Shopping chronicles
There I was, discussing the merits of fried corndogs versus baked corndogs with my gay best friend on the phone while driving, when I braked to a halt in front of the mall as a sign unfurled from the skies — okay, more like the top floor — like a bright, shining beacon. “Mall open till midnight!” the banner blared in bold, red typeface.
“Talk to you later,” I said to my friend without even allowing him to conclude his monologue on which species of corndog reigns supreme (fried, obviously), snapped my phone shut and smoothly maneuvered my car into a nearby parking spot and wandered into the air-conditioned confines of SM Makati.
Christmas carols were playing (one of which by one of the greatest singing groups that ever lived — Alvin and the Chipmunks) and every available surface was covered in tinsel and signs painted with magical words such as “clearance sale” and “50 percent off.” It was mid-December of last year and I was tragically behind on my Christmas gift list.
I walked up to a smiling, bespectacled lady in blue and tapped her on the shoulder.
“So is that sign, like, for real?” I said, showing off my oratorical skills honed through years of being a member of the high school debate team.
“Which sign?” she asked politely.
At the moment, we were surrounded by at least a dozen covered with brand names and reduced prices. I shook my head. Duh.
“The sign outside says you’ll be open till midnight.” Like an idiot, I pointed in the general vicinity of the banner.
“Oh, yes, that’s right.” She smiled.
I breathed deeply and muttered under my breath, “OMG.”
Most people wonder why shops that are open till midnight — or any shop for that matter — are worthy of notice.
Well, some people like to do Pilates or competitive ping-pong; others prefer to smuggle in a couple shots of tequila before noon (no judgment), while I like to go to the mall and hunt for bargain finds. We all have our vices. It’s just more difficult for someone like me to get some quality time with my favorite hobby simply because I have odd sleeping hours. Often my head will hit the pillow at around 6 a.m., so by the time I get out of bed, force myself into the shower and manufacture some semblance of decency (clothing-wise) more than half the day is over. Which leaves precious little time for malling.
Shopping — whether actual, which involves the use of plastic or ATM-fresh bills, or just the window variety — is my therapy. I prefer to do it alone, unencumbered by a certain mother who insists I fit frumpy dresses that make my bosom look like linen-sheathed torpedoes or friends who chatter ceaselessly, while I attempt to concentrate on the racks of BCBG Generation or Tokidoki.
Walking around SM Makati, one of my favorite places to shop, is like being lost in an oasis — one jam-packed with bargain-priced goods that change so often that each time I come back there’s more for me to discover. That kind of oasis beats a puddle of water any day.
Lest you think I’m some rich spendthrift that throws away her money like Paris Hilton does her virtue, well, think again. My account is so depleted the ATM machine makes a weak sound of protest each time I make a withdrawal. That’s why bargain hunting is such a thrill.
Finding something nice and worthwhile after going through racks and racks of clothing and accessories — and one that’s cheap to boot — is like wending your way through a triathlon: cycling past harried shoppers who prefer to do the expeditious in-and-out shopping, swimming through shelves of apparel in order to find the Dress With Potential, and making that last sprint to the cash register before the little pealing bell sounds, signaling the end of shopping hours.
It’s not only the fast fashion that draws me to SM, like the affordable apparel from the teen section (trust me, there’s plenty to find) that follows the latest trends, but the reasonably-priced local designer labels they’ve cultivated over the years. Among many, Cesar Gaupo’s collection of classic frocks at prices that can’t be beat never fails to impress me.
SM, understanding that, in this day and age, every consumer wants some range, has provided mid-range labels for more upscale customers. Here Tokidoki hoodies emblazoned with playful pink scribble on the back mingle with Max & Cleo and BCBG generation dresses on the racks. When I was hunting for purses for a party, I found an oversize clutch by Chinese Laundry in patent with a braided trim. It was surprisingly sleek and so very now. I took it out for a party and found myself — or more like my purse — at the receiving end of numerous compliments.
As soon as I knew that SM would be open till midnight, I went home that afternoon giddy at the thought of all the Christmas gifts I’d be checking off my list thanks to the extra hours the store would stay open.
“What’re you doing tomorrow night?” texted my gay best friend (who from hereon shall be referred to as GBF) as I drove through Makati’s congested streets.
“Shopping,” I typed back surreptitiously, avoiding eye contact with the MMDA guy a meter ahead who was giving me the evil eye. (“Must get darker window tint,” I immediately wrote in my planner.)
“Can I come?” was his instant reply.
“Fine,” I replied, sighing. I gave GBF a break from my shopping rule since he lives abroad and we only had so much time to bond over various fried, processed meats.
The next day, I woke with a groan and a feeling of dread. I groped in the dark for my phone, knowing — after spending most of the night and not-so-early morning indulging in DVD marathons of Laguna Beach and The Hills and craploads of sugar-laden treats — that it was way past even the most tolerant of insomniac’s waking hour.
My phone glowed in the dark. Eight thirty p.m. read the digital clock.
“Crap!” I said, remembering my plans and errands for the day, as I grabbed a towel and scurried to the shower.
As soon as I emerged from the bathroom, fresh-faced and moisturized, my phone began beeping from unanswered messages that had lingered unopened for far too long in my inbox.
“Hey, what time we meeting up?” wrote GBF. “Good morn, when shall we meeteth?” joked GBF an hour later. (We’d just sat through a DVD of Shakespeare in Love the other night.) “Why the hell aren’t you answering my messages?” was the irate fifth text from my at-the-moment not-so-best gay friend.
I punched in GBF’s number and hit the call button. “What’s your hurry?” I said in the most condescending, I-didn’t-just-wake-up tone I could muster. “No one likes an eager beaver.” (The best defense is a good offense, so they say.)
After listening to half a minute of histrionic shrieking on his end (something about my not caring about his schedule), I finally interrupted. “Listen, SM will be open till midnight. We still have an hour to catch dinner — or, in my case, brunch — and then shop till we drop.”
The other end quieted. “Okay, fine, as long as I get to choose the restaurant,” GBF replied in a no-longer-sullen voice.
“No prob,” I answered. “See you in thirty.”
I grabbed my bag and headed out the door. “Mom!” I yelled as I walked past her bedroom, “I’m going shopping. Don’t wait up.”
My mother emerged from her room. “Where are you going to shop at this hour?” she said, pointing to her watch.
“SM Makati,” I said. “Didn’t you hear? They’re open till midnight.”
And I sailed out the door, humming a Christmas carol. If memory serves me right, it was Hula Hoop by Alvin and the Chipmunks.
