Retail therapy

For all of you out there who have either worked retail, or have enjoyed a shopping spree to lift your mood on a day where you might otherwise have been in a bit of funk, you know what retail therapy is. It is defined as shopping with the primary purpose of improving one's mood or disposition. This is, the ACT of shopping, i.e., an exchange of money for goods. Now that we have that clear, does anyone think that retail therapy could also be misinterpreted to mean striking up a conversation with the nearest sales associate, and endlessly unloading all of your life's problems upon them? I don't want to sound extremely rude or uncaring, but if you come into the store where I work (which will remain nameless), pick up a pair of sunglasses (that may have given a slight hint), and begin to tell me how you need to buy a pair of sunglasses for your nephew who lives in a different country, but is someone you hardly get to see because you left home when you were 16 years old due to an overbearing father who wanted to plan your wedding and who you were to wed, and came to the United States, and chose to live in Iowa because no one would ever expect that you were living there, and that was the real reason you chose it, because you want to hide out from your family, but you don't actually like living in Iowa, but you do like the fact that you have your independence and you're able to cuss and buy whatever the hell you want, including these sunglasses for your nephew (which you don't actually end up buying), and that what you really want is to marry someone for love (good call), and not because your family thinks it is an acceptable match, that you don't really care about the money and the inheritance you're missing out on (really?), even though, let's face it, it's a lot of money, but you are content, or at least semi-satisfied with the way things have turned out. Alright. Let's get back to the part where you came in the store to buy sunglasses. Is that what you really wanted to do? Or did you zero in on me, standing there behind the counter, with no one else in the store and nowhere else to go once you entered, besides perhaps the other side of the store, but that would be considered a bad sales tactic on my part. On my behalf, I really do enjoy interacting with people who come into the store. I enjoy laughing with them, getting to know them a bit, and talking about what their plans are for the day. I also understand if someone might be in a poor mood, and looking to lift their spirits by treating themselves to a bit of shopping. I do it all the time. But there are lines that need not be crossed when interacting with people you don't know! They're called social boundaries, and apparently some people need a little practice. Let's do that. I am a sales associate. I sell you things. I try to pinpoint what your needs are, then I try to find the product that can best fulfill these needs. I can't, however, help you solve your unfortunate family situation. Unless your dad really likes a great pair of Ray-Bans, and sees them as a peace offering for hiding out in Iowa for awhile, I can't reinstate your inheritance. I'm sorry. And I'm sure Ray-Ban is too. I'm sure they would make quite a bit more money if they could bring families back together again. So if what you really need when looking at that big shiny retail sign is someone to help you through deep-rooted family issues, please go see a therapist, or a close friend. But if what you need is a fabulous new pair of sunglasses to help make your day a little brighter (a bit more shaded really), come on in!

(Note: the instance referred to above may or may not have been a hypothetical encounter...you can decide for yourself)

As for my last blog post, I can report that I am much more comfortable (although not entirely confident), that the possibility of making it to my London apartment from the airport is quite good. After reassuring myself with the wonders of streetview Google maps, I now know that my apartment building is not, as my dream portrayed, lost in a field somewhere, at one end of a road leading to nowhere, and is, however, on a nice-looking street, lined by trees and little brick houses. The nearest tube station is also not a journey, but rather a short trip by foot...11 minutes to be exact, according to Google.