I’M SORRY YOU’RE BLIND, BUT BRING A FRIEND

My significant is very smart but occasionally she dons the cape of the mistress of malaprop.

“Did I just say that?” she has been known to ask.

I’m not sure if this proclivity is a direct result of the brain and mouth simply not working in harmony or what. Is it an inclination or a predisposition? Is it a tendency? An innocuous leaning?

No matter really.

What it is is funny as hell.

Just the other evening we were talking and my beloved reluctantly conceded that she had endured a trying day in the salt mines. (My words, not hers).

She works in retail and has for nearly all of her gainfully employed life.

This, by the way, is a whole different world.

Retail.

Retail clothing and crafts.

Gifts.

You have to be smiling, upbeat, patient, compassionate, conciliatory, tolerant of poor taste and questionable self-perception, a liar.

“A liar?” you wonder.

Well you don’t bald-faced lie to make the sale or anything but there are times when the truth is shaded a bit.

“Do you like it? I think it looks great on you…” when really you’re about to hurl.

Or, “yes I think that can work…” when deep down you know there’s no chance in hell of this happening.

Or, “that will look just right on the table you’ve described to me in your breakfast nook…” when in your mind, nothing could be further from the truth.

But since there is no accounting for the taste of others, you push along.

Cheerfully.

When on the inside you’d perhaps like to either pull your hair out or set the customer on fire.

So on this particular day a visually impaired — okay blind — woman arrived in the store to do a little looking around, if you’ll pardon me.

(She can see shadows as evidenced by the fact that she tried to pick up something from the floor at home I’m told; it was a bat).

A semi-regular customer, she was by herself.

My darling who actually manages the place and essentially runs it, approached and greeted her warmly as is her natural bent.

Little did she know that this day’s experience would be like no other.

If the store houses one item, it has a thousand.

In other words there are many, many things offered for sale.

Over the span of a grueling 45 minutes, the woman had my girl walk her around and give a thumbnail sketch of no fewer than 50 products.

“What is this?”

What is the backstory to that?”

“What colors are prominent in this scarf?”

“What’s in it beside silk?”

“Tell me about the kind of wood from which this lovely decorative piece is made.”

“What are its measurements?”

“What can you show me for my husband?”

And on and on and on.

Finally the woman departed without making a purchase.

Even the deepest reservoir of patience and compassion can require an infusion of sorts to maintain its level.

This must be done before it runs dry altogether. And it can be accomplished in a variety of ways.

Some eat, some drink, some smoke, some exercise, some read, some listen to music, some go to the movies, some refill their prescriptions, some get new ones, some do all or a few.

You understand.

For my life-partner it was a matter of asking a simple question and making a recommendation.

And in this case, the mistress of malaprop cast aside her well-earned moniker in favor of being rather direct.

“Where the hell was her husband?”

And “listen, I’m sorry you’re blind but next time bring a fuckin’ friend!

[Editor’s Note: This piece was written by Mr. Kaplan in November 2016.]