why do you care? i'm sure you can pretend that i don't know it gets better. just be nice and play along until the wig story. we all need our horizons broadened anyway, and art takes time. it'll cost you, but the clues are there if you're looking. and looking -- good in pants, that is -- means trying some on every once in a while.
august 30, 12:10 p.m.
"hello, woo. your sign says that you open at twelve, but the doors are still locked and the sign isn't flipped. we're sitting across the street at solly's with portland and we want to buy things at your store."
woo is the name of the vintage store on 28th and main, not of the proprietress who isn't answering at the other end of the line. (chinatown is later.) but there's enough on the next ten blocks not to have to worry just yet so we walk.
12:20 p.m., lines clothing (3793 main st.). they've got a really handsome knit wool zip up in cream with a pheasant on the back and a hunter-with-rifle above the front left pocket. the tag wants 120, but based on the time the sweater's been hanging on the rack the man at the register is willing to go down to 105. still too rich for a first stop single item purchase. and god! there's a little gold purse on a chain strap that ian and i use to practice our cab hails, but 55? bc really does stand for bring cash. ian finds an ivory sateen dressing gown for 10. some girls have all the luck.
12:40 p.m., front & company new and consignment (3772 main st.). the menswear section could stand a revitalization. and a mirror. ian makes sure to remind one of the clerks to tell her manager. grace makes it to the fitting room with an oversize short sleeve button up in yellow and black cross check plaid. ian insists on darting, but i think that it's supposed to be smocky and say so. a no, then. later, front.
one-ish? jared is taking grace to work at 1:40 and it's agreed that we still have time to get down a few more blocks and back to woo, so it's one-ish. i don't need a smartphone. i have speculative recollection. eat it, BlackBook. we hadn't planned on antiquing, but i can see an old sash on a dressmakers dummy through a door we pass and want to put it on. 75. probably not that versatile. it's good we came in, though, because the the sash pales to the novelty of a pair of steampunk goggles and a kkk robe. they're asking 175 for the "knights of columbus" costume. i may be lapsed, but that cross isn't catholic.
1:10 p.m. c'est la vie (3247 main st.) is always a winner, especially for accessories. two years ago they sold me a purple paisley d&g tie for...15 maybe? it's also the shop where i found a vintage wilson overnight bag for just 20 bucks. i should probably give c'est la vie some credit for bringing us over to the purse side. i grab the auburn scarf off the lady display model as soon as i'm inside. i'd like it for less than 10, but it's perfect, even in rayon. good thing, because there isn't much else. but no shade on c'est la vie. it's not the best season to be looking for decently priced sweaters or jackets.
loft is next door and upstairs. everything costs too much, which is suspicious for all of the missing labels. jared still convinces us into convincing him into the cardigan. true, it matches the button up, and the button up fits. that's what you pay for.
woo (4366 main st.)? it's by the car and the bikes, so we're headed back toward there anyway. i'm crashing from too much coffee (a vancouver theme, it seems), so i don't get too excited about anything. neither of the two airline bags are exactly what i'm looking for. too bad i won't have time to get to value village. at least the owner recognizes jared and acknowledges his call. i think they have a different inventory online, too. grace scores, though...though i'm not going to do this garment justice in description. it's about the same length as the smock at front, but fitted, all black, and with feathered puff flares on the shoulders. like i said. some girls.
1:30 p.m. time for to grace to fly away and for gearing up to get down to chinatown for the canvass shoe hunt.
beer.
3:15 p.m. main st. at pender. the store we're looking for, the store that sells the cheap canvass shoes, is purportedly somewhere around here. a friend in portland got a white pair for 5, but grace says you can score some for 4. jared and i try two stores on west pender without luck. there are shoes at the next place we try on main, but nothing so simple as we're looking for. i decide to ask for help.
"do you sell those canvass shoes here?"
"no, no."
"do you know where i can find some?"
"i look like i know chinatown? why you don't look around?"
"ok. thanks."
"welcome."
a younger woman at another store is more helpful. (we've now been pretty much all around the intersection.)
"i know those shoes. they were really popular when i was younger. you should try a grocery store," and she tells us to look on pender west of main. right on, gracie.
it's obvious that there aren't shoes for sale at any of the specialty herb stores, and nowhere else looks much like a grocery. jared suggests we pop into a souvenir place that i'm almost already past, and good thing, because they had them. 6.99. i'm not going to try to haggle, especially since we weren't even offered a discount for being on our honeymoon. two pairs each. black and white. that comes to 15.44 for everyone who forgot about the harmonized sales tax. you've got that going for you, portland. god bless oregon, land of the free and home of things that cost what they say they do on the price tag.
3:47 p.m. ian rejoins us, and we ride the overpass on dunsmuir, i think, to granville st. that's where the h&m lives. the real jewel of the west. i don't feel so whining and provincial about insisting on getting there while i'm in town after having heard another guest at the house, a lady from winnipeg, talk about doing the same thing. can you believe that the story about the frozen horses from that guy maddin movie is actually true? also, i say that i just need underwear and socks. apparently a coat, too. and a cardigan. there's an impossibly skinny guy (really, it seems impossible that anyone could be this thin) trying on shirts and jackets at the same mirror as i'm using, and i want to tell him that nothing's going to fit, except maybe the small underwear. i'm glad i go with a pack of mediums, and am close to making the wrong choice until ian opens some smalls and wraps a pair around my neck. there's a security tag on the package that i'm afraid is going to shoot ink or something. says ian: "the bag's just plastic, tranny." there's a security tag on the floor.
4:22 p.m. downtown is making me crazy now. i wait in the checkout line. goddamn sales tax. some advice: don't buy anything from the jon kortajarena ad campaign. it'll sell out right when it goes on sale where you live anyway, but you'll be happy that you missed out when you see the three dozen twinks that got one of those sweaters all on the same day.
i want to be at the house. we take the escalator down from the h&m menswear section to where we can get out of the store and out of teeming pacific centre. there's a stand of three lady mannequins to the right of the end of the escalator. what do you know? the wigs come right off. they're long and blond with long, straight bangs. if none of the hats that jared's passed me today have fit, this wig isn't going to either. better judgment hasn't stopped me trying before. i really don't want the tape on the underside of the wig on my hair, but i do want the too small wig on my head. "how hard do you think it would be to steal that?"
i've already thought that step ahead of ian and should already be walking toward the door, but i don't even get the thing on my head before i get stopped by a "uh-uhn guys." maybe someone saw the underwear fitting on a camera. the queeny floor guy makes me put the wig back on the mannequin as i explain that i was just looking for a price tag. "they're not for sale." "well i saw a label under there. where can i get one?" "sweden." hmm.
there are probably magnetic sensors in the ugly barrettes on the wigs anyway, but i think it would have been better to get caught outside the store. that way i have a solid excuse as to why i won't be able to make it back to the states on schedule. but i think also that jail isn't as much fun as i'm having, wig or not, and i don't expect they'd let me keep it just for my trouble. plus, i have to meet people at kickball in robson park at six.
4:40 p.m. japa dog. it's a thing. another canadian cart-made-good restaurant story, but in japanese and about hot dogs. pay attention, portland.
4:59 p.m. i'm burping radish from the daikon oroshi on top of my tofu dog and blaming caffeine for how much i want everyone else to get off the sidewalk. it's probably their fault. but damn, girl, you sure am filling out the back of them pants. pack your shit and get thee to the park.
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