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Walk on the Retail Side

I am not sure why my ability to tolerate the retail experience is currently at an all-time low. Maybe it's back spasms from the lopsided baby-carrying stance, or perhaps the sudden recollection of a gas burner left on under a skillet. For whatever reason, my blood starts to boil when I have to wait too long for a simple yes-or-no answer from some dim-bulb sales clerk.

This week's adventure was The Quest for Plastic Pants, those opaque white plastic jobs with elastic leg-holes that go over cloth diapers. We still use techno-diapers for special occasions like nighttime, but it makes us feel socially responsible to use cloth whenever possible.

During Emma's infancy, we were more serious about using cloth. Determined not to allow our lifestyle choices to become dependent upon my ability to stay on top of the laundry, I made regular trips to the second-hand baby clothing store to buy out their supply of plastic pants. When Emma graduated to authentic underwear, I hauled the whole lot of them up to the attic where they remain, to this day, irretrievably lost. Years from now, I'll be up there looking for old income tax returns and I'll stumble across six cobweb-encrusted shopping bags full of plastic pants.

Last week, Stella's demand so exceeded supply that I was forced out into the world to buy new ones, only to discover that they have become quite scarce. The second-hand store is gone, and the chain department store where I found them two years ago no longer carries them. Against my better judgement, I decided to try the mall. The Big Leagues of Customer Disservice. Retail Hell.

In the Baby Department of one of the mall department stores, I made several reconnaissance orbits of the two islands displaying infant wares. There were blankies, bath sets, booties, onesiesð but no plastic pants. The sullen, hollow-eyed "sales associate" watched my movements with an attitude which "apathy" cannot begin to describe.

I knew better than to ask for assistance, but I did anyway. Unable to mask her disappointment at being unable to will herself invisible to me, she approached slowly, as if her feet were in terrible pain. Having just observed me scrutinizing these very same shelves, she searched them again for my benefit.

Incapable of uttering the phrase "No, we don't," "I don't know," or better yet, "I'll find out," she fixed her gaze at one particular spot on the display, like a Labrador staring at an empty dish. Eventually, she elaborated:

"Wellð IF we had them, they SHOULD be right hereð like, I don't THINK we have them, like, I've never SEEN them but if we DID, I'm just saying, like, they SHOULD be right here?"

As if to say, let's just imagine there's like, this parallel universe where we DO sell these plastic pants things, and that I'm like, doing a really GOOD jobð

There was a time in my life when I would have raked this woman over the coals. Instead, I agreed with her, yes, if you had them, they'd be right here. I felt my muscles starting to spasm and wondered if I'd left any burners lit on the stove.

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© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.