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Showdown at the Slowdown "Smile When You Buy That"By Rick Horowitz
The wind was tumbling out of the north like some wild mountain cat, majestic in its power and fierce in its appetites. It blew across the asphalt plains with a December fury that stopped for no man -- not even for the lanky figure slowly approaching from the west, stride after confident stride, squinting into the pale morning sun. Not even for the man they called: The Shopper. The Shopper had set out long before daybreak, riding straight, riding hard. Now he covered the remaining distance on foot with a cool sense of purpose. He paused for only a moment, hitched up his belt one final time and pushed back the doors to the place they called: The Mall. "He's here!" The whispered words echoed off the festive walls, raced down the crowded corridors. There were others who came here, but they were no match for the man with the steady jaw and the steely gaze. He was, they all knew, a breed apart. "Shopper, you're a breed apart." But The Shopper had better things to do than engage in palaver with the hoi polloi. He noted the respect in their eyes and kept moving. To his left, a shop window, bright with seasonal wares. To his right, yet another. The shopper looked at both of them. But he kept moving. There was a murmur of disbelief in the crowd. They'd seen The Shopper visit The Mall for years -- it was as much a tradition as those endless strings of red and green lights. But those other years, The Shopper didn't just look at the windows. He went into the stores that sat behind them, and he cleaned them out. He bought, people said, like buying was going out of style. "Didn't you used to be Wild Bills?" The boy had approached him gingerly, admiration and awe battling for control of his reedy voice. The Shopper was a legend around these parts, even to the young ones. Now he stopped in mid-stride, and probed the youthful face for any trace of reproach. Finding none, he offered up a tight, tired smile. "'Used to be' was a long time ago." The boy stepped back, his courage exhausted. The Shopper moved along -- another window examined, another store ignored. Suddenly, from behind him, he heard a rustling sound. The Shopper turned, and there he was: Doc Holidaysales. Doc Holidaysales had run The Mall for as long as anyone could remember, and he'd done all right for himself. (Better than all right, some folks said.) Now he stood there, not 20 feet away, his legs set well apart, his arms hanging casually at his sides. The Shopper considered his options. Then he spoke. "What's up, Doc?" "I knew you'd be back," came the measured reply. "I knew you couldn't stay away." Doc's grin was the grin of a man without a care. He kept the grin plastered there on his face, even as he worried that The Shopper would see right through it, to the panic lurking just below. "So what's on your list? And don't make any sudden moves." Slowly, The Shopper brought his right hand to his pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of yellow paper. It was all for show -- The Shopper knew his list by heart. "I need some luggage," he began. "Soft sided, plenty of pockets. One of those fleece coats with the big collar. A bread machine. A digital camera. A CD burner. A couple of video games. And a bunch of them lacy, frilly things." "You got a girl, Shopper?" But The Shopper still had one thing more to say. "And I want it all at 80 percent off." Now the grin was gone from Doc Holidaysales' face. These were the very words he'd been most afraid of hearing. His tried to keep his voice calm. "You can have it at 50 percent off, like everyone else." "I said 80." "You know I can't do that, Shopper! You're gonna put me right out of business!" Now it was The Shopper's turn to grin -- just for a second, then he turned deadly serious again. "Not my problem," he said. "It's 80 percent, or I walk." "And miss Christmas? You're not man enough to walk! You know you want that stuff, and you want it now." Doc stared at The Shopper. The Shopper stared at Doc. The crowd held its breath. "Sixty percent," Doc hissed. "And I'll throw in the gift wrapping." Nobody's sure what happened next. Some said The Shopper went for his credit card. Some said Doc went for his pen. Whichever way it went, everyone agreed: It wasn't pretty. Posted 12/3/02. Get
the best of the season -- any season -- from syndicated columnist Rick
Horowitz!
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Rick Horowitz
