Silver Store

Wyona and I were trapped in a store that sold silver jewellery decorated with Haida or Tlingit icons. We looked in cabinets more than once. Wyona finally shed her soft Italian leather coat, which more than one clerk has admired during this voyage. She put it on the floor and I piled my fleece and utilitarian rain coat on top, since it was uncomfortably hot to shop. “Put your coats on top of the show cases,” the clerk said.

... I can't decide on just one ...

“No,” we bossed her back. “Then we won’t be able to see all of your product.” I finally picked something out and having the clerk put it aside, while I just went through the cases one more time. Wyona was doing as well as I. Other customers kept coming in the door. The clerk would help them, come back to us, then back to them and finally said to us, “I am short staffed today. Just go behind the counter and take out from underneath what you want to look at. Undo the locks on the showcases and look around.”

“I am not going to do that. What will happen is that other people will come into the store, think I am a clerk, and I will end up selling product instead of buying what I want.”

“She does that,” Wyona warned, “and you will have to give her a commission.”

Yes, we stayed in the store too long. Yes, we purchased more than we thought we should have. Yes, we know where the clerk is from, how long she has been in Canada, how many children she has, who owns the shop, it it makes money and why her husband is in the hospital. Yes, there were tight hugs when we left the shop. “Please don’t go without giving me a hug,” she said to both of us. I don’t know how Wyona creates the warmth, but I am lucky to get in on it.

Arta