Why can’t stores be open when I want them to?

Do you ever have an overwhelming urge to do something and then the outlet does not exist?

This morning, after meeting my authors for an interview at NBC studio's "Weekend Today" about what women want, (their book is called Women Want More) for which their segment was bumped (a pesky terrorist scare was to blame), I felt an overwhelming urge to go shopping to assuage my pain.

Here I was, surrounded by stores aplenty in the plaza at Rockefeller Center – all those chain stores that you can go to in a mall in the suburbs: J. Crew, Anthropologie, Banana Republic, Coach, etc., but here are the glossy, flagships with their whimsical window displays and I wanted in. I had just stood in a mind-numbing line at Dean and Deluca to get a croissant and coffee and I dearly wanted to browse (and dare I say buy), and at 10:00 a.m. on a Sunday in September, when the sun is high in the sky, the weather is still Indian summer warm, and there are European tourists all over the place, you’d think I’d be able to.

But no – in the midst of a full scale recession where stores are going out of business and even Barnes & Nobles are losing leases, all of these stores were closed!

OK, I know it is Sunday morning, but we’re in a recession for God’s sake and there are tourists (and shopaholic New Yorkers) all over the place, so can’t you cater to us? I wanted to try on that delicious little black and white stripped dress with the corset top and laced ribbon back that I saw in the Anthropologie catalogue. I do my share of online shopping (Zappos.com, J.Jill), but I wanted to try it on at that very moment.

I thought I’d wait it out – I called a few friends while sitting on a bench, eavesdropping on an architectural tour, and I called my Mom. I called my brother and spoke to my sister-in-law for a minute while my nephew screamed in the background, I called my husband to complain and ask him to look up stuff for me on Google since I’m blackberry deficient, I even read a few pages of a manuscript for work: The Devil’s Star by Jo Nesbo. . …. 10:00 a.m. turned to 11:00 a.m. and still nothing. Tourists and other possible New Yorkers passed by the mythical Anthropologie pressing their noses to the glass, but saw the futility of waiting around and left.

I picked myself up – me in my black dress, black blazer and purple tights with professionally looking blue Coach tote – and decided to walk over to 42nd Street to the New Balance store on 42nd St. to check out running shoes. Another disaster – the store was barred up with a sign that said – “while we undergo renovations, visit us at 49th and 7th”. Now, why couldn’t they have had that on their non-existent answering machine? I had called and got no answer.

At this point, I’d had enough, and I stumbled (in ill-fitting black pumps) over to the train station to go home. Another day had gone by without total fulfillment. But as Scarlett O’Hara said in Gone with the Wind, “Tomorrow is another day.”