Either you enjoy shopping at a large department store or you don’t.  Many of those who do are able to spend hours wandering around the numerous floors filled with goods, endlessly browsing and then perhaps buying things that may be of use or else purchased on a whim and returned a few days later. I remember a woman I once knew who was able to spend the whole day in one large department store. She would go from floor to floor examining, prodding, feeling and doing various other things to goods and never got bored or so she said. I was amazed at her energy for such an activity.

I suspect that most people do not share the joy experienced by this woman. Many perhaps remember from their childhood days being dragged around a store at Christmas to look for presents for people they hardly knew or cared about.  I am sure that we were all dragged around a store at other times to buy new clothes for school!

In spite of these early heinous memories, I am sure some grew to enjoy the occasional visit to a big store while others, mostly men, try hard not to spend time in them.  These men probably have wives, girl friends or even daughters who are willing to buy things on their behave.  However, the majority of men have to accompany their significant other periodically and shop and have to tolerate being asked for their opinion on possible purchases and, worst of all, having to endure the endless waiting.

-oOo-

My father hated going to the big stores in the West End.  We occasionally went to Oxford Street on a Thursday evening since they were open for late night shopping in those days.  As I was still very young, my mother held on to me so that I did not get lost while my father was left to fend for himself.  Normally he would walk some distance in front of us, but on Oxford or Regent Street on a Thursday night during the 1950s, he was unable to do this and was completely out of his depth in the battle to keep pace.

I remember that my mother and I were able to walk along the street at a reasonably slow, but steady pace, window-shopping as we went while my father had great difficulty keeping up.  The poor man found himself constantly being tossed back and forth across the pavement and occasionally into the street.  Slowly, but steadily, he slipped further and further back.  I think that my mother gained some satisfaction at his difficulties.  I believe that she saw it as retribution for the things that he did to us to make our lives miserable at times.

Slowly, but surely, his anger got the better of him and we soon heard him telling people off who had battered him, as he attempted to move against the stream. Eventually, my mother took pity on him and we stopped and waited for him to catch up.

In those days, most men wore hats and my father was always careful to steam his hat before going out.  When he finally caught up with us, he arrived with his hat pushed to one side and with a very reddened face.  He immediately began complaining bitterly about the women who had assaulted him with various weapons such as umbrellas, shopping bags or their person.  We could not help but smile, as my father described his interactions employing the most colourful of language.

My father had a loud voice and was not ashamed to allow the various passers-by hear of his displeasure.  Naturally none of them took any notice of his remarks and we failed to appreciate his battle scars.  My mother told him to walk behind her and he would not get hurt.  Although he tried to comply, my mother had other plans for him.  After a few yards, she always moved across the width of the pavement leaving my father to engage in combat with what always seemed to be large women.  After an assault on his person, he began to slip into the distance once more. My mother failed to heed his cries for her to stop and later swore that she had not heard his entreaties.

I hate to admit that I choke with laughter whenever I think of his difficulties.

-oOo-

Readers can TWEET their LIKES & DISLIKES to me at

London Tales

or

make comments on the Website’s FACEBOOK PAGE

or

consider leaving a Comment below.

——oooOOOooo—— 

CLICK HERE

To Read About

SHOPPING WITH MY MOTHER

OR

CLICK HERE

to RETURN to THE DEPARTMENT STORE HOME PAGE

——oooOOOooo——