You would think that I would have learned my lesson. That I would have refrained from shopping the day after my near breakdown at the mall. Wrong. See, I knew that it was just a matter of mindset, timing and company. I did learn quite a bit on Saturday (by the way, never go to Old Navy on $1 flip flop day).
So on Sunday, I grabbed my bestie and favorite shopping partner, who also happens to be my mother and we headed out. After what I had been through on Saturday, I needed something new, organic, unpretentious, an escape from the plain-vanilla neighborhood in which I am blessed (but oftentimes bored), to live in. I was to find that there’s no better place than a flea market.
100,000 square feet of sights, smells ( I admit, not all pleasant), colors and casual, working class folks all trying to make a buck on the weekend awaited me. Oh yeah, this is my kind of place.
Inside the first booth, I’m immediately attracted by the sparkle of dozens of pairs of earrings hanging from a rack. $2 a pair. Bargain. The Latino owner doesn’t speak English well and I’ve forgotten nearly everything my grandad ever taught me (he’d be displeased, but other things are on my mind now), so we can’t make a deal over the pile of jewelry I’ve accumulated, but there’s plenty more bargains to be had.
Next, two old men try to sell me an $8 necklace with the guarantee that it’s a lifetime chain. Unbreakable. And since we’re in this fine establishment of a flea market, I believe him. I mean, he has even cleaned his own lifetime chain with engine grease and nothing even happened to it.
I pass on the necklace.
It gets better. I talk a lady down on two items–2 for $20. Feelin’ good.
A Vietnamese immigrant makes a sorry attempt to sell me a gold gangster chain, but I know if I don’t practice some degree of self-control, I’ll leave the place looking like a bona fide chola, blonde hair and all.
Making my way back into the skinny aisles, I realize that I need to pick up the pace–the sharp points on the boots of the chicano behind me seem like they’re about to stab me in the back of the leg. I round one more corner right before the exit. As I walk by, the salsa music puts some more pep in my step. What’s that? A candy counter? Mom and I both decide we earned a giant piece of fudge(to split of course).
In the parking lot, we make up for it. She buys some organic produce off the back of some old man’s truck.