Scrambling to finish some urgent work for a client, I mentally made a shopping list, including briefs for my son. If I put that errand off today, I had no idea how to fit it in over the next few days. Houseguests were going to descend on us and … well, I scrambled.
Snapping my laptop shut, I got up to grab my bag and head out the door. I wanted to get out before something else popped up for my attention. I squashed aside the need for coffee and rushed out, shutting the door behind me. Do I have my keys? Oh, son’s at home and will open the door. Did I hit send on that email? On and on my train of thought choo choo-ed without a station in sight.
I took deep breaths as I briskly walked to my favorite store. The owners lived in our building and were somewhere between being good friends and neighbors. In any case, I was fond of their kids, who also helped out at the shop. The son was in college and the daughter was a journalist. Evenings usually saw them hanging out at the store.
They greeted me with a big smile and we chatted about the state of our area, about taxes, about problems in the building, about… you name it, we’ve got it covered while they packed my purchases.
Just before I paid, a family walked in. Husband, wife and 8-year-old son. I was in no real hurry to return home. You know how it is — we crave a brief respite, and when we talk to people we like, a longer break is welcome.
Branded Briefs
A few minutes later, we heard raised voices from the family. They had come to buy briefs for their kid. The ‘kid’ was dressed in a T-shirt from a brand du jour, with a denim jacket over it and jeans. The jeans began well under his waistline, prominently showing off the waistband of his briefs. The kid had his thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets and, as a finishing touch, had a pair of sunglasses perched on his head.
Oh, his haircut was one of those spiky things, and the part close to his neck had a word trimmed (carved?) in. I didn’t get what it said.
Anyway, back to the raised voices. The family was arguing over the clothes spread in front of them on the counter by the salesgirl. Dad accused Mom of spoiling the brat. Mom accused Dad of being a bad example. That’s when I noticed where Dad’s pant waistline began—something I can now never un-see.
As the parents got into a spree of accusing each other (who said history doesn’t matter?) for things long past, the kid, having had enough of not being the center of attention, stomped his foot, screamed, and plonked himself down on the floor. Dad fluttered his hand at him as if to say “shut up” and continued arguing with Mom. At this point, Mom burst into loud sobs. Son lay on the shop floor, thumping his fists and kicking his feet—a full-on tantrum.
I can hear you wonder — what was the rest of us doing? Besides gaping with our mouths open at this display? We were wary about interrupting because that usually never goes well, at least until the ones in the throes of the tantrum get past the peak and look like they’re losing steam.
The moment the kid did his thing on the floor, I quickly jumped in and tried to calm him down. Gently lifted him, stood him up and asked him if he wanted water. Guess what he said. “I’ll have a Coke.”
We glanced at one another, suppressing smiles and laughter while the storeowner’s son stepped out to get the Coke.
By now, the parents were calmer. They turned to their son, pacifying him. For what? I didn’t quite get that.
Then, fortified by the Coke, the boy took center stage again and demanded to see briefs by certain brands. The salesgirl, startled, turned to the shelves to find the boxes.
Meanwhile, I felt eyes on me and turned to see the storeowner’s wife grinning at me. I knew what she was thinking. I did the shopping for my family, and they never once questioned my sometimes questionable choices.
The little boy was now going through the tough job of picking what he wanted. His right forefinger was on his chin, and his left hand on his hip as he surveyed his choices. The parents looked on.
Finally, after a little over an hour of entering the shop, the family left with their purchases, still bickering.
Phew! Feeling quite entertained, I handed over my card to pay my bill as we all had a good laugh over the drama that had just played out. The store owner handed me back my card and bill. I put away the card and looked at the bill, and was shocked to see it was for thousands. I had not shopped that much. Then I realized it wasn’t mine, it was the family’s that just left.
I was in shock as I walked home. I had bought 6 briefs and 6 vests for my son and a pair of track pants on impulse and spent less than Rs.1000. (that’s US$ 11.00). That little boy’s bill for 3 briefs was three times my bill.
As I walked, I wondered how that family, that didn’t look all that well off, could afford that kind of shopping. Pampering their kid in the name of giving him “the best”? I don’t know.
I never bought expensive stuff for my son when he was growing up. The logic? He was growing fast and out of everything he wore. Also, we couldn’t afford to spend that kind of money. And best of all, he couldn’t care less as long as the clothes fit and he was comfortable.
Feeling rather grateful and counting my blessings, I walked on, humbled.
