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But It Was On Sale!

Sale is a word that I cannot resist. Make that into a warehouse sale and it has the same power over me as chocolate ice cream. That explains why a friend and I were recently at a crowded warehouse on a non-descript boulevard in Massachusetts.

There, organized by color and on crammed racks, were several thousand blouses and sweaters all of which promised, whatever their actual price, the inestimable value of flattering women in middle age.

No soft music, no atmosphere, just racks and racks of wearable goods at one-third the price they go for in stores.

We were, as is always the case in such situations, on a quest as fruitless as the knights of King Arthur’s roundtable in their pursuit of the holy grail: the quest for the ultimate bargain.

And suppose I find it, the bargain to end all bargains. How will I know it is truly the one? Is it like the late Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart’s description of pornography? He said he couldn’t define it but knew it when he saw it.

Stewart had it absolutely right. Ultimate bargain hunting is one level, simply a problem of identification, but I am never sure if the reduced merchandise I am clutching in my hand is the ultimate bargain or if, by giving up too easily, I am leaving the real treasure on the racks for someone else to find.

So the impetus is to keep going, reaching over the other eager hands, prying out a hangar with a blouse on it for further inspection, determining whether it is worthwhile keeping for the try-on room or whether you can just slip into it in a more or less private corner of the warehouse and check it in one of the infrequently spaced mirrors.

Decisions, decisions, decisions. And there are lots of them: are the best things on the racks? In the discard section of the dressing room? In some back room where they have not yet been brought to the floor?

On that warehouse floor, beyond the clothes, there was an impressive gathering of what the French would call women of a certain age, each embodying an approach to the eternal problem of recreating the bloom of youth.

Colored hair of varying tints, some designed to recreate what shade the hair once was; some clearly saying this is my time to do it the way I want regardless of what you think of this color; and some hair that was just hair, grey or snowy white, saying I am what I am, get used to it.

Cosmetics ranged from none at all to believers in the immortal dictum of beauty-product queen Helena Rubinstein: “It doesn’t matter how shaky a woman’s hand is. She can still apply makeup.”

However we looked, we were all there for the same reason: to beat the system, to get it for less. But in fact we were part of the system, purchasing the merchandise that hadn’t sold to make room in the warehouse for what the next seasons offerings would be.

And of course, the bargain becomes more important than the actual merchandise. Does this blouse actually look good on me? Or am I buying it just because the price reduction is too impressive to pass up? Haven’t I told myself many times I do not look good in yellow? Why then am I clutching a bright yellow blouse with a dramatic price reduction in my hand?

When I get home I will likely look at that blouse without the bargain frenzy of the warehouse and wonder what I was really thinking.

Still, sooner or later, no matter how inappropriate the purchase was, I will wear it and some kind soul, taking pity, will say, “What a nice blouse.”

The smart thing to say in that situation is a simple “thank you.” But pride in a bargain, or maybe just to explain the unflattering color and style, I have to add something else. “Thank you so much. I got it on sale!”

Rita Christopher is a senior correspondent for Shore Publishing who writes occasional columns.