| Sunny Side Up July 20, 2005 �2005, Kathleen Gibson Building my own castle I don't suppose anyone in the world has a list like it. A handwritten string of household items and their prices, totaled at the bottom. I'd never shopped like that before, never since, and doubtless will never again. Ordinarily I'm not an enthusiastic shopper. Besides, I never intended to shop, really, just kill time walking through Kmart. Someone at the door offered me a buggy and a slip of paper. "Everything is ten dollars," she said. "Whatever you put into your buggy." "Pardon me?" I said, confused by the madcap scene behind her. Frenzied shoppers darted to and fro, sweeping entire racks of clothing into their buggies. Scooping complete shelves of products without even looking at their brand-names or prices. "It's our last day. We're closing. Anything you can fit into your buggy is ten dollars." I really didn't get it. "You mean each thing?" "No. Ten bucks total." The woman tucked the paper into my frozen hand, and gave both me and my buggy a push nearer the madding crowd. Daydreams are made of that. Game shows. Wild imaginings and other-worldly encounters. Not reality - at least, never my reality. I'd been handed a free ride, and I didn't have a clue how to get on board. Dazed, I clattered my buggy over to the clothes. A woman elbowed me and grabbed everything on that rack. "Who are those for?" someone called. "I don't know, but I'll find someone," she cried. Her voice didn't even sound human. She moved on to sweaters, arms spread to gather them from both ends of the rack. I wove my way between strangers playing a game I didn't recognize. Tried to think. What do I need? Nothing? What do I want? Nothing? What could I use, perhaps? Well, maybe these books. What could my family use? Okay, boots. I chose a pair quickly, narrowly avoiding someone else's reaching hand. The size looked right for someone in the house, but I couldn't think who. Same with two pairs of tan corduroy jeans. Whenever I stopped to think, someone shoved me and grabbed whatever I'd been considering. In the dog-eat-dog world of the unthinkable shopping bargain, people are not nice. I'm ashamed to recall this. I started scooping. Into my cart flew three digital memos (motion sensitive), three door security systems, multiple books, four drawer organizers, a heap of bath products and skin lotions, kitchen linens, four posters. And much more. When I reached the checkout, the cart was full. Trembling, I unstuck the precious paper from my sweaty palm. "Ten dollars," the cashier said, without looking at it. I totaled my loot later. $576.68, without tax. Someone once said, "Given half a chance, we'd all build our own castle." Not me, I'd always thought. But I had a lightbulb moment, somewhere around Aisle no. 12. A flashing blue one. If scooping up bargains came so easily, maybe I would build my own castle after all. Who's that stranger in my mirror? Respond Home |