I dislike all kinds of shopping, but clothes shopping most of all. I don’t shop online and I don’t do malls, so that leaves me with a shrinking number of small stores where I don’t get overwhelmed and end up with nothing or with a purchase made in desperation that I’ll never wear.
My favorite small store is the Grasshopper Shop in Concord. It’s not just small; it’s tiny and jam-packed with merchandise. It’s family-run, and the sisters who work there—one at a time— don’t hover over you or lurk outside the dressing room asking, “How are we doing in there?” But they’re helpful when you need them. More than a year ago I bought a pair of Habitat black pants there, and I lived in them. They look it.
So on this day I was headed to Concord to buy a new pair of the very same pants. Confident I knew exactly what I wanted, I had no anxieties. I looked through the rack of Habitat—and then I panicked. My pants weren’t there. I asked the saleswoman if she had any more Habitat pants “out back,” even as I doubted such a place could possibly exist. She said no, but she started looking through the racks. She suggested I try a different brand, and I headed to one of the two dressing rooms along the back wall.
Meantime, I had noticed another woman, also “of a certain age” and “of a certain size,” who was looking through the Habitat pants section. She had a friend who seemed as though she was helping, rather than shopping for herself. Now the other woman was in the next dressing room, presumably with the same substitute brand I was struggling into. The skin-tight legs were too long and sort of puddled at my ankles. I exited the dressing room about the time the other woman poked her head around her curtain. “Did you like those?” she asked about the pants I was holding. “No,” I responded. “Neither did I,” she returned. I was putting the pants back when the friend squeezed behind me. She was carrying a pair of black pants and heading toward the dressing room. I couldn’t help but overhear her: “There was your size Habitat hanging up on display. I asked the saleswoman to take them down.” I should have brought a friend.
I wandered around a bit longer and then went to the counter to ask the saleswoman if the shop would be getting in any more Habitat pants. She didn’t think so, but she would make a phone call. No one answered at wherever it was she called. She said she could try again later and call me, but she doubted they would be getting more this season. I was giving her my name and number, and she was confirming the brand and size, when the other woman and her friend approached the counter, pants in hand.
Not Filene’s Basement
“I didn’t realize you were looking for Habitat,” the woman said to me. “Here, you take these. I live nearby and can pick up another pair when they come in.” “But they probably aren’t coming in,” cautioned the saleswoman as I was voicing my protest to the woman’s kind gesture.
“Well, you were here first,” the woman said. “I want you to take these.” Knowing it was true that I had been in the shop first but hadn’t found the pants first, I assured the other woman that the pants were rightfully hers.
“But you had been looking for them first. I want you to have them,” she insisted, in what I couldn’t help thinking was a total reversal of protocol from that of the old Filene’s Basement. Shopping there was a combat sport; clothing was reputed to be torn apart in tugs-of-war between two women who wanted the same article. I argued that I would feel terrible taking them. She said she would feel even worse if she took them, and she continued to assure me that she wanted me to have the pants. I began to believe that this was what she really wanted, and I looked to her friend who muttered, “She means it.” So I paid for the pants and left the store with a flurry of thanks and feelings of guilt.
I went to the bookshop to drown my mixed feelings. (I should have qualified my statement about hating to shop: Bookstores and nurseries don’t count.) I was very happy to have the pants. But I couldn’t get over the idea that they were an ill-gotten gain, that I really didn’t deserve to have them. And although I admired the other woman’s generosity, it bothered me that in the same position, I might not have done the same.
After lengthy browsing and a purchase, I left the bookshop to go to my car. I was a few steps away when I heard a voice call, “I found some other pants.” I turned around and there were the two women. “I tried on a different brand, and I like them even more.”
How perfect, I thought, as I went on my way. I was so relieved and happy at the way things had turned out. Now, if only I had asked her what that other brand was.
