#109: carabineer skirts, protein yoghurt & patience
in which i waited in line for 5 hours for a sample sale
anyway, welcome back (okay, presumptuous of me!!!) to sent from my iphone with love <3
not a carabineer skirt <3
meditations from the chopova lowena sample sale line
whenever i find myself in dire times, i return to this mantra: you made the best decision possible with the information that you had available at the time. you made the best decision possible with the information that you had available at the time. you made the best decision possible with the information that you had available at the time. this was a lifeline on saturday morning, where i lined for the chopova lowena sample sale for a chill 5 hours.
now, let’s clear things up: we didn’t plan on waiting 5 hours. if it was up to me, we wouldn’t have waited at all, but rather waltzed on in as soon as we arrived. lily and i left the house to catch the 7.39, arriving in deptford at 8.45, a prompt 15 minutes before opening, to find a line that was, at a guess, nearly 500 people long. you made the best decision possible with the information that you had available at the time. this was about the time we realised we’d made a mistake.
but this is how it happened. we waited. we looked around. we tapped our feet. and then time moved and continued to move. we drank our coffee. we looked at other people. we thought, this isn’t so bad. we were at the kilt convention, not a bag was left uncharmed, not a pant left unsheathed by a skirt. we put our headphones on. my thumb flicked across my phone as i looked across a series of apps that i frequently open, and then across a few more that i open every few days. posts were scrolled past, posts were liked. posts were shown to each other and acknowledged with grunts, and sometimes if they were good; smirks. phones were retired to pockets and space was stared into.
i have read other stories about sample sales and closet openings, where the they babble joyous tales of camaraderie and community, people waiting for a bit - sure - but then leaving with heaving piles of the cheapest treasures and bountiful new friendships. this was not our experience.
the queue was covered by a clag of cigarette smoke, pastel hair glowed like headlights in the distance. the girl behind us lighting each vogue on the end of her previous, a human centipede of ciggies. people were getting aggy. we weren’t moving. the tension was rising. there was a certain energy in the air that felt like at any moment something would switch and queuers would eat each other. this fear was not helped by the preference for zombie-ish gabriette style makeup.
at the hour and a half mark, people began to drop out. a girl a couple of people in front left, and then a man with a dog that on first glance could have been a sheep. a few people in front stood a girl in a green puffer. at one point, someone working the sale came and talked to her. the worker said that she would be in and out of the sale by 12, without a doubt. i looked at the time. 10.30. i looked at lily. we shrugged our shoulders. i had reached a flow state, mental bliss. this is my kind of marathon, i thought. i can do this allllll day. 5 minutes later i was impatient and irritable and comparing my lot in life (queueing for a designer brand), to a historic struggle. “the great depression thought they knew queues!” i muttered to myself.
the girl in front, wearing a charles jeffery knitted snood complete with ears and horns, in a minotaur-esque fashion, was delivered sushi from a friend. my stomach hurt. lily showed me her phone. i-d has done a photo series of the queue. people started lining up at fucking 3am.
i left lily to procure supplies. we hadn’t eaten and were hesitant to because we wanted a proper meal at the end of this, but now realised we may forever be here. that there would be no “proper meal” after this, because there would be no “after this”. in my fugue state, blinded by the bright lights and excitement of sainsbury’s after the dogged monotony, i picked up lily’s request (cheese twist, banana) and suffered from temporary insanity when i actively choose a blueberry? flavoured? protein? yoghurt? with? a? WOODEN? SPOON?
back in the line lily had moved forward a couple of meters. i handed her the provisions and saw the other queue standers eyes on us. it was hard not to feel like we were in the hunger games, that we’d just been dropped a package. the girl behind us lit another cigarette. i pushed down the yoghurt. this was survival.
12 came round and we couldn’t see the front of the queue. we looked at each other. it was too late to give up, but too painful to continue. my feet ached, my back hurt. this was hour three. my audio book, a fiction on everyday drudgery, made a mockery of me.
and then, it was 2pm, a little over hour five, and we had made it to the front of the line. the sun peaked out from behind the clouds like a cliche. we were asked to be in a vox pop and answered their questions with the personality of a wet dishrag.
and finally; we were in. the shop floor; a flurry of manic and exuberant shoppers. i scoured the racks. it was not a matter of if i was going to buy, but rather what. i could not leave empty handed. i would not. but, a realisation. a dawning. i was struggling to find anything i liked. why are majority of the clothes fugly?? wait- do i even like the brand?!?!
we left after half an hour of ransacking the racks to catch the last hour of daylight. we strode past the eager shoppers, eyeing us off. i wanted to tell them don’t bother, it’s not worth it, save yourself. but it felt wrong. this was a coming of age that we all had to experience.
we beelined to a byo vietnamese restaurant and necked a litre of asahi whilst we waited for our pho and bun cha. it’s not even 3pm and we’d been driven to drink. from the sale i had bought a hoodie which i liked, but which perhaps i liked most out of the things available to me in my price range. as we ate, i look up its’ original RRP, and saw it was £270. i only paid £95. i did some quick maths; minus-ing 95 from 270, then dividing that number by the torturous 5 hours of waiting. oh. i was paid £35 an hour to stand in line. i have another glug of my beer. £35 an hour to stand in line. i skewer a piece of pork and chew. i’ve never gotten paid that well before. that’s not too bad at all. that’s not too bad at all.
on the way home, a friend texts me about a sample sale next week. immediately i respond,“i’m so fucking there.” let’s make some fucking money.
kissy x x x xx
5 hours well spent I say