The Bazaar Wars Commence
So many good ideas come to me when I lie down to go to sleep. My most creative thoughts fly through my bedroom like pixies, knocking things over, incessantly batting their wings until I acknowledge their presence and slam them one by one into a jar. Last night I had another battle with the pixies. They had already formed a posse and who was I to stop them? Only a girl who desperately needs sleep after a long day. I tried to put the lid on the jar and it kept popping open. Apparently I didn't do it with enough force. I suppose the pixies are right. What happened yesterday should be told. I don't know who really cares, but ideas are worth a little bit of time even if they continuously disturb my slumber. Dad-gum pixies! I can't believe I'm letting them win. I'm such a push-over sometimes. In some small way, it's worth it to me to tell you this pointless story.
Aaron took me and a friend to the used Bazaar yesterday. This particular place is a used goods bazaar where you can find just about anything you don't need, including a pile of doughnuts on a cart next to an open sewer. Aaron and I "needed" some used curtains so we took my friend to help us brave the elements. Parking is atrocious in this place. I have come to the conclusion that people will never drive here, in the proper sense of the word. I'm not sure what they think they're doing but it's not driving. It's more like a second grade lunch line, where everyone wants to be in the same spot at the same time. It's scientifically impossible, but they do it anyways. I've already developed a rather sophisticated repertoire of obscenities in response to the driving; things that I wouldn't want my mom to hear.
As we turn into the parking lot, a women in an SUV cut us off on the left. I'm sorry to say it, but the lady drivers are the absolute worst. They've managed to combine ignorance with recklessness and we all know how that turns out. Aaron cuts her off (you can tell how mature we are) and we make it into the lot. Actually, making it into the parking lot unscathed is a feat in and of itself. The probability that you will scrape another car and it will bump you is somewhere around 80%. And if you happen not to turn the wheel of your uninsured car hard enough to avoid the scrape, then it must have been God's will.
So, into the fray we go. We make it inside the actual bazaar, but not without taking on half of a month's worth of stress. I do what I always do: tell myself that it's worth it.
My friend and I dig through piles of curtain rings, stacked up like mounds of dirt. She says to me how hilarious our lives are. "Do you ever think about why we put ourselves through this? Just look at us digging for curtain rings in a pile of crap!" This is our life. Digging for trash at the bazaar. It's as if we are transformed by the very act. Like those people who become vegan or Yogis, we are bazaar junkies. There is something so transcendent about the experience. I've gone too far and I'm making fun, but it is deliciously rewarding.
Something strange (definitely not transcendent) happens when we go "digging". We walk into a store and start looking at things and they descend upon us. I can't say who exactly, but they are best described as black and cloaked. They are dense and immovable. Believe me, we've tried to move them. They are attracted to whatever we are looking at. Once they find a spot, and it's usually right where we are digging, they stay there. We've tried elbowing, bumping, accidentally falling backwards, saying "excuse me", but to no avail. The Penguins don't move. Do not mistake me, I have great respect for the Penguins. They are strong and capable of digging efficiently, unlike me. I get tossed around like a rag doll, bumped and bruised by the Penguins and ripped off by every shopkeeper. Somehow it's all still worth it though (see I keep saying that). What is wrong with me? I like bargains, I tell myself. Getting something for nothing is a beautiful thing. Seeing how well I measure up against the Penguins is pretty great too. It's sort of a sick game.
Back out of the fray and into another fray we go. Traffic has worsened like a ticking time bomb. The dread builds from 3:00 to 4:00 and then the explosion happens at 5:00. All hell breaks loose on the road and you must be prepared to fight your way out of it. We are happy to grit our teeth and plow our way home because our filthy shopping bags are piled high, bursting at the seams with junk. We think of the Penguins and laugh...until we meet again...
And somehow, after all of this, it's still worth it because I put one more pixie in my jar.
Aaron took me and a friend to the used Bazaar yesterday. This particular place is a used goods bazaar where you can find just about anything you don't need, including a pile of doughnuts on a cart next to an open sewer. Aaron and I "needed" some used curtains so we took my friend to help us brave the elements. Parking is atrocious in this place. I have come to the conclusion that people will never drive here, in the proper sense of the word. I'm not sure what they think they're doing but it's not driving. It's more like a second grade lunch line, where everyone wants to be in the same spot at the same time. It's scientifically impossible, but they do it anyways. I've already developed a rather sophisticated repertoire of obscenities in response to the driving; things that I wouldn't want my mom to hear.
As we turn into the parking lot, a women in an SUV cut us off on the left. I'm sorry to say it, but the lady drivers are the absolute worst. They've managed to combine ignorance with recklessness and we all know how that turns out. Aaron cuts her off (you can tell how mature we are) and we make it into the lot. Actually, making it into the parking lot unscathed is a feat in and of itself. The probability that you will scrape another car and it will bump you is somewhere around 80%. And if you happen not to turn the wheel of your uninsured car hard enough to avoid the scrape, then it must have been God's will.
So, into the fray we go. We make it inside the actual bazaar, but not without taking on half of a month's worth of stress. I do what I always do: tell myself that it's worth it.
My friend and I dig through piles of curtain rings, stacked up like mounds of dirt. She says to me how hilarious our lives are. "Do you ever think about why we put ourselves through this? Just look at us digging for curtain rings in a pile of crap!" This is our life. Digging for trash at the bazaar. It's as if we are transformed by the very act. Like those people who become vegan or Yogis, we are bazaar junkies. There is something so transcendent about the experience. I've gone too far and I'm making fun, but it is deliciously rewarding.
Something strange (definitely not transcendent) happens when we go "digging". We walk into a store and start looking at things and they descend upon us. I can't say who exactly, but they are best described as black and cloaked. They are dense and immovable. Believe me, we've tried to move them. They are attracted to whatever we are looking at. Once they find a spot, and it's usually right where we are digging, they stay there. We've tried elbowing, bumping, accidentally falling backwards, saying "excuse me", but to no avail. The Penguins don't move. Do not mistake me, I have great respect for the Penguins. They are strong and capable of digging efficiently, unlike me. I get tossed around like a rag doll, bumped and bruised by the Penguins and ripped off by every shopkeeper. Somehow it's all still worth it though (see I keep saying that). What is wrong with me? I like bargains, I tell myself. Getting something for nothing is a beautiful thing. Seeing how well I measure up against the Penguins is pretty great too. It's sort of a sick game.
Back out of the fray and into another fray we go. Traffic has worsened like a ticking time bomb. The dread builds from 3:00 to 4:00 and then the explosion happens at 5:00. All hell breaks loose on the road and you must be prepared to fight your way out of it. We are happy to grit our teeth and plow our way home because our filthy shopping bags are piled high, bursting at the seams with junk. We think of the Penguins and laugh...until we meet again...
And somehow, after all of this, it's still worth it because I put one more pixie in my jar.
sound like shopping in malawi! or the goodwill outlet here in america :)
ReplyDeletei love reading your posts :)
I laughed out loud. Now I understand why you're not sleeping. You're totally in adrenoline/survival/fight mode and it's not turning off. Stay off the road for a day and I bet you'll be able to sleep.
DeleteThe lady drivers are the absolute worst here too!!! Unbelievable actually!
ReplyDelete