What Happens When I Shop Alone

In the past two weeks I managed to get one flip flop stolen from a pack of wild dogs at the beach and my watch broken in half. So today I went to the market.

After finding myself a bright orange watch and some pink rhinestone-adorned flips flops (everything seems to be bedazzled here), I wandered into the jeans department of Marché Sandaga. Mind you, this outside market comprises of an overwhelming amount of merchandise crammed onto tables and stands that line the sides of buildings and overflow into the busy street.

Somehow I thought shopping for jeans here was a good idea.

Started off by seeing a man with a tall stack of jeans. Goodness knows how, where, or from whom they acquire these clothes—everything from hot European brands to Old Navy. Lots of brands from lots of countries = reaaaally interesting time finding your size. Unfortunately I’m not up-to-date on my waist size in Britain, so I had to wing it. I eyeballed the sizes and got a small selection of pants, and finally the vendor conceded to my request to try them on somewhere.

I was instructed to follow him, and he led me about 5 stands down to this little cove behind another table with jeans on it. The table was a little lower than waist high and looked out onto the busy street, traffic slowly rolling past, people walking by every second, scanning the merchandise on the table. There were racks with t-shirts hanging on either side behind the table, probably both about 6 feet high. And this was my changing room. Thank goodness I wore a skirt today; otherwise the people on the street would’ve gotten a REAL show. Even so, privacy and modesty were both pretty short in stock at this joint.

And just to put some real icing on the cake, I was shopping for skinny jeans nonetheless. If you’ve never had the experience of trying them on—oh boy. They’re usually stretchy, quite snug, and almost impossible to get on at all…forget even trying to do it gracefully. It was like putting on jean tights. Really fun to do in a public area.

Just to be sure you get the full picture, there were people watching from behind on the street, not to mention the crowd of other vendors--all men--that had congregated to both see if the jeans fit, and if not, offer their own product as an alternative.

As it turns out, I’m not too good at eyeballing my size in jeans… so the whole peanut gallery that assembled watched me do the hip-wiggle-and-hike to try to get these darn pants up. After much effort and little success, they started making “jayfondae” comments (see Some Funnies blog post… but basically saying my butt is too big/I’m too fat). Always a good confidence booster when pants shopping.

Finally, I managed to get these pants up to my waist, but it was very clear those babes were not going to fit. Or rather, they fit fine—nice and snug—as long as the zipper was splayed wide open with the buttons practically on different sides of my body. Perfect.

I broke the bad news to my friend—they weren’t going to fit. This man was on a mission, though. He was going to make these bad boys fit. I think I fully realized his determination for the first time when he bent down and actually tried to zip my pants shut for me—“Wait, let me just show you—they fit!” he says.

Whoa buddy. Pretty sure we’ve known each other maybe ten minutes. I don’t think we’re at that level of friendship yet where I’m going to let you button my pants for me, thanks. Very thoughtful of you, though. Geez.

When he finally ceded victory, he told me, “It’s just because your thighs are too big. Buy em now, lose ten kilos and they’ll fit perfectly.” Man, they really know how to sell it to you here! The customer service—I tell ya!

At long last I actually found some pants that fit and was even able to check myself out in the mirror in the nearby electronics shop. Gold. Bargained down to less than half of the original price he asked me, made my purchase and came home happy and exhausted.

Ran upstairs to show my 18-year old sister my new pants… and found out I still paid more than twice as much as I should’ve. And managed to lose much of dignity in the process.

You just can’t win.