What Fresh Hell is This?

You must think the old chicken is getting soft, but the truth of the matter is this: I decided to spend Sunday indulging my sister-in-law's desire to shop. This woman is a world class shopper--relentless, focused, dogged, determined. She will break you like a stick for a $5 discount. She will drive 30 miles out of her way if she can get a better price on a product than is available one block from her home. It's the pursuit of the deal, it's the principle of executing a great price. It is an art. And it is an exhausting venture for those of us who are rank amateurs in comparison.

She had already earmarked multiple destinations she wanted to see in Manhattan. On the top of the list was the mother (fucker) of all shopping hell meccas--Century 21. Century 21 is a pile of retail just across from the World Trade Center site in lower Manhattan. The original edifice was destroyed on 9/11 forcing many fashionistas and quite a few stylish gay men to commute to the Century 21 in another borough (in this case Brooklyn) until the flagship store was rebuilt in 2004. When it reopened, there was much rejoicing from the masses..and the resumption of the Armageddon that is a shopping experience there.

Once you fight your way past the tourists shooting photographs of the construction site that was the former World Trade Center, you enter into the long sloping doors of this ivory hued edifice that fronts Century 21. It is a riot zone. There are stacks of handbags piled up like cords of wood. There are 20-something girls wrestling over pairs of DKNY sunglasses. There are men plowing through bins of Ralph Lauren underwear. Clothing is stacked in dense aisles so narrow that you'd have to purge your previous meal in order to pass through them. The designers are on parade, for sure, and shoppers vigorously pass over each hanger, eying labels, discount prices and their competition who are breathing over their shoulder for a chance to snap up the leftovers. It's brutal, man.

But the designer clothing and bags have got nothing on the shoe department at Century 21. This is the true guerrilla war zone.

Once you master the intricate pathway that is the insider's route to the basement of Century 21's shoe department, you are greeted with a buffet of discounted and beautiful shoes: Delman ballet flats and Stuart Weitzman stilettos; Prada pumps, Valentino sandals, Michael Kors mules. It is beyond dazzling. You have to dig through boxes relentlessly and you must be prepared to wage your most ardent battle against intruding enemies, but should you emerge victorious with a pair of Fendi golden slippers, you are truly empowered.

I'd like to say I emerged from the shoe department victorious, waving a Chanel slingback over my head but in fact I hobbled up into the light in fatigue and pain. I clutched a purchase under my arm, but I did not gloat for I knew it was heavily discounted; This was not due to my skill, but owing to the natural order of the "discount coupon." Waiting for my sister in law to meet me I realized with a dash of steely middle aged horror that I had lost my taste for retail blood. I did not want to battle women half my age for a discounted Agent Provocateur boy short hidden in a jumble bin in the lingerie department. There are reasons some people would simply rather pay full price. It's nice when you can afford to and essentially a surcharge not to have to deal with other shoppers.

When my sister in law finally appeared, even she--the Xena of Shopping--was spent. She had taken on her adversaries and they had worn her down. While she had scored some respectable buys, they were won at a hard cost: "I didn't even get to the shoe department," she said bitterly. I would consider that most fortunate.