Manly Shopping (and the Perfect Nipple)
One of the few traits I seem to have inherited from my late and much-lamented father is a decided lack of patience when it comes to shopping. Now, send me into a store to rummage through books, office supplies, electronics or tools, and I could be content, if not outright gleeful, for hours on end; indeed, I could easily get lost for days in large bookstores, sifting through the titles while I forget to eat or drink. But send me forth into the teeming hordes of a department store or mall, especially on a quest for some ill-labelled and confusing feminine product, and I’ll soon be quivering in paroxysms of frustration, anger, loathing for fellow humans, and even the fear of God.
And so it was with no lack of trepidation that I sallied forth recently into the seething swarms of bargain-hungry shoppers all brought to the brink of outright violence in their efforts to exchange well-meaning Christmas presents for the last dregs upon the shelves, and I in search of a seemingly rare skin lotion for my pregnant wife.
The dementia had been spreading since Boxing Day. Housewives were now bickering violently over cheese graters, burly men were play tug-of-war with cans of paint, and children were whirling around yanking each others’ hair while the super-soaker gun in their hands crashed into nearby shelves. Shoppers left their carts in strategic positions in the aisles to prevent passers-by, and passers-by were crashing into them, sending them flying. Newfoundlanders, normally one of the kindest races on Earth, were suddenly transformed into primitive and tempermental participants in actions that paled The Lord of the Flies. The staff, normally standing with smiles at each doorway and junction, had long since disappeared into their secret little crawl-spaces in fright, and there were forty impatient people for every distraught clerk at the check-outs.
I went from aisle to aisle, shelf to shelf, looking for the lotion. Being a typical male, I figured that skin lotions would somehow be adjacent to hair products, tampons and sundry other feminine products that would make a grown man blush. That, however, was not the case, and I scoured that entire section of the store looking for the bottle that my wife had shown me that morning.
To make a long and horrible story short, it was over a half-hour later when I finally had the lotion (which, of course, now had a different name and packaging) grasped tightly in my hand lest I be ambushed and assaulted. My blood was boiling, my body was covered in sweat, and my head was throbbing. Quickly, I wended my way through the crowds to the baby section to locate some tiny nail clippers. I was rummaging through all the disorganised racks when I became aware of a young lady standing next to me.
She was staring hard at the baby bottles on the shelves next to me. A young mother, probably, and evidentally as distraught as I was. She fidgeted with the sets, uttering frustrations, picking packages up, reading them, slamming them down. Each one set my nerves a little tighter, and I tried to ignore her, sifting hurredly through the mess in my vain search for the clippers.
I then heard her weak voice: “Excuse me…?”
I turned to face her, and I felt the tension inside me, a brittle twig bent just to the breaking point. Her eyes were welling with tears, her bottom lip trembling as she bit it. “Can you tell me…?” she started to ask, then stopped suddenly, looking at me expectantly. Keep in mind that I’m rather a large man, and somewhat intimidating.
“Yes…?” I said, probably growling a little. I wasn’t in the mood for stupid questions. I just wanted to escape.
“Can you tell me…,” she started again, “which nipple do you think is the most real?”
I stared blankly at her for a moment. She stared back, a small animal caught in headlights, then glanced meekly at the shelves of baby bottles again.
Then I laughed. Loudly. She laughed, nervously at first. The people down the aisle began to laugh.
And shopping didn’t seem like such a horrible thing any more. At least that day.
3 comments January 27th, 2006