Quote de jour

“Fashionable women are unlikely terrorists. Put a bomb in Birkin bag. I don’t think so.”
                                                                                                   ~Layla Morgan Wilde
“Bargains are something you can’t use, at a price you can’t resist.”
                                                                                                -Franklin Jones
 

I like bargains. Who doesn’t? I picked up a pristine vintage Chanel bag years ago for $40.00 that I still use and love. But sometimes a bargain isn’t a bargain as I recently learned on a trip to Toronto, Canada. Every trip to Toronto, my former home is a frenzy of visiting family and friends. Multi-tasking is the order of the day. On my second day of a four day trip, I thought my mom and I could spend more time together and I could see my niece C. again at the thrift shop she works part-time. Throw in some bargain shopping. Bonus.

We chatted as C. showed us around the supermarket-sized store replete with grocery carts. My eagle-eyes scanned for hidden treasure. I’m not certain why I have a gift for finding bargains. Maybe it’s my art college training which trained the eye to see. Maybe it’s my interior designer or photographer’s eye for detail. Maybe it’s my intuition but give me a half price clothing rack, a flea market or yard sale and I zero in on the bargains, barracuda quick.

 A large Hermes style scarf caught my eye. The feel, pure silk. The whimsical design of Roman ruins was by Kenneth Cole. Granted not Hermes but a bargain at $3.00. I draped it over my arm and kept looking. Mom wandered off. C. needed to attend to business, leaving me alone. Not a minute later, Eureka! Hidden in a jumble of tacky, vinyl bags lurked my prize, an elegant, vintage crocodile handbag also $3.00. I would never buy a new croc or any endangered species even if I could afford the four-figure price but one I couldn’t resist.

(see photo).

If anyone can date the bag, I’d appreciate it. It has a deco clasp with the maker’s mark Aero.

With my new/old bag hanging from my wrist, I happily went in search of mom and C. Before you could say The Crocodile Hunter, I heard my mother scream. I ran to the next aisle to watch the scene unfold in slow motion horror. A shopping cart barreled down the aisle at full speed. It happened too fast to stop it. A young boy, not more than seven years slammed the cart  Kamikaze-like into my mother’s back. Mom, who is well into her 80’s screamed like a banshee.

 The boy’s mother was no where to be seen. When she finally showed up she didn’t even apologize. I saw red and a litigious side of me that I didn’t know existed reared it’s head.  When I saw my mother in pain, the first thing I thought of was lawsuit. The second thing was I’d been living in the U.S. the most litigious country in the world too long. “What is your name?” I asked the mother. She refused to tell me.

“I’ll only tell the police,” she said.

 “I’m getting the manager. Don’t move.” I said like Dirty Harry.

My mom sat down while I searched for C. the assistant manager. She refused to get involved. The store manager refused to do anything. I called the police. They said it wasn’t a criminal matter. The boy’s mother, a South Asia immigrant looked nervous. There was walk-in clinic adjacent. What to do? Did I want to play vigilante and maybe ruin someone poor immigrant’s life with a lawsuit? Or take my mom to the clinic. We both choose the clinic. We left without getting that woman’s name but I’ll never forget her or her boy with the mischievous, brown eyes.

The crocodile handbag hangs on a hook in my home, unused. It reminds me of pain and trauma. My mom still complains of backaches. In the karmic scheme of things, doing the right thing is always in fashion. Anyone want a slightly used crocodile bag?