September 4, 2008 Issue

Laughing Matters
by Pepper James

One of my Dad’s mottos is “Buy one, buy 10!” When my mother asks him to run to the store for one or two things, he always comes back with more than she asked for, plus a couple of boxes of cookies that “must have jumped into the cart.” I’m a lot like my Dad, so when I was asked to provide 10 centerpieces for my nephew’s going away party, I was happy for a legitimate need to buy 10 of the same thing.

A few days before the party, I assembled everything I needed from what I had on hand, experimenting with different sizes of candles, colored sand, throw beads and glass stones, and came up with what I thought was a beautiful, patriotic centerpiece in red, white and blue. I had everything I needed except the largest candle for each, which I decided should be blue.

The night before the party, I drove to the big chain store in town to buy 10 candles, thinking there would be a large variety and I would have no trouble finding what I needed. I made my way through the massive store to the candle section where I was surprised to find a pitifully small selection, with the number of blue candles even more limited than the rest. I counted only six large blue candles on the shelf, so I walked back over to my cart and called my sister to see what she had on hand. After a few minutes, she determined she had four white candles that would fit in my candleholders and would complement the blue. I turned back to the blue candles to find a large, middle-aged man standing squarely in front of them, staring intently.

I waited patiently for several minutes. He didn’t move. I hoped he wasn’t staring at my blue candles. I cleared my throat. He didn’t move. I looked at the other colors on the shelf. There were no white or red candles or anything that would go with our patriotic theme. Meanwhile, he still hadn’t moved a muscle. I decided to give him some privacy, thinking that might speed up the process, and went over to the card aisle, returning after several minutes.

The man was still there, apparently frozen in place. A watched pot never boils, so I rolled my cart a few aisles over to look at plastic storage boxes and then went back to the candles. The man was still there. Next I went to the grocery section and got a few canned goods, bread, trash bags, potatoes, soda, nuts and chips, then back to candles. The man was still there.

I was starting to feel sweaty and anxious. I really needed the candles. I decided to take a pro-active approach. “Can I help you find something?” I asked pleasantly.

He glanced up. “Do you work here?”

“No. Just thought I could help you find what you’re looking for...”

Without responding, he resumed staring at the candles.

I tried again. “Is there something in particular you need them for?”

He looked at me impatiently. “No. Thank you. I don’t need any help.”

“Is there a color you have in mind?”

He ignored me. The pleasant, pro-active approach was not working. I would need to be subtle, but aggressive.

“Well then… could I just squeeze past you and get…”

“Hey lady, I was here first!” And with that, The Candle Man lurched into motion, grabbing and throwing blue candles into his cart.

“But if you don’t really care what color…”

We continued to wrestle without touching, a kind of silent dance, where I tried to get past him as he dodged me, all the while grabbing candles. Finally, all the candles were in his cart, and without looking back, he wheeled his cart away, while I stood candle-less in the aisle.

When I regained my composure, I left my cart and retreated to my car, driving to the arts and crafts store on the other side of town. I managed to find what I needed for twice the price, but the polite, non-aggressive shoppers made it all worthwhile. And I did learn something from this whole experience—my Dad’s “buy one, buy 10” motto doesn’t just mean you end up with 10 items, it means you don’t have to go back to the store 10 times.

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