Shopper armed with cellphone seeks advice that rings true
By Beth Teitell
Thursday, November 13, 2003
When a medical emergency strikes, you call
911. Everyone knows that. But what about a Saks emergency?
Whom do you call when you've just spotted a Longchamp backpack that literally would change your life, but it costs much more than you should spend on an accessory (or, for that matter, a coat)?
Like a prisoner trying to decide whether to dial a lawyer or a family member for her one call, I, too, had an important decision to make. Clutching my cellphone, I considered my options:
I knew my best friend J. would say ``yes,'' but because she would say ``yes'' to anything (``J., I'm thinking of dipping into the kids' college fund to buy eye cream, should I?'' `Yes'') I was reluctant to go ahead on the strength of her blessing.
I could call my mom, but since I hear her voice in my head anyway when I'm shopping, a call would not only be redundant, it was likely to result in a nonpurchase, since that's what the voice was telling me.
My husband happened to be on an airplane at that moment, and because I was racing to beat a day-care deadline (while still shopping), time was of the essence. With the annoying new security measures in place, I knew I couldn't count on US Airways to radio the pilot and tell him to page a passenger to deal with a situation unfolding on the ground.
The person I really needed to talk to was my other best friend, S., who's both thrifty and indulgent. But since she'd just gotten off the phone with me so she could run a meeting with her biggest client, I restrained myself.
That left only J. or my mom. ``Can I put this on hold?'' I asked the Saks saleswoman.
She smiled. ``It's beautiful,'' she said.
That's not the half of it, I thought. With that backpack, I'd be a serious person - a philanthropist, maybe, or secretary of state. It would jack up everything: my hair, my coat, my job.
I thought about the price. Yes, it was more than I should spend, but not more than I could spend.
Going against my better instincts, but trying to protect me from myself, I called my mother. She answered my question with a question. ``Have you gone online yet and looked at that backpack I told you about (at the discount site)?''
Uh, no, conveniently I'd forgotten completely about the discount Web site. ``I'd look at that first before buying anything at Saks,'' she said.
She was right, and I knew it, but I couldn't help but feel I'd blown my one call.
I left the store empty-handed as my bag was returned to the shelf, waiting to transform some other woman's life.
Later that day, when S. was finally out of her meeting, I called her. ``How much was it?'' she asked. I was embarrassed to say the number out loud, but I told her anyway.
``Oh,'' she said, ``I thought you were going to say $1,000. Then I'd have said we should think about it. But at that price, you should definitely get it. It's an investment.''
An investment, why of course. I knew I had called the wrong person.
