The first time I ever heard of this place, its thick paper catalog sat collecting dust on the coffee table. The front cover had a mailing address label with my parent's names on it, slowly peeling away on the bottom corner. Some days it would rest underneath the TV Guide, other days on top of it. Sometimes it would be hidden underneath a pile of that day's two local newspapers, my father having worked for one of them, bringing home the late edition. The catalog always arrived in the early fall, a few months before Christmas.
I was six years old when I started flipping through those pages, the freshly-pressed ink bringing all the color photographs to life. What seemed like thousands of vibrant photos on every page came with product descriptions at the bottom. I was captivated by just how much they jam-packed into this catalog, three-hundred pages of almost every marvelous thing. Many things, of course, I did not need. But I wanted.
My parents never ordered anything through that catalog. They would see something on the pages, then go to the store in person and try to find it there. If the store didn't carry it, well, that was the end of that quest. For the most part, the catalog was nothing more than a coffee table book - something easy on the eyes to flip through and wish you were experiencing whatever sat on the pages. Our own book of dreams.
The closest store was a ten minute drive, an anchor store to a recently opened shopping mall. We'd take side streets there, or the back way, as my mother always called it. We'd head down our street that changes its name twice, until we reach the street of my second elementary school. Turn left, then right onto the street my mother spent a decent chunk of her youth, past her old house, then a few more side streets until we're rolling down that winding Campbell Road. The mall appears on the right, its walls and rooftop painted white with forest green trim. The store with this catalog sat in the back of the lot. It was a decent-sized store, one that prided itself on their portrait studio and hardware department. We would drive the perimeter road around to the back lot, and park by the store entrance for both the portrait studio and layaway pickup.
We didn't frequent this store all too often. Or maybe my folks did some more, seeing how it was much closer than the other one they went to. Years later, an old high school friend used to work there. She would pretend she didn't recognize me, but I wasn't going to press the issue.
I reminisce on this store because recently, I was in dire quest to find a new brown belt. The old one was falling apart after just a couple years on the job. The material - which I assumed was leather - was breaking apart, exposing some white threadwork in the middle that made me question the twenty-five bucks I forked over for it. The prong holes I used most were getting bigger, making my pants fit loose and all sorts of annoying. Merely putting loose change in my pockets weighed them down too much for this trash belt to continue holding them up. I would say it had a good run, but it didn't. To hell with that belt.
My process of clothes/accessories shopping always occurs in specific stages:
1. Notify certain close friends that I am "in the process" of looking for such clothing.
2. Casually poke around online for product, buying nothing.
3. Lament to same close friends I'm still shopping for item.
4. Casually poke around online for product, buying nothing.
5. Secretly hope someone just buys me one (they don't).
6. Lament to close friends again that I'm still shopping for item (while in hiatus from actually shopping for item).
7. Finally get around to physically entering stores looking for item.
(note: 1, 3, 3, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7 is also the course of action when I'm in need of a haircut).
The first physical store I ventured into for this new belt was a place I probably shouldn't be frequenting anymore. I'm probably twice the average age of shoppers there, but they have cheap flip flops and shorts for those fancy summer months. Granted, you get what you pay for here, but whatever. Sometimes they'll try to pass off a dress shirt for forty bucks though, to which I just laugh. Needless to say the belt selection at this place sucked, because I guess I have robust hips or something. They also size their belts with letter designations. Because that's what you do when pant sizes come in numbers - you make the belts say M, L, and XL and just pray for the best. I tried back at this place two more times, thinking they'd receive more stock selection with the belts, but NOPE. They even went so far as relocating the belts both times I went back. I love corporate merchandising orders - nope, put it there, okay try it here now, next week we'll bury it deep in the back corner underneath the women's clearance tops. Can't imagine why they're not selling in-store.
The next place I tried was somewhere I once applied for a job doing the exact same thing I did with another company before. Naturally, I didn't get the job. Which is probably a good thing, seeing how I never have luck with this place. They claim to have pants that fit, but never when I go inside. Their belts go on sale from time to time, but never when I go inside. Just not in the cards with this place. Also doesn't help matters it sits adjacent to a delicious sub shop. I've given in to temptation way too many times already.
The third and final store I checked out was the very same company that kept sending us all those damn catalogs when I was a kid. It sits in the same mall as the first store I listed here, only much, much bigger in size. At one point, I'm sure it sat as a strong, vibrant anchor store to this place.
But now? Not so much.
Working in retail over the years, I'm pretty familiar with the ins and outs of the industry. What was selling, what was not, and what stores were halfway down the toilet. This store? This store has already been flushed. But for some reason, it stays clogged.
I approach this store from an outside entrance. There's five cars parked on this side, total, on a lot that looks like it can easily fit a few hundred. It's the closest entrance to the men's department, but makes you trudge through the kid's section first. The first thing you'll notice upon entering this side is that there is nobody around. Not a single shopper, and certainly no cashier at the table right there upon entering. Just you. And maybe some loss prevention guys staring at you through some overhead cameras. But let's be real here - nobody is robbing this place. Although, I could have, and was tempted - but more on that later. So, you're walking past the kid's section over to the men's and you also find yourself noticing just how wide open the main walkway appears. There's one small display halfway down, but that's it. Just slabs of empty space. And it doesn't get much better once you venture into the men's department. Racks and aisles all spaced further apart, almost excessively apart. This wasn't done due to A.D.A. compliance, that's pretty clear. The entire store is spread out like this. Two floors of it. And you still haven't spotted anyone!
I managed to find a belt at a decent price here. Brown leather, brass buckle, a little wider than the dress pant belt variety. Simple, and what I was searching for. I poke around some other racks and displays to see if there's anything else I want, but nothing catches my attention. There's a register in the men's department, but of course nobody is tending to it. Walk over to the women's area, still not a soul. There's a few people working behind the jewelry counters, but they're all busy with customers, showing off whatever gaudy overpriced goods. I make my way around the entire perimeter of the store, where finally, over by the shoes, I spot not one, but two employees actually standing behind cash registers. They're each waiting on someone, so I'm stuck behind them in some imaginary queue. It's difficult to tell which customer is finishing up first, mostly because the transactions are taking seemingly forever. So many question and answer sessions about this card or that program and would you like to blah, blah, blah. All I want is a belt, folks. It dawns upon me one of them is doing a return. This, of course, puts an entire new spin on the transaction itself. She's going to be there for awhile. Same with the other lady and her corresponding cashier, both of whom seem to know each other personally. Great. Of course you do.
I abandon my place in line and make another slow venture around the perimeter of the store, hoping to catch an employee meandering somewhere nearby any other register. Really, any register. Literally any one of the other checkouts. Please? Come on, folks. No one? By now I am near the very doors upon which I entered, with a belt I have yet to pay for in my hands. And that's when it hit me - I could literally just walk out of this store, with the belt, and no one would do anything. There's no security tag on the belt. The closest employees are at the polar opposite end of the store. Nobody even cares that I'm here, much less noticed me. I got within ten feet of the exit, fully aware of all this, and...
I couldn't get myself to do it. I'm not a thief, nor do I want to start that reputation. Whatever is left of my good conscience got the best of me. I head back to the checkout line, which now has a young couple and a baby waiting ahead of me. The two customers who were at the counter when I was first in line are still there. Incredible. I step out of line once again and head toward the exit that leads to the indoor mall, tossing the belt on a stack of folded shirts before leaving the store. I walk to three different stores, all somewhat close to the one I just left. All three of them had belt sections. I flipped through all three belt sections and didn't find any to my liking, nor within my price range. I was simply going to have to get the belt at the store I almost stole it from.
After almost thirty minutes checking out these other stores, I return to the first one. The belt is exactly where I left it, on a stack of ladies shirts on a display right near the entrance. I grab the belt, walk back over to the men's section, find the display I picked the belt from, placed it back on the hook, and left.
Two weeks later, I am back at the store. There's an employee at the checkout by the door. My eyes widen and I make a brisk walk back over to the belts, finding the one I walked around with for so much time so long ago. He rings me out, asking maybe one-sixteenth the questions those other cashiers were asking their shoppers at the counter. My transaction was seamless, and I was out the doors fast.
I guess the moral of the story here is that patience is a virtue.
That, and Sears sucks on weekday afternoons.
I was six years old when I started flipping through those pages, the freshly-pressed ink bringing all the color photographs to life. What seemed like thousands of vibrant photos on every page came with product descriptions at the bottom. I was captivated by just how much they jam-packed into this catalog, three-hundred pages of almost every marvelous thing. Many things, of course, I did not need. But I wanted.
My parents never ordered anything through that catalog. They would see something on the pages, then go to the store in person and try to find it there. If the store didn't carry it, well, that was the end of that quest. For the most part, the catalog was nothing more than a coffee table book - something easy on the eyes to flip through and wish you were experiencing whatever sat on the pages. Our own book of dreams.
The closest store was a ten minute drive, an anchor store to a recently opened shopping mall. We'd take side streets there, or the back way, as my mother always called it. We'd head down our street that changes its name twice, until we reach the street of my second elementary school. Turn left, then right onto the street my mother spent a decent chunk of her youth, past her old house, then a few more side streets until we're rolling down that winding Campbell Road. The mall appears on the right, its walls and rooftop painted white with forest green trim. The store with this catalog sat in the back of the lot. It was a decent-sized store, one that prided itself on their portrait studio and hardware department. We would drive the perimeter road around to the back lot, and park by the store entrance for both the portrait studio and layaway pickup.
We didn't frequent this store all too often. Or maybe my folks did some more, seeing how it was much closer than the other one they went to. Years later, an old high school friend used to work there. She would pretend she didn't recognize me, but I wasn't going to press the issue.
I reminisce on this store because recently, I was in dire quest to find a new brown belt. The old one was falling apart after just a couple years on the job. The material - which I assumed was leather - was breaking apart, exposing some white threadwork in the middle that made me question the twenty-five bucks I forked over for it. The prong holes I used most were getting bigger, making my pants fit loose and all sorts of annoying. Merely putting loose change in my pockets weighed them down too much for this trash belt to continue holding them up. I would say it had a good run, but it didn't. To hell with that belt.
My process of clothes/accessories shopping always occurs in specific stages:
1. Notify certain close friends that I am "in the process" of looking for such clothing.
2. Casually poke around online for product, buying nothing.
3. Lament to same close friends I'm still shopping for item.
4. Casually poke around online for product, buying nothing.
5. Secretly hope someone just buys me one (they don't).
6. Lament to close friends again that I'm still shopping for item (while in hiatus from actually shopping for item).
7. Finally get around to physically entering stores looking for item.
(note: 1, 3, 3, 3, 3, 6, 6, 7 is also the course of action when I'm in need of a haircut).
The first physical store I ventured into for this new belt was a place I probably shouldn't be frequenting anymore. I'm probably twice the average age of shoppers there, but they have cheap flip flops and shorts for those fancy summer months. Granted, you get what you pay for here, but whatever. Sometimes they'll try to pass off a dress shirt for forty bucks though, to which I just laugh. Needless to say the belt selection at this place sucked, because I guess I have robust hips or something. They also size their belts with letter designations. Because that's what you do when pant sizes come in numbers - you make the belts say M, L, and XL and just pray for the best. I tried back at this place two more times, thinking they'd receive more stock selection with the belts, but NOPE. They even went so far as relocating the belts both times I went back. I love corporate merchandising orders - nope, put it there, okay try it here now, next week we'll bury it deep in the back corner underneath the women's clearance tops. Can't imagine why they're not selling in-store.
The next place I tried was somewhere I once applied for a job doing the exact same thing I did with another company before. Naturally, I didn't get the job. Which is probably a good thing, seeing how I never have luck with this place. They claim to have pants that fit, but never when I go inside. Their belts go on sale from time to time, but never when I go inside. Just not in the cards with this place. Also doesn't help matters it sits adjacent to a delicious sub shop. I've given in to temptation way too many times already.
The third and final store I checked out was the very same company that kept sending us all those damn catalogs when I was a kid. It sits in the same mall as the first store I listed here, only much, much bigger in size. At one point, I'm sure it sat as a strong, vibrant anchor store to this place.
But now? Not so much.
Working in retail over the years, I'm pretty familiar with the ins and outs of the industry. What was selling, what was not, and what stores were halfway down the toilet. This store? This store has already been flushed. But for some reason, it stays clogged.
I approach this store from an outside entrance. There's five cars parked on this side, total, on a lot that looks like it can easily fit a few hundred. It's the closest entrance to the men's department, but makes you trudge through the kid's section first. The first thing you'll notice upon entering this side is that there is nobody around. Not a single shopper, and certainly no cashier at the table right there upon entering. Just you. And maybe some loss prevention guys staring at you through some overhead cameras. But let's be real here - nobody is robbing this place. Although, I could have, and was tempted - but more on that later. So, you're walking past the kid's section over to the men's and you also find yourself noticing just how wide open the main walkway appears. There's one small display halfway down, but that's it. Just slabs of empty space. And it doesn't get much better once you venture into the men's department. Racks and aisles all spaced further apart, almost excessively apart. This wasn't done due to A.D.A. compliance, that's pretty clear. The entire store is spread out like this. Two floors of it. And you still haven't spotted anyone!
I managed to find a belt at a decent price here. Brown leather, brass buckle, a little wider than the dress pant belt variety. Simple, and what I was searching for. I poke around some other racks and displays to see if there's anything else I want, but nothing catches my attention. There's a register in the men's department, but of course nobody is tending to it. Walk over to the women's area, still not a soul. There's a few people working behind the jewelry counters, but they're all busy with customers, showing off whatever gaudy overpriced goods. I make my way around the entire perimeter of the store, where finally, over by the shoes, I spot not one, but two employees actually standing behind cash registers. They're each waiting on someone, so I'm stuck behind them in some imaginary queue. It's difficult to tell which customer is finishing up first, mostly because the transactions are taking seemingly forever. So many question and answer sessions about this card or that program and would you like to blah, blah, blah. All I want is a belt, folks. It dawns upon me one of them is doing a return. This, of course, puts an entire new spin on the transaction itself. She's going to be there for awhile. Same with the other lady and her corresponding cashier, both of whom seem to know each other personally. Great. Of course you do.
I abandon my place in line and make another slow venture around the perimeter of the store, hoping to catch an employee meandering somewhere nearby any other register. Really, any register. Literally any one of the other checkouts. Please? Come on, folks. No one? By now I am near the very doors upon which I entered, with a belt I have yet to pay for in my hands. And that's when it hit me - I could literally just walk out of this store, with the belt, and no one would do anything. There's no security tag on the belt. The closest employees are at the polar opposite end of the store. Nobody even cares that I'm here, much less noticed me. I got within ten feet of the exit, fully aware of all this, and...
I couldn't get myself to do it. I'm not a thief, nor do I want to start that reputation. Whatever is left of my good conscience got the best of me. I head back to the checkout line, which now has a young couple and a baby waiting ahead of me. The two customers who were at the counter when I was first in line are still there. Incredible. I step out of line once again and head toward the exit that leads to the indoor mall, tossing the belt on a stack of folded shirts before leaving the store. I walk to three different stores, all somewhat close to the one I just left. All three of them had belt sections. I flipped through all three belt sections and didn't find any to my liking, nor within my price range. I was simply going to have to get the belt at the store I almost stole it from.
After almost thirty minutes checking out these other stores, I return to the first one. The belt is exactly where I left it, on a stack of ladies shirts on a display right near the entrance. I grab the belt, walk back over to the men's section, find the display I picked the belt from, placed it back on the hook, and left.
Two weeks later, I am back at the store. There's an employee at the checkout by the door. My eyes widen and I make a brisk walk back over to the belts, finding the one I walked around with for so much time so long ago. He rings me out, asking maybe one-sixteenth the questions those other cashiers were asking their shoppers at the counter. My transaction was seamless, and I was out the doors fast.
I guess the moral of the story here is that patience is a virtue.
That, and Sears sucks on weekday afternoons.