Recreational Shopping

This activity probably induces horror for those who strive for a minimal material life, but perhaps things are not what we self-indulgent folk are hoping to find during our shopping sprees.

I just needed one item to support a vine in my garden, but the nursery is near the office store. I want to find some colorful gel pens and try sketching as a meditation. On the way is the big-box clothing store, my go-to place for treasure hunts. Who knows what I'll find to fill that hole in my wardrobe, even though I don't need any more clothes. I haven't been away from the house in days and would love to hear another human voice. Adventure calls.

In the dress aisle, I meet a woman who tells me she's nursing her father, laid up after hip surgery. It's plain to see she's dying for conversation. I'm all about listening, too. It's been years since I've had a good cackle with anyone outside my family. She's so antsy, I expect her to launch through the ceiling. She tells me she feels so guilty leaving Dad for just a few minutes. Coaching her like a pro, I remind her that if she doesn't take care of herself, she can't take care of her father. She points to me in agreement. "Yes, self care."

That said, I show her an electric blue shift on the rack. I've chosen a navy cardigan with an open lace back panel and wonder if the two garments will make an outfit. "Nah," she shakes her head. "Wouldn't wear those two together."

I agree. It's a hideous pairing, but the cardigan will go with my favorite skirt and a royal blue blouse that's become a wardrobe orphan. I haven't worn the skirt all summer. Maybe this would help?

Anyway, our moods brighten. Both of us needed to get out of the house, away from the chores. Even that fascinating book I've been reading is losing its power. I'm so sick of weeding my garden I could run away from home … screaming. It's amazing how life's routine wanes with just a random chat. I hope she felt the uplift too.

Same thing with the clerk who agrees tells me the back-to-school rush is over for now. In fact, the store looks like a bomb hit it. The stockers wander among the racks as if shell-shocked, hanging up stray clothes draped helter-skelter over the rods. Avoiding eye contact, they don't respond to my "hello."

The clerk says to me, "but school begins so much later in Lyon County. They start September fifth." I guess she's expecting another surge.

I nod as she lifts my bag and receipt. "Well, they're ranch kids over there and probably help tend the cows. That's when school started way back when I was a kid. We got three months of summer and got totally bored by August."

The next customer was sidling up to the counter, so I turn to leave.

The lady at the nursery loves my impulse choice of a deep green periwinkle with tiny, robust blooms. It looks so healthy, it just may survive. I tell her, "It will drape nicely over the edge of my pedestal sink that we salvaged after remodeling the bathroom. My husband has learned to accept my crazy design ideas."

She laughed as I carried the plant and vine supports to the car. I was thrilled I didn't forget why I went shopping in the first place. Of course, I didn't really need the ivy, but they all looked so vibrant and alive. So irresistible. I hope I don't commit herbicide again.

Next stop the office store just across the parking lot. I drove the hundred yards between the stores instead of walking. My energy has disappeared since the pandemic and I feel myself fading fast. Fortunately, I found the gel pens near the doorway, a vast array of colors never seen in Nature. The feel of gel ink gliding smoothly over rag paper calls to me as I scan the options. I find a set for one price on one hook and the same pens on another hook that are five bucks more. I ask the woman browsing next to me "why would this be cheaper than the same set over there? Would the ink be drying in these?"

She shrugs, who knows, "but the kids will return soon to buy supplies. Everything will be gone, so buy them now and don't worry how long the ink will last. It should last forever, right?" She's not the least bit perturbed by my intrusion into her thoughts. Another pleasant verbal exchange. Sometimes my friendliness can be so annoying. I won't need to obsess about that in the middle of the night.

Banal conversations, to be sure. Strangers interrupted as they search the aisles and maybe actually buy something. Like me, maybe they only needed one thing, but we explore the possibilities, looking for little gifts for ourselves, self-care, and make human contact as well.

This is the kind of shopping that can't really be done on a keyboard. It just doesn't fill the social void. It's been a long time since talking to each other, shoulder to shoulder, sharing the same atmosphere unfettered by masks, didn't strike us with fear. I could make this a habit again, an hour of recreational shopping every week. With a little gossip on the side.

Check out the Ring Around the Basin archive for other stories and poems: suecauhape.substack.com/archive