My Shopping Sherpa

Ah, the life of a Baroness. Flitting here, cavorting there. Some days it’s too, too much, darlings. I need a nap. Wait.

I should exercise full disclosure here, lest you, dear reader, think that I live the life of Riley. Flitting here – grocery store. Cavorting there – PTA meeting. Not so glamorous after all. But I am blessed with a wonderfully rich internal life, where the weather is always balmy, the mental stimulation always intoxicating, and the swanning in and out of rooms is the only form of aerobic exercise that need exist.

It’s a study in contrasts, this internal world and external world. But like something out of a dream, I am also in my external world blessed with something every lady should have - a Shopping Sherpa. What, pray tell, might that be, Baroness? Sit down and get comfy and all will be revealed.

One of my favorite birthday presents is to have a day or two at a stateside shopping complex. Remember yesterday’s missive? I’m all about the shiny. My excursion, mind you, is not to go wild with purchasing. For the real thrill, they say, is in the hunt. And for the Baroness, the thrill is also in the “75% off the last ticketed price” signs that dot the landscape. Score! Yet, traveling through these vast expanses of retail while bogged down with bags is a real buzz kill. And, after all, it’s my birthday, and buzz kills are not allowed on that specific day. Enter the Shopping Sherpa. This wonderful companion stands faithfully beside you at the cash register, then takes the hand-off from the cashier with the grace of a mime and the finesse of a surgeon. All day, without complaint, this fine fellow totes around packages. All he needs is a little sustenance and a splash of water. Oh, and his Blackberry. Happy Sherpa = happy Baroness.

On the weekend that the B & family ventured down south, there came a busload full of women shoppers, whose express purpose was to hit the Post-Thanksgiving/Pre-Christmas bargains, armed with only their wits, unwavering stamina, and a purse heavily laden with credit cards. The morning of arrival, the Baroness was riding the elevator down with a gaggle of these women, who were bemoaning the fact that since they came by bus, they would have to carry their packages around all day, rather than going back to their car at set intervals to store their ill-gotten booty. Wouldn’t it be great, said one of the women, if we had someone to carry our packages around? The Baroness smiled, but said nothing. For while she knew that she was lucky beyond measure for her Shopping Sherpa, to admit that she had one would bring about a great disturbance. In the elevator. And possibly in her internal organs. So she remained silent.

It’s very odd, having such an amazing spouse. Don’t get me wrong – I thank the constellations hourly for my good fortune. It’s just the perception of him that’s weird. Even though I want to gush, to do so somehow feels boastful. I can’t reveal too much about the wonderful things he does – it can bring about such a strange chain of unhappiness. Unhappy wives become unhappier, and bring wrath down upon their unsuspecting husbands (who up until then were blithely unaware of their inactivity). These then unhappy husbands then become upset with the Baron. What started as a beautiful gesture is reduced to something festering and blameful. How on earth did that transpire? I don’t exactly know, and I’m not exactly sure that it is my puzzle to ponder.

But, to not acknowledge his actions or express my unfailing gratitude would be not be right either, given all that he does. So, here’s to you, my Shopping Sherpa. You are a wonder of a man, and I love you.

Mind Your Peace in Queues

Or, “If the store is called Wi**ers, Then Why Do I Feel Like Such a Loser?”

Here’s my secret. I have a shoe addiction. I’m not something I’m proud of, but there you have it, out in the open. One of the cornerstones of this addiction’s success is that I find a retailer to supply me with my fix, and provide sufficient service so that I can get in, get the goods, and get the hell out. Time and again, I’m lured by Store X’s claim to have traveled the fashion capitals to provide the latest trends. I’m also thrilled by the candy store approach to stocking the shelves. Here’s your size, here’s our stock, try it on by yourself. All very “no-frills”.

What I fail to realize, every single time, is that this “no frills” philosophy extends to their complete absence of staff. Especially cashiers. So, rather than skulk in and hurry home with my new favorite playthings, I must stand in front of at least 7 unmanned cash registers and wait for that one harried, cranky “sales associate” to finish the _______ . Fill in the blank here with either a) price check, b) return or c) anything else the polar opposite to a swift and efficient business transaction. Why do these stores have a bank of cash registers if there are only two of them ever being used? As an amateur conspiracy theorist, I’m starting to believe it’s all a sham. That these cash registers come courtesy of the same manufacturer of Ikea “televisions” and “computers” – they’re just plastic hulls there to create the illusion of a successful (yet “no-frills”) enterprise. Really, darling, those “Fäls-Til” fake registers were all the rage in Sweden this year – I saw them on my latest trend-finding mission. Any self-respecting store should have 10 of them at the very least.

The dread waiting also occurs at the local arts and crafts supply emporium. They, too, must have buyers that have traveled to Sweden to see the Fäls-Til and decided to go with the corporate flow. They also never seem to have any more that 2 people out front – one who is dealing with a really cranky exchange, and the other who is ringing in a purchase which includes 1 piece of each of the 100 million items of stock they carry. Any artistic inspiration I may have had upon entering the store begins to hemorrhage out of me in direct and exponential proportion to the time I wait. Until I, too, am a empty hull of a person. No beads, no glitter glue, and no more patience.

Why do businesses seem so content on torturing us this way? Why do stores have all of these wonderments of technology made to make our lives easier if they just sit there gathering dust? I wonder if any one has every done a cost-efficiency study on the expense required by business to have more cashiers working versus the subsequent strain on the health care system by all us poor idiots who wait in line. High blood pressure, peptic ulcers, varicose veins, suicidal/murderous thoughts – these are all tangible outcomes. All we need to validate our case is a well-crafted proposal and a Canada Council grant. I beseech you – please do this NOW. I’ve been in line for approximately 3 days, 5 hours and 43 minutes, and I don’t know how much longer I can take it. But I really, really, really want these silver snakeskin pumps.

When I rule the world, I will guarantee that every staff member of every retail outlet will be trained to use a cash register. There will never be a lineup longer than 2 people, and all the tills will be in use during store hours. Hey – is that guy with the scrapbook paper about to get in line? Page Larry the janitor to the front - it’s go time.