Embracing my current role as a lady of leisure, I went forth today to visit one of London's most popular attractions... Harrods Department Store.Okay, so I went there to buy something, but I usually avoid big department stores. In fact, not once during the year that I spent living in New York City, did I walk through the doors of Bloomingdales, Macy's, Saks Fifth Avenue or even Barneys (although, I was asked out by a buyer for Barneys... and would have been tempted had I not prior to his request been utterly convinced he batted for the other team - after all, the man wore dress-shoes sans socks!).
My theory is that the more a department store tries to make me feel special, the greater my feelings of isolation. May the Big-Guns forgive me, as this is obviously not their intention. Since opening its doors in 1849, Harrods prides itself on, 'a reputation for excellence, that nothing is too much trouble to our customers, and finding the finest-q
uality merchandise.' And, to be fair, all the staff I encountered did their utmost to be friendly. It's just that, where in a small boutique I have to avoid the eyes of one, maybe two, eager sales assistants, at a department store I have a pride of eyes upon me. And to be honest, it makes me quite queasy. Like a little child at their birthday party opening presents they don't particularly like, and having to express delight and forced-thank-yous, I really just want them all to go home. As I meandered through the isles of rooms with high ceilings and bright lights, I felt compelled to smile at each attendant, and even thank them (for what?), and worse still, apologise for not requiring their assistance. Am I the only one that finds these situations tedious, even painful?
uality merchandise.' And, to be fair, all the staff I encountered did their utmost to be friendly. It's just that, where in a small boutique I have to avoid the eyes of one, maybe two, eager sales assistants, at a department store I have a pride of eyes upon me. And to be honest, it makes me quite queasy. Like a little child at their birthday party opening presents they don't particularly like, and having to express delight and forced-thank-yous, I really just want them all to go home. As I meandered through the isles of rooms with high ceilings and bright lights, I felt compelled to smile at each attendant, and even thank them (for what?), and worse still, apologise for not requiring their assistance. Am I the only one that finds these situations tedious, even painful?Purchase-in-hand, I did a quick lap round the cosmetics counters and headed outdoors. Said-doors were, of course, opened for me by a lovely man dressed in Harrods green and gold. He thanked me for my custom and wished me a pleasant day. I smiled, and thanked him in return, as I donned my sunnies and scuttled for the tube - never have I felt more like a tourist. Shame!
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