Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Tales From Shopping Hell or 58 Kilos of Raging Testosterone

A shopping cart flipped upside down forms a cage that I use to protect myself from consumerism.   Jarod Kintz

I love this blog post by Andy Kirkpatrick about hair, it describes absolutely the way I feel about shopping. I hate shopping, I've even blogged about how much I hate shopping before. The concept of shopping for fun, pleasure, entertainment, even therapy, leaves me completely bemused. Isn't going shopping for kicks kind of like going on vacation to Guantanamo Bay because you want to be water-boarded on your annual vacation? 

But, my trail runners, now with about 1,000 km on them, have blown out at the sides, and I needed a pair of boots (I haven't hiked in boots since I left Canada and wouldn't be hiking in boots at all if we weren't going to Tasmania for a year, land of the thigh deep mud bog). That's how I found myself trying to avoid inane conversation with about a dozen assorted shop assistants - even shoppers - while trying to negotiate the local shopping mall where the roar of shoppers, Muzak, and overly helpful, but ultimately useless shop assistants made the kind of noise you'd expect if you were in Baghdad in the middle of the American's "Shock and Awe" campaign. I should have worn ear-plugs.

Being on the small size has definite advantages. I can frequently shop in the kiddies section where clothes and shoes are half the price they are in the adult section. In one shop, I found a serviceable pair of running shoes at half price, but, the twittering of the shop attendant, who kept telling me how "fab" they looked drove me from the store before buying them, but not before I had finally, caustically replied "I don't care what they look like." If you saw me, you'd know this is true. I ascribe to the philosophy espoused by Mark Twight in "Twitching,"-"Cut your hair. Don't worry about the grey." 

In another shop, the attendant, who seemed to think we had a soulful bond because we were both from Canada told me "I used to be 58 kg of raging testosterone and now I'm 72 kg of flab." "Processed foods are unsuitable for native animals and are known to cause a range of health problems" I wanted to quote (from the Tasmanian Parks and Wildlife Service), but, I just bought the boots and got out. 
 Do I look like I care if the shoes are "fab?"

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