Last weekend at nation-wide department store I was placed in my new home department, department 0305, the department known as Mecca to some and as the Coach Counter to others. As I walked teary eyed with wonder into the back room to hunt down the morning’s first sale (a large black signature soho hobo bag, style 8635) I rounded the corner to find shelves up to 12 feet high and as many as 20 feet long completely stuffed with Coach handbags. There were so many handbags, in fact, that there was a pile 2-3 feet deep on the floor at the foot of the shelves. And I thought to myself “Dare I?” I did dare. I shuffled delicately into the wading pool of soft-tanned leather, their protective garments tickling my ankles and ruffling my skirt. I climbed onto the step ladder and reached up reading each style number “8601, 8609, 8620, 8625, 8634, 8635.” I gently pulled the corner of a bag to free it from its niche. All around me, onto my head, my shoulders, my toes, handbags tumbled down from their lofty perch. I briefly imagined my self as the scantily clad vixen from Flashdance, dancing my iron-welding heart out and in the grand finale of my exotic dance routine heavily throwing myself into a chair and pulling a cord, releasing not water, but hundreds of Coach bags.
My pilgrimage to Mecca will be short, I am only at nation-wide department store hell for a month more, but now I know that like Jennifer Beals, even if it is for just a brief moment, I can really have it all.