I had a slightly traumatic experience today. I got lost in
Selfridges.
“What’s so traumatic about that?” you may ask. Well, at
first nothing. I was happy to wander around aimlessly, taking in the sights.
Then at some point I stopped and realised I had no idea whereabouts I was or
how to get out. At this point the panic started to rise because I knew that for
however long I was stuck the more money I was likely to spend – and in
somewhere like Selfridges that could get dangerous.
So I took a deep breath and found a map. But as I stood in a
corner with my map I realised that it probably made me look like a bit of a tourist
and I didn’t want to stand out. So I folded the map up again and hoped that if
I wandered some more I would eventually find a magical door leading to Oxford
Street.
This plan kind of worked and kind of didn’t…
I somehow ended up in the poshest department in the store…the
jewellery department. And although I could see an exit in the distance, I could
sense some smartly dressed sales people closing in on me.
I could have tried to blend in and pretended I was just
browsing, hoping no one would ask questions as to why I was there but…
a) I was alone. Everyone else was in couples
looking at expensive gifts and there were no single men in sight for me to
discreetly follow and pretend I was with them.
b) I could have acted as though I was from an
insanely rich family but I was carrying a rather large Primark carrier bag.
c) This morning I had chosen not to wear any
jewellery at all so probably looked like I needed have a crazy spending spree on
accessories despite the fact I could probably only afford the sales assistant’s
name tag.
The Tiffany’s employee got to me first, Miss Cartier backed
off. As Mr Tiffany dragged me further into the shop I didn’t have the heart or
the courage to tell him I probably shouldn’t be there.
Amidst trying to think of a way out plus also being
distracted by the sparkling heaven around me I merely nodded along to his
questions. Big mistake…I was now looking for a gift for my (presumably rich)
long-term boyfriend to buy me after he’d finished browsing the menswear
department.
“What’s the lucky man’s name?”
I told my brain to quickly think up a rich-sounding name.
“Samuel”.
That would have to do.
“And what kind of gift are we looking for? A ring, perhaps?”
hinted cheeky Mr Tiffanys.
“Oh no, no marriage proposals on the horizon just yet!”
(Perhaps I was getting a little too into this story).
“Then maybe a bracelet,” he said glancing at the single hair
tie I had on my wrist…
“Sure.”
“Would you like to try some on?” Cue the sensation of rising
panic again. I was trapped.
Fifteen minutes later, I managed to break free towards the
exit I had been eyeing up the whole time having made some very poor excuses. I
didn’t have anything sparkly on my arm but I did have a list of shockingly
priced suggestions to give to Samuel who (if real) would be waiting for me
outside with a new selection of ties and credit card at the ready.
