Damn Swede

I first noticed in college that I may have acquired the special power of being invisible.

My freshman year I made instant friends with a fun, outgoing and friendly gal named Karin. She is the kind of person people are drawn to, so friendly and caring. I, on the other hand, was quiet and shy, and unsure of who I was. We met in our Freshman Week class, and went everywhere together. As we ran into familiar faces on campus, it soon became apparent that all these people we had met at the same time remembered Karin, but had no idea who I was. In fact, more often than not my presence was not even acknowledged. I was standing right there! Less than one foot away! It is seemingly impossible that someone could be that rude, so the only reasonable conclusion is that I might be invisible. Clearly.

I was reminded of this today, when I took off work early to go shopping with a friend. She ran to one store while I went ahead to the next, looking for one of the few remaining Christmas presents I still needed to purchase. I walked through the aisles selecting various potential options when I heard my cell phone ring. I went to an out-of-the-way aisle, propping up my purse, coat, scarf, gift options and a shopping bag of Sinthia’s I didn’t fully notice she slipped me to carry all on the rack. As I answered the phone and instructed Sinthia as to my location in the store, I felt a rustle next to me. In a store full of racks and racks of clothing options, this woman decided to look at the options offered beneath my purse. What’s more is that she was acting like she didn’t even seen me and she was on the verge of upsetting the delicate balancing act I was performing with all my belongings. Again, invisible.

Actually, there is a lot about shopping on Michigan Avenue, especially during the holidays, that makes you feel invisible. People bump into you on the street, in aisles, cut in lines . . . all in the name of Christmas cheer.

The one place I did not feel invisible today is at the Gucci store. I have never technically been in the Gucci store before. In fact, the closest I have been to Gucci were the fake watches we bought in Mexico on a family vacation in junior high. But Sinthia had a gift certificate so in the store we went. It was S-shaped and we made our way to the back of the store where the purses and wallets were displayed. Or maybe it was the front of the store and we entered in the back of the store. Doesn’t matter. A women approached us and Sinthia pointed out the wallets she was interested in. One particular design caught my eye, and I asked to see it. “It’s on sale,” the associate said, “It was marked down twice - you won’t ever find it this cheap.” I ran my fingers over the soft leather, noticing the price tag. $375 marked down to $129. That really is a bargain.

I gave the wallet back as the woman disappeared in the back to retrieve the wallet Sinthia chose. “You should get it, it really is a bargain, you had a hard week, when was the last time you bought yourself something?” Sinthia pressured. The woman reappeared and I said, “I’d like the small one in black, you know, while you are back there.” She smiled, “Of course.”

A few minutes later I was filling out a card granting permission for Gucci to contact me with special offers via mail or email. Also on that card was written my total, a classier alternative to simply stating a total. I provided her with my bank card and she disappeared in the back, as if it was undignified to complete the transaction out in the open. Perhaps it is, once I realized the woman next to me was in the process of purchasing a leather coat that cost nearly $1,000. Again she returned, with our purchases and copies of our credit card receipts for us to sign. Once we signed and handed over our slips, she thanked us for our purchases and handed over the Gucci shopping bags with the signature red and green striped handles. “I feel so sophisticated,” Sinthia said as we left the store. She was especially happy because after her gift cards were deducted her wallet cost only $12.15. I felt sophisticated because of the pomp and circumstance surrounding the way my wallet was packaged. It was in a bag that was in a box, which was inside a gold envelope and sealed with tape, which was then inside a bag.  It was like opening a present.  For me!

After that I met my friend Monica for a movie.  We saw “Juno,” which was a beautiful story of a teenage girl who ends up unexpectedly pregnant.  And it was funny as hell.  With a killer soundtrack.  We laughed our way to the end of the movie, and then we cried.  I say we but it could have possibly just been me.  I cried and cried and cried and then the movie was over and I cried some more.  We were halfway to the car before I felt like I was in control of my emotions.  It was loving in a sometimes funny and sometimes bittersweet way.  If you have the chance, I highly recommend it.