Almost every summer during high school, I used to volunteer at the Yale New Haven Hospital. They have a really established program with hundreds (?) of volunteers, who come in for typically 1.5 days a week. I loved it, especially when I worked as a wheelchair retriever, which basically entailed me getting pushed around in wheelchairs while returning them to the dispatch area.

Anyway, there was this one day when my mom picked up my sister and me from volunteering and just wanted to run to Target for a quick stop. Fair enough, who doesn't always need a quick stop over at Target?

So I'm just doing my thing, walking up and down aisles, probably trying to sneak stuff into the cart (yes, I was in high school, but whatever). A woman came up to me while I was meandering the toothpaste aisle and asked me where cards were or something.

Now, I know for a fact I have resting bitch face, so I'm not used to strangers approaching me. People don't do that typically, unless it's to tell me I'm mean-mugging. I probably went from having resting bitch face to stone cold bitch face and just shrugged: "I don't know."

Why is this woman asking me where things are in Target?

No idea.

I shrug it off and continue to fiddle with things (I'm pretty tactile, so I can imagine I was just picking things up and putting them back). Then a guy comes over and asks me where is dog food.

Ummmm, despite my love of dogs, I don't own one. I point un-descriptively away from me and go back to my mom. All this stranger attention is starting to overwhelm me.

“Why is everyone asking me where stuff is today?”

— I wonder aloud

I distinctly remember my mother's face. Her nose scrunched up a bit as she giggled like a child. Then she points to my volunteer outfit. It's so obvious at that point, finally.

My volunteer outfit was a red polo and khakis.

People were asking me where everything was because I basically impersonated a Target employee at Target. Especially from the back when you can't see the logo on the shirt, I pretty much was an employee at Target.

And a really bad one at that.

Sorry, Target.

And sorry to my mother, who probably looked special wandering Target with what looked to be two employees escorting her down every aisle.