Torture off the rack
By Sheryl-Lee Kerr
Last week, I squared my shoulders, sucked in my breath and faced up
to my worst nightmare: the enthusiastic shop assistant, or, as they are
less commonly known, people with scary smiles who chase you around
clothing racks.
These souls make their presence known by wafting up to you (they
never merely walk) and unleashing a throaty, seductive question: “How are
you going there?”
I always look to the floor first to see where “there” is. Then,
realising they're into a more holistic meaning, I tell them.
Yet many a time, I'll be halfway through my graphic gastrointestinal
depictions or ruminating on the day Frog purringly lifted her tail
and sprayed a lounge-room wall in front of a guest, when I get an odd
feeling they might not actually care. Just a sense. (Why they ask if
they don't want to know is really beyond me.)
But for me, there is worse to come. In clothes shopping, there is
always the ordeal of the Fitting Room Olympic Time Trials.
The aim is to get into and then back out of store clothing - and be
fully dressed before the shop assistant flings aside the
fitting-room curtain to ask cheerily: “How are you doing?” This she does with all the disguised subtlety of someone sussing out whether you're a
shoplifter.
The correct reply should be: “Utterly humiliated, thanks.”
I am told men do not experience this joy. Probably because they are
more inclined to buy their clothing without trying it on and, if it
doesn't fit, leave it hanging in their wardrobe for a few years in
case it one day does. A much more hassle-free system.
But I digress. In a Fitting Room Olympic Time Trial, you have failed
if you find your bared flesh suddenly on full public display under
the shop assistant's “Dear God, are Those Really Red-striped Undies?”
discerning eye.
You have succeeded if, chest pumping from exertion, jeans inside-out
and your shirt sticking out of your fly, you are still, nonetheless,
considered legally clad in at least three Australian States when she
flings that curtain asunder.
But this is nothing compared to the last great hurdle. My big
failing is my tendency to fold under superior sales pressure and buy things
I don't really want. I am putty. Here's a typical exchange:
Me: “I don't know. It seems three sizes too small and orange has
never really been my color, not to mention those green tassles...”
Shop assistant: “Buy it.”
Me: “Okay.”
D'oh.
Damn those strong-arm tactics.
How I coped last week I'll never know. On another subject, if anyone knows any practical purposes for purple ski hats for non-skiers at the height of summer, please drop me a line…
© Sheryl-Lee Kerr & The Advertiser, 27 JAN 1998