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Show Mapunmntaiflnii ,cSf esQ(Dini Xjrp by Nan Chalat Catalog shoppers miss out on a I the fun Last month I finally came to grips with our overflowing magazine basket and threw out at least a bushel basket full of Christmas catalogs. But no sooner were they gone when the flood of spring catalogs began. I have been dutifully collecting them, as I always do, and now I am back where I began with an overstuffed magazine rack, so plump it won't stand up. I don't know why I find it so hard to part with L.L. Bean's latest brochure, it isn't much different from last year's, or why I hesitate to toss The Sharper Image's offer for a home electronic security system. And I don't know why I horde Harry and David's catalog of lush fruit cakes and Spiegel's collection of tropical island resort wear. I never order any of that stuff . Sitting in an armchair picking out pictures of merchancise and filling out order forms is not my idea of shopping. In fact, it doesn't sound like any fun at all. Shopping is supposed to be a social event, an excursion and, at its best, an adventure. Ideally it involves two or more friends sallying forth to find new hunting grounds, better bargains and an exotic place to have lunch. Frankly, I don't trust those catalogs. I always suspect that there is something they aren't telling me about the item in question, that the brass fixture is really plastic, that it comes disassembled without instructions or that the waistline in this particular style is located mid rib cage. Of course, you can send the disputed item back but that seems horrendously complicated. I prefer to handle the merchandise before I i buy, to squeeze the Charmin whenever possible. I like to try on things I can't afford and then model them for a second opinion. I pester salespeople with questions about warranties and their opinions of the quality of the products, and I love to search for sales and mark-downs. When I am feeling low, leafing through a catalog doesn't make me feel any better. But getting some kind attention from a local sales clerk always restores my faith in humanity. I still have a pickle-barrel notion of what a store should be like. It should be clean and well kept but not so organized that a veteran bargain hunter can't hope to find a slightly dusty shelf holding items which haven't been repriced since the onset of inflation. And it should be the sort of place people like to hang around in. The salespeople should be attentive atten-tive but not obsequeous, and clever enough to say what you want to hear. Best of all, I like the old cash stores around the country which carry everything from canned peas to rubber boots, from knitting needles to fishing tackle. There a shopper can find just what he needs at a good price and can pick up a share of the local news too. "You still workin' for that paper up ta Park?," asks a shopkeeper I haven't seen for two summers. And right then I know I will buy something just because it is so nice to be remembered. I'll admit that shopping locally has spoiled me. I know I can take the wrong size back even though I've lost the sales slip and I know that these neighbors will stand behind their goods. In return I like to do my part to keep them in business by spending my paycheck as close to home as possible. ' I still read those catalogs when I'm bored. But when I'm looking for adventure I head up to Ma in Street |
