I tried them on in the store I didn’t even bother checking. Well, of course I knew better. I know I wear size 11.5, and I know that whenever I’ve attempted to fudge it and go smaller I’ve paid the price in the end. Stephanie hedged, she explained that they usually don’t take shoes back once they’ve been worn. So I was beginning to resign myself to my fate. But then she surprised me by asking me to hold one while she checked to see whether they even had 11.5 in stock. Before I could question her as to why she would even bother checking, she was gone. She came back to the phone and revealed that they did, in fact, have the correct size in stock. But I asked her how that would benefit me if she hasn’t given me the go-ahead to bring my pair back. I explained that I wasn’t carrying it like that, that I couldn’t just roll up there in my Benzo and drop another $100.00 on the same shoes! Wouldn’t that look silly in my closet?

"Uh, baby, yeah, I know it seems like I wasted money, but, see, this pair here is for casual outings of three hours or less, and this pair here is for longer durations. Just think how long these shoes will last me! "

But Stephanie said that exchanging the shoes "would not be a problem," and then my heart soared. No, really. It actually started to flutter. Then she said that she wouldn't be at the store if I was coming by that night, but that she’d inform the manager coming on duty of what was going on. Right when she said that, my antennae should have tingled and I should've asked her if she'd write him or her a note explaining everything. At least I had the wherewithal to be sure to get her name so I could say "Well, Stephanie said…"

Of course, the fear that should have registered when Stephanie told me she would not be there to personally handle my problem was about to play itself out as I arrived at the store that night...still wearing the slightly-too-small shoes. I first explained myself to the gentleman behind the register, thinking he was the manager on duty. When he proved completely oblivious to my plight and exclaimed, "And...you're wearing them?!" I knew trouble was brewing. He looked at me a couple of times—as if waiting for me to say "Psyche, I’m just playin’"—and glanced down at my feet a couple of times, and I knew this would not be the angst-free proposition I had hoped for. He finally said something to the effect of "Wait while I get the manager" and disappeared into the back room. "Oh, no!" I thought, "I’m gonna have to explain this all over again, to yet a third person!" But, turned out the third time would, in fact, be the charm.

As Aaron appeared from the rear I also thought, "Oh, great. One of those thick, belligerent-looking, ex-U.S. Ranger-type brothers. Dang! Why isn't he downtown somewhere keeping the riffraff out of some pretentious night club?" But, because it's what I do, I stood my ground and calmly explained that Stephanie and I had spoken and blah, blah, blah. Aaron flexed his tattooed forearm and gave me that street-wary "man, what-in-the-world-are-you-trying-to-pull-here?" smirk. You know the one. And he, too, exclaimed, "And...you’re wearing them?!" (IF ONE MORE PERSON ASKS ME THAT!) Well, yeah. That was the whole idea behind me calling ahead of time, to avoid precisely this rigamarole. And I hadn't been home to change, or anything. What would have been the point, at this point? I explained that if Stephanie had turned me down, then I’d just have to have dealt with it, but now that I was there...

Eventually, and actually without too much drama, Aaron stopped eyeing me and relented. He ambled back to the shelves and brought out the correct size. Interestingly, or ironically, as he re-approached the register he looked at the gentleman whom his employee had been helping when I first walked in and said to him, "Yeah, I’m gonna let you get away with it this time, too." And as that guilty look crept across the customer's face, Aaron continued, "You’re returning shoes, too, right? And you wore them, too, right?" The gentleman sheepishly nodded and shuffled his feet. Now it was clear why he had kept glancing at me as I explained my plight to the first staffer I encountered: because he had tried to be slick about his! (I don’t think Aaron was insinuating here that I had "gotten away with" something by his inclusion of the word "too" when addressing "stealth customer." I mean, I was above board with mine the whole time. At least I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. Aaron don’t wanna see me! Just kidding, Aaron.)

Anyway, after Aaron let undercover brother off the hook, he got me all exchanged in the computer and, with a smile, thanked me for my business. So, of course with that I thought, "I smell a blog entry!" So I asked him his name and he graciously extended a handshake, told me and offered me a business card.

Epilogue
I appreciate Aaron, and, to a slightly lesser extent, Stephanie, bailing my bacon out in this instance. And I don't blame them for being mildly reluctant to swap the shoes, either. I mean, the other shopper-dude was running game right there at the same time! What a co-inky-dink! In my state of shoe-shopping euphoria, I broke one of my own cardinal rules by not checking my purchase before I left the store. Did I mention I hate shopping? I remember leaving work that second night to head up to Laurel and thinking, "Well, maybe the box said 11.5 and the shoes just happened to be in the wrong box," giving both myself and the original sales associate the benefit of the doubt. But that was not to be the case either. Had I even causally glanced at the label on the box at any point from 8 p.m. Thursday until 7 a.m. Friday when I dressed for work I would have noticed the gaffe before exposing the shoes to the real world.

The fact that Aaron exchanged the shoes for me in a store lacking the cache of, say, the Columbia Mall locale, adds even more significance to this gesture. There's no way business in seemingly ever-contracting Laurel Mall is as good as the Montgomery Mall site, for instance. But I know where I'll be going for all my general athletic shoe needs whenever possible.

Unbeknownst to Stephanie or Aaron, I had also shot off a quick e-mail to Finish Line's corporate offices about the situation, hoping to be able to show up at the store that night for the exchange with a letter of endorsement from HQ, but here it is more than a week later and I still have not received a reply from them.

Lord, I hate shopping.