The Very Real Horror of Retail Shopping

Jon Kaufman

Friends, I have a problem.  Freely conceding that anyone who has read this column might consider this opening statement a laughable understatement, there is nevertheless an inexorable current raging in my soul. Despite being raised amidst a pack of women, I have recently developed an unreasonable fear of shopping.

There is no name for this phobia that plagues me.  There are recognized phobias for people who fear shadows, sharks and shellfish, but not shopping. Geniophobia is a little known malady describing those people who are terrified by “chins” (apparently this ailment is making the rounds at NBC as of late. Shouldn’t that be Jaylenophobia?), but there is still no term for those who tremble when faced with the specter of buying retail.

My wife Janet suffered a birthday last week. Note: at this point in my life, as I inch slowly towards the flip side of the grass, I tend not to use the word “celebrate” when speaking of my own fleeting mortality; hence, “suffering” seems like a more accurate term when describing the annual acknowledgement of another year passed. However, in celebration of Janet’s somewhat recent arrival on this planet, I knew that I would have to man-up and plan a trip to the mall in search of the perfect birthday gift.

Janet is a difficult person to buy for simply because she rarely covets anything in particular and hates to shop more than I do.  Aware of my distaste for procurement, Janet decided to help me conquer my fears by providing me a short list of items she would like to own and where I might find said treasures. Even though I had received the list but one day before her birthday, I appreciated Janet’s help with this fearful task. Shopping made simple? Or so I thought.  Stuffing the agenda in my coat pocket (without reading its text), I set off to battle my demons.

Although Janet had furnished me with a list of possible presents, there were few specifics included for the suggested gifts.  This omission of detail was no accident, I was clearly being tested. In the vernacular normally found on display at a middle school science fair, this experiment could be entitled “The effects of vaguely written purchase plan on the emotional stability of a ‘Shopophobic’ in an unfamiliar retail setting.” I had my work cut out for me.

Two of the items on the list were rings and sweaters, but what kind?  Evidently I would have to draw from previous shopping excursions with Janet to fill in the blanks.  Sadly, I have failed to properly observe Janet as a shopper for the last eighteen years, choosing to follow her around the racks like a pilot fish blindly shadowing a shark. On the rare occasion when Janet did solicit my opinion, I would nod, smile, and say “that’s cute,” even if she was holding a bag of mulch in her hand at the time.  Behavior such as this must have prompted this exercise.

Unfamiliar with retail outlets and how they operate, I was stunned to see how very few sweaters were available.  Was it not mid-January?  If someone was cold or lost their sweater, could they not buy a replacement somewhere?  A kind retail clerk, correctly tagging me as someone who was hopelessly lost and frustrated, explained that one needs to shop in the fall for winter clothing and for the spring in winter.  What?  Where was I when this was all decided?  Working on my golf swing in a mirror of the Belk’s women’s clothing section as Janet blazed through the selections, no doubt.  Five stores later I found a sweater that I felt might be something Janet would consider wearing.

Searching for rings was worse.  Janet was only able to provide me with a size and a preference; no stones.  Confused and thinking that all rings had stones (with the exception of a wedding band and that thing Frodo’s Uncle left him), I continued on my quest to no avail.  Store after store I wandered seeking something I didn’t understand.  Finally, I ended up downtown, in a small shop on the market called “Seeds of Light.”  There, a very helpful lady presented me with a variety of stone-less options, providing closure to my purchasing odyssey.  Certain that I did the best I could, I returned home, hoping against hope that I had chosen wisely.

The following day I winced as Janet removed her gifts from their wrapping.  Miraculously, she seemed genuinely impressed, unaware of the struggle I had endured in a state of clueless acquisition.  Claiming moderate success, my mission was now complete.  Yet, this is no time to rest on my laurels, for Valentine’s Day will soon be upon us and another list is sure to follow.  There is no known term for a fear of lists either, but there should be.

By Jon Kaufman
[email protected]

Latest Articles

- Advertisement -

Latest Articles

- Advertisement -

Related Articles