Faced with the choice of having no birthday presents at all and receiving at least some, even though I would be buying them for myself, I wandered down Fifth Avenue in search of something I needed. I am an extremely efficient shopper. I need no help in choosing what I want and can decide within seconds whether or not I will make a purchase in a store almost instantaneously. With this tremendous shopping ability in tow I set about my task.
In all fairness to those who feel the need to buy me something for my annual anniversary commemorating my arrival date in this world, they do persist in pushing me for an answer to the age old question of what I want for my birthday. I am not one who has everything but I am one who needs very little. I don't do gadgets. I usually don't like others buying me clothes even though my wife points out to me constantly that someone should. I love buying my own wine and picking out my own books and music. In essence, I am a birthday present buyer's nightmare. So these days I am told to buy what I want and give it to my wife the day before my birthday so that it gets wrapped and presented to me once again by my kids and wife on my actual birthday. I am worthy of an Oscar nomination based on my surprise and delight in receiving such fantastic gifts and thank the kids profusely for picking them out so dilligently. All of them play along with this charade as they try to convince me of the huge effort they took in finding me these presents.
I walked in and out of three stores in quick succession. The clothing was either way too trendy with lots of bells and whistles on them or they were geared more for the middle aged golfer who always wears pastels and plaid shorts. Not for me! I was looking for shirts I could wear for work and then double up their role at the weekend for use as smart casual ones. I was finding it very difficult to find the aforementioned particular type of shirt. At each store where I thought there was a possibility of finding decent clothing, I was approached by a very helpful sales assistant who tried to point me in the right direction. They always greet you with the coined phrase ," hello sir can I help you?" I always responded." Yes please. I am looking for a couple of shirts. I prefer blue or gray or mauve but not too mauvey or blueish. I don't like dark blue and sky blue doesn't really suit me. The gray can't be really gray. It has to be lighter than gray . Oh and one more thing, these shirts are for work where it is business attire and also for the weekend where I am much more casual." By the time I have finished with my perfect description the sales assistant has usually vanished. I wait for a couple of minutes to see if they will return armed with bundles of choices but instead I normally find them hiding behind pillars or hanging out in the fitting rooms.
With visions of a first present-less birthday my spirits were becoming more and more downtrodden, reflected in my hunched up posture as I ascended Fifth Avenue. I was running out of options. I then stumbled across a store whose window had tons of shirts that fitted my description. I entered through the revolving doors and was immediately met by an employee who asked the usual question. I walked straight passed him, my eyes fixated on the business casual shirts displayed on a shelf a few paces away. I held a few up into the light and then put them against my body to work out the correct sizing. The employee was hovering over me asking me if I needed help in deciding which shirt and what size. I was too excited to pay him any attention whatsoever and instead I scooped up a couple of my soon to be birthday gifts and headed over to check out.
The first question I was asked in trying to pay was, " did anyone help you today?" I replied that someone did indeed hang over me for an extended period. I was asked a whole series of follow up questions. I answered, "no, I don't know his name; no, I don't know what he looks like; no, I don't know what he is wearing and no, I have no idea if he has an accent." The cash register operator was aghast. This had clearly never happened before. She continued to hound me about the missing identity of the sales assistant and wouldn't ring my shirts up. I begged and pleaded to just pay and leave but she then informed me that all the salesman were dependent on commissions. I felt awful. I had to find out who the mystery man was so I demanded a line up.
" What do you mean by a line up sir?" she retorted, looking ever so slightly confused, represented by a downward movement in her eyebrows. After a short consultation with another member of staff it was hastily arranged. Nine friendly, well groomed and eager to earn commission staff duly lined up by the cash register. Each one was dressed in the clothes they sell in the store and no one looked familiar at all. I walked up and down and looked them close in the eyes trying to jog my memory. The truth was I had not had any eye contact with the staff at all since I entered the store. It was hopeless. So I simply said out aloud, " You know who you are . The one who clung to me when I entered the store. I know who you are but I want to see if anyone else is trying to be dishonest." At that moment one person raised his hand. I would never had guessed it was him since he had really spiky hair and was the weirdest looking out of all of them. He had a tattoo on his neck. He had a large crucifix hanging around his neck . He spoke with a rather bad speech impediment. Only a blind brainless buffoon couldn't recognize him.
With this ordeal out of the way I shared the check out counter with three other customers who had waited rather patiently during the line up. I hastily handed my credit card over , signed the slip and grabbed the bag and ran. I was extremely pleased with my two shirts that I would receive the next day for my birthday. I jumped in a waiting taxi and went home. When I walked in to my aprtment, my wife promptly ushered me into the bedroom and asked to see what I had bought so that she could wrap them before teh usual dinner mayhem started. She took the two items out of the bag and removed the flimsy protective paper. She loved the pastel sky blue sweater and dark gray shorts I had bought. After all that I had grabbed the wrong bag. I smiled back agreeing, knowing I would never wear them!
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