The women bowed as I walked forward—two on each side of the shiny tiled aisle, bowing in a staggered pattern, like a collective audience wave at a baseball game.

They dressed similar but better than flight attendants, I noticed: navy blue hats perched slightly to the side; white collared, fitted, striped shirts; navy blue ties; a navy blue knee-length pencil skirt; and classic black stockings and shoes.

This Japanese department store, SOGO, must be closing, I realized—I couldn’t spot another customer. This must be their fair-well polite duty, I considered. Do these 6th floor baby department ladies hate me for staying till close to buy toys for a friend’s baby, I wondered?

I felt embarrassed because one, I had just been bowed to, and two, the bowing ladies’ positioning herded me to the “up” escalator that had been shut down. I hustled down the now-stairs to the 5th floor, rather than walk through the bow-ringer again to reach the moving “down” escalator. But this would be a distant memory soon, overshadowed by escalating awkwardness.

No salespeople in view at the fifth floor, so I decided to go around the corner to ride the “down” escalator for the rest of the journey to ground level—which is where I found all the salespeople.

Again they stood in two parallel lines as extensions of the entrance to the “down” escalator. Just as I entered the “welcome line”, the leader said “She-a She-a Knee” (Polite: “Thank you”), which was the cue for the rest of the employees to bow in unison while chanting another “thank you” together.

Ahhhh! No!!! This epitomized my worst nightmare. And, there was no getting out of it! I wanted to run back up the escalator and dive into clothes rack and hide till they left so I could exit in peace.

Sure enough, at the 4th floor, “goodbye-ers” uniformly bowed and chanted their appreciation again.

I rounded onto the 3rd floor-destined leg of the escalator. I saw them waiting for me again, so I started to rapidly descend rather than ride passively. This time I pre-empted their performance with my own “Thank you”, which they did not acknowledge and that did not sway their perfectly timed bows and chimes of gratitude.

The 2nd floor, I couldn’t believe this was only the 2nd floor. Time ran so slow and the feeling of trapped awkwardness thickened the air.

Nearly bolting, I zoomed through the last gratitude gauntlet and buzzed to the 1st floor street exit.

I needed to share this experience quickly to feel justified in my creeped-out feeling. Brendan met me for burgers at the Japanese chain MOS Burger (which stands for Mountain Ocean Sun, by the way) and he didn’t disappoint: his eyes widened with shock and empathy as I told my tale. Thanks, Brendan! And, thanks SOGO, for this eerie memory.