"Shopping....It's in my blood"

So this is an entry that has been sitting in my queue for several months just waiting to be edited and published. It is a recount of a woman with whom I shared a pleasant chat while sitting outside a department store. I didn't want to post this encounter in haste as I desired to capture the full beauty, charm, and elegance of this stranger. So, allow me to paint the picture of my 10 minute friend, whom I'll call Jean, for we didn't get so far as introductions.

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Jean is a slightly fuller-faced, Helen Mirren look alike. There is such a smoothness to her olive skin that you hardly even recognize the presence of wrinkles. And it is evident that she has taken great care throughout her life to avoid age spots. Her coiffure is a silky, silver, shoulder-length, Anna Wintour-esque bob. Not a hair out of place, even in the slight breeze of the day. Her clothing are in keeping with the comfortably warm weather; soft yellow and white striped, boatneck tee on top, and white poly-blend slacks. Even though it is after Labor Day, she wears flat, white, buckled sandals revealing a pearlized-pink pedicure because "those rules don't apply in Florida."

Now on to the objects that sparked our conversation. Draped around her neck hangs a gold and blue chain with a Cloisonné peacock resting between the links just below her right shoulder. "That is a stunning necklace," I remarked. "Oh this thing is older than you, but it's paste," she replied. "THIS is really something," and she directed my attention to a 14 kt gold floral filigree bracelet around her wrist. "It belonged to my sister," she declared proudly, "but she's long passed." "That is truly a special piece," I agreed. "Before it was hers, our mother and grandmother wore it," she chuckled, delighted in the longevity and legacy of the matriarchal heirloom.

Jean proceeded to champion her adornments with phrases such as, "I can wear them with everything," "They still look brand new," and "They don't make things like this anymore." I jokingly suggested that she must have  a drawer full of such pieces at home. She laughed and shook her head, "Yes, but I still love to go shopping."

The next exchange was sudden and unexpected. "You won't guess how old I am," she prodded. Trying to be polite (cue Momma lesson #1: you don't ever ask or say a woman's age out loud), I just looked back at her in amazed bewilderment and admitted, "I have no idea." Jean quickly interrupted my silence, "I'm going to tell you cause you'll never guess." I must have looked all too eager to know the secret because she grinned and patted my arm as a grandmother would as she confessed, "I'm 92!"

Trying desperately to maintain the same polite and respectful demeanor that youth should always show their elders (cue Momma lesson #2), I was unsuccessful at suppressing a shocked expression complete with dropped jaw, wide eyes, and raised eyebrows. I tried to regain my composure and to not come off as rude, "I never would have guessed. You look amazing and you're out her walking around, shopping on this beautiful day."

"I still got it in me. I worked at a department store in New York City years ago," she thumped her chest with the tips of her left ring and middle fingers, "it's in my blood."

At about that moment, her daughter pulled her car up to the curb. Jean and I exchanged our goodbyes. Before she rose to go, she patted me once again, on my folded hands this time, and smiled a genuine smile of a woman who has enjoyed the blessings of a long, fulfilled life. As she joined her daughter beside the car, she turned one last time to face me and pointed thoughtfully, "Now you enjoy your shopping today. There are a lot good sales out there."

New Car

My husband and I were blessed to be able to purchase a new vehicle this past weekend. Car dealerships are fascinating places. The people watching supply is hardly wearisome. I hadn't expected much to behold on a late Sunday afternoon, but there were just enough subjects present allowing for a variety of people watching vignettes between intermittent rounds of price haggling. Out of the dozen or so, I attended most of my observation to a selection of four. Henceforth, I attempt to describe my encounters with each.

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Upon arrival, my husband and I are greeted by a young lady, my guess about 22. She has a small voice, confident enough to speak to the multitude of strangers who pass her station everyday, but not strong enough yet for the sales floor. Her hair is oddly parted on the extreme right of her head, like an elder man's vain comb-over, revealing a stark white stripe of scalp untouched by the sun. The purposeful styling is probably an attempt to mask overgrown, wayward bangs. She directs us to the new car lot while she summons our requested associate.

On the way to the lot, we pass a man, late 40s is my guess, seated at a round wooden table with a much younger, or cleverly preserved, woman. He is a grumpy-faced man. The apparent irritation is exaggerated by his bulbous nose and chin. His brow ridge hangs heavily over his eyes and I'm sure he'll develop a headache from the tension. The dark-haired woman glances quickly around the room, seemingly oblivious to her companion's discontent. My guess is either the deal didn't go well or he's attempting to play the role of disgruntled customer as a protective tactic during haggling.

After a brief period in the lot, we are greeted by our sales associate. She is a fair, freckled woman with straight, straw-colored hair. Her toes turn outward when she walks and her arms swing straight and stiff causing her to waddle slightly when she walks. She wears cushioned walking shoes, so rather than sore feet, my guess is mild arthritis, probably in the knee. She is a pleasant woman with the patience to watch paint dry, answering every question, some twice over, and not once rushing the sale. During negotiations, she smiles genuinely, explains the new price matter-of-factly, and then tactically waits in unwavering silence for our rebuttal. Negotiations are finalized and she escorts us to a small room where we meet "Paperwork Guy."

Paperwork Guy, feeding off our desire to get out of the dealership ASAP to meet friends for dinner, presents us with a stream of carbon copyable documents at lightning speed. With his shaved head, crooked under-bite, and approachable demeanor, I can picture him as a little league coach. He even chews his gum in true baseball style, smacking his lower jaw in a rightward slant and matching the cadence of his speech to the rhythm of his chawing. The gnawing motion almost seems necessary for annunciation.

Business is concluded and my husband and I proceed to the parking lot with new keys in hand. On our way out, we shake the hand of Paperwork Guy and I notice the round table couple are no longer waiting. We bid the young lady at the welcome station a good evening, and finally, wave goodbye to our smiling sales associate as we drive away.

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So concludes our car buying experience presented through the faces of the occasion. I may revisit my subjects and expound a bit more on the characters at a later time, particularly Paperwork Guy who was much more comedic than I've portrayed in this entry. For now, I leave them as they are.
Aufwiedersehen!