Shopping

Shopping Scenario 1:

I walk into the store with a mission. I need to choose a new pair of glasses. The walls are covered with every type of frames available and the sales people are incredibly friendly and helpful. Unfortunately, I have no desire to be in the store. Too many choices on a necessity item. Everyone should have to wear the same glasses, children sporting miniaturized version of the adult frames. There would be no "fashion" involved. The market for $200 frames would be non-existent, not due to lack of demand, but instead due to lack of supply. It's times like this I wish I was living in a Communist country. Faced with too many choices, I decide to try contacts, then maybe come back and get new lenses for my current frames before fleeing the scene.

Shopping Scenario 2:

After battling the SUVs and mindless pedestrians in the parking lot, I have successfully parked and amble into the Target store. My list consists of a couple very specific items for a care package I'm putting together and dental floss. Upon entering and picking up a basket the discount area calls to me. Crafting supplies are only $1! Such pretty things, so cheap! I pry myself away from the discount section clutching only a few dollars in useless crap. I promise myself they will go into the care package. Mostly, anyways. I find myself in the women's clothing section. I don't need more clothing, but it has been cold lately and they do have sweaters. Oh, and I should look for cheap work clothes. I manage to convince myself that this is not the time to buy clothing and move across the aisle to the workout clothes (well, I could use another pair of workout pants...) then segue into the socks (so many of my socks have holes...). I manage to resist the siren call of the Halloween candy on the first pass, but nearly give into the juice, because I do need to take something to that party tonight. Still, i manage to make it to the personal care section, picking up only the care package items and grabbing the dental floss. I realize I should go look for an eye patch or hat for tonight's party, meaning I have to venture all the way to the back corner of the store. No luck on the pirate gear, but the big sale section is back here, too. I really like those chairs, and they're only $20. So hard to resist. Traversing the entire store to get back to the cash register I check out the blenders and nearly give into a pretty Black and Decker, but it leads me into the entire cookware section, with dangerous temptations and sharp objects. I shake off my consumer lust by telling myself I'm saving up money to give to Olin and walk quickly away from the kitchen section. The Halloween candy comes closer to luring me into its clutches, getting me to take three steps down the aisle before I realize that I do not need this stuff. I need to get out of here. I manage to check out with a mere $13 in merchandise, a miracle considering the consumerism sucking my soul into the abyss. As I make my way out to the car, I look at my watch and calculate that I took more than 1/2 an hour to basically go in and get what I was there for in the first place. How did that happen?


Why are the two experiences so different? Why do I want things I don't need and not want the things I do need? Both sets of experiences, contrasted to each other, make me realize how little I like shopping. Necessity items are no fun to buy, but have to be bought, while superfluous items tear at my inner mantra of needing less stuff in life. Consumerism can be such a satisfying rush in the short term, but will not be nearly as satisfying as charitable giving in the long run. Sometimes I just need to remind myself that stuff will not make me happy and will often make me sad.