consider myself a well-rounded individual: I've read lots of books, met lots of people, traveled a little. So you can imagine my consternation when, not long ago, I realized there was a gap in my life's education. Or, more accurately, I realized there wasn't a Gap in my life's education. That's right: despite all my worldliness and experience, I had not once set foot inside a Gap store!

Yes, I know, it's too unbelievable for words. I understood all too clearly what I had to do. Before anyone found out, before I suffered the shame and ignominy of being non-Gap, I had to go. I had to, as the commercials say, "do it at The Gap." So, with mounting trepidation and a hint of foreboding, I went downtown and walked towards the World's Trendiest Clothing Store.

As I neared my destination and the all-too-familiar Gap sign came into view, I had to calm myself. "Just act as though you belong among them," I told myself. "Pretend that you're one of their kind. Think khaki." So I sauntered purposefully through the doors, feigning a casualness that I did not feel. This was my first mistake.

The first thing that caught my eye was a tall mannequin, dressed in the faux grunge that's all the rage these days. So, not wanting to seem too eager, I lurched toward this plastic figure, pretending to admire its artfully grubby checked shirt and appropriately faded denim. In a lame attempt to appear like a Gap connoisseur, I felt the nap of the shirt's fine cloth.

"Can I help you?"

Uh oh. I looked up and, oh my God!, this "mannequin" was in reality the store "greeter"! How could any human being be so tall and so still! What kind of devilish hell-hole had I entered! THESE PEOPLE ARE NOT NATURAL!! Panic reared it's ugly head and I came within an eyelash of fleeing the store as fast as my non-Gapped legs would carry me.

Somehow, though, I managed to get a grip on myself. I mumbled something incomprehensible to Mannequin Boy and scurried off to another part of the store. After gulping down a few deep breaths, chanting a mantra or two, and spending a few minutes under a shirt rack in the fetal position, I was calm enough to resume my mission.

By sheer luck I found myself in the section I needed: the khaki pants area. Looking around, however, I immediately noticed two, not insignificant, things:

1. Everyone, and I mean everyone, was so damned young! At first I wondered if I'd stumbled into a Gap for Kids or something. I swear I was easily twice the age of anyone in the store. And the staff were the youngest of the bunch, for crying out loud. "Are these people old enough to make money?", I asked myself. "Are they old enough to dress themselves?"
2. I quickly became uncomfortably conscious of how much my present attire was "un-Gap." I mean, it was painfully obvious that not only had I never bought any clothes in the Gap before, but that I hadn't bought any new clothes in the last 10 years.

These two observations explained the looks I was getting from the staff and the other patrons. These looks said, in effect, "Who the hell is the old geezer in the lame clothes?"

Not one to be easily deterred (i.e., I'm pig-headed), I started wading through the khakis. One of the 10-year old clerks came up and asked if she could help me. I said "No thanks, I'm just looking" in a way that I hoped sounded like I was a knowledgeable Gap consumer who knew exactly what he wanted. Instead, though, it came out sounding like "You've got to be kidding. How could a mere slip of a girl like you possibly give adequate service to an experienced, man-of-the-world type like me." One of these days, I've got to figure out how to get my mind and mouth working in harmony. Anyway, she scowled and left me to my own devices.

The next blow came when I tried on a few khaki pants. The Gap, it turns out, offers two kinds of pants: the "traditional" fit and the "easy" fit. The easy fit is really just a euphemism that means they're for older guys who've let themselves go to seed over the years. But, after trying to shoehorn myself into a dozen different sizes of traditional fit, I had to face a harsh reality: maybe I've become an easy fit kind of guy. Sure enough, the first pair of easy fits I tried on fit like a glove. Sigh.

By this point I'm thoroughly depressed and my self-image is battered beyond recognition. So I grab a couple of pairs of those infernal easy fits, plop down the plastic, and I'm outta there before you can say "Gap this!" (But not before Mannequin Boy bids me a fond farewell.)

So there you have my first Gap experience, in all its gory detail. Will I go back? I'd like to say no, but these damn easy fits just feel so comfortable. Well, maybe in another 10 years...

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