What Part Of “It’s Mine” Did You Not Understand?

I was maybe sixteen or so in the mid-2010s. I was unemployed because I had little brothers to babysit. I was at a store that sells clothes, furniture, shoes, and several other things. My mom and I were picking out clothes for a church function or something, and we generally had a rule of thumb where I had to show her outfits I liked for her approval once I tried them on.

Well, things seemed to go all right at first. I tried on a few outfits, and on the last one, I noticed this woman with a grade-schooler daughter heading into the dressing rooms while Mom was cooing semi-ironically over my clothes. (She was a fan of the clothes; she just likes to half-jokingly act like a Stereotypical Embarrassing Mom. However, I feel no shame.)

I didn’t think much of the other mother-daughter pair. Why would I? My dressing room door was shut, my cargo vest and its overflowing pockets were pooled on the little seat, my water bottle was on the floor, and my monstrosity of a purse held on life support by neon duct tape and weighed down by the sins of mankind was leaning against the wall, never mind the clothes I had on the hangers.

I should have.

Mom finished “embarrassing” me and I headed back in, only to find:

• my dressing room door wide open,
• the daughter lifting one of my things in confusion,
• her mother telling her curtly, “Just put those out by the returns for the employees to deal with.”

My eye twitched, but I kept my cool at first. I’ve always had a soft spot for kids, and she was just listening to her mom.

Me: “Um, excuse me, that’s mine. Please get out of my dressing room.”

Mother: “No, it’s not. This room was wide open, and if you won’t do your job…” *To her daughter* “Go on, put all of that by the other go-backs.”

I snatched my vest away.

Me: “It’s not a go-back! IT’S MINE! Out! OUT, OUT, OUT!”

I have never been able to replicate whatever power I used at that moment to force my way into that cramped “room” and usher them both out, but I managed to get the thing to myself again and took a few moments to just breathe for a bit before redressing in my clothes, making sure nothing was stolen, and heading out to my mom.

I never did see where the woman and her unfortunate progeny went, but hopefully, they saw my mom and me in all my genderqueer-who-hadn’t-yet-put-a-name-to-it, vest-wearing, unemployed glory on our way out the front door.