Writing, a solitary profession, has its enormous rewards, but its punishments as well. Residing most of the day in front of my computer, I find myself sequestered from the rest of the world in self-imposed isolation. It’s an odd feeling: Sometimes I feel as if I’m living in a cocoon, out of touch and out of sync with the great flow of humanity. Other times, my sense is of being frozen in time, definitely not au courant with the milestones and experiences of my neighbors and distant friends. Thus, I often lack basic information that everyone else seems to possess in abundance. Compounding this problem is the fact that my husband refuses on principle to tell me any news that falls under the rubric of “tragic” or “sad,” and my exemplary close friends absolutely refuse to engage in any exchange that contains the barest whiff of lashon hara. (The once reliable “grapevine” has been dealt a serious blow by meticulous shmiras halashon observance.) Thus, more than once I have shown up at an avel’s house a week late to pay a shivah call, or have rung the doorbell of a sheitelmacher who made aliyah six months before.
In other words, I’m utterly clueless. Several years ago, when my older son first got engaged, I happened to be shopping in Boro Park where I once lived (having moved to the edge of Midwood, I now tend to roam Avenues J and M more often than 13th Avenue or 16th) and passed a store I used to patronize in my younger years. I was delighted to see that it was still in business, and apparently thriving, as evidenced by the four saleswomen hovering over the showcases. The costume jewelry I had occasionally purchased there decades before had been both beautiful and distinctive, and I paused to gaze into the window to see if there might be a piece appropriate for the new kallah. Rings, necklaces and bracelets glittered enticingly—all of them dazzling—but one particular set of bangles in several different colors made me swoon. I opened the door, stepped inside, and approached the nearest saleswoman. “Wow! I haven’t been here in years!” I enthused. “You have such gorgeous stuff.” “Can I help you?” she asked a little aloofly. “I was wondering how much that bangle is,” I asked, pointing to the window. “The one that comes in all those different colors?” “Fifteen,” she said briskly. Fifteen? Fifteen! I couldn’t believe it.
The bangles were stunning. It’s utterly amazing how real they look, I thought. Why does anyone even bother buying real anymore when the fakes look so great? “That’s a terrific price,” I said. “Since it’s so cheap, I’ll take one in every color.” Suddenly, you couldn’t hear a pin drop in the store. I wondered at the tense silenc that abruptly filled the room. Whereas before the other saleswomen had pointedly ignored me, now they dashed to my side, all smiles and extraordinarily attentive, almost fawning. Although I’m naïve about many things, I can definitely sense shifts in atmosphere. And the atmosphere had become downright charged with excitement. I was acutely aware of the cataclysmic change, but dense about its cause. What was going on, I wondered. It couldn’t have been such a slow day, could it? “If you have a kallah, maybe you want to give her more than just the bangles,” one saleswoman gushed. “Wouldn’t you like to see what other spectacular jewelry we have?” coaxed another. Suddenly, all four saleswomen encircled me tenderly. I felt ambushed, but I didn’t want to hurt their feelings. I had already bought the kallah the requisite diamond jewelry, and didn’t want to insult her with too much costume jewelry. But the three bangles were so breathtaking—and so reallooking—that I couldn’t resist making their purchase.
The saleswomen, however, apparently decided they had an easy mark in their midst and went to work. “This is such a dramatic piece!” one saleswoman picked up what strikingly resembled a diamond bracelet but was obviously cubic zirconia, since this was a costume jewelry store, after all.“Yes, it is,” I agreed reluctantly, succumbing to its allure. “How much is it?” “One,” she said cheerfully. That was when alarm bells finally began ringing, screeching actually, in my head. One dollar for such a stunning piece? Impossible! There must be some mistake. Uh oh. Maybe…could it possibly be… that when the saleswoman airily said “one” she actually meant one hundred? I had to know because I was beginning to believe I had fallen into a deep morass from which it would be painfully difficult to extricate myself. “One?” I repeated with a great pretence at nonchalance. “Yes,” she smiled, “only one thousand dollars. A bargain.” Neon lights suddenly flashed, bursting into a great display of fireworks. Epiphanies exploded in my brain. Wait a second… Something was very wrong here. If this piece which was “one” was $1,000, then what did “15” for the bangles (which I had said with firm conviction that I would take in all three colors) mean? “Uh, I’m so sorry, my head is spinning from the excitement of the engagement, and I forgot what you said the bangles cost,” I said with studied casualness. “Fifteen.” “Fifteen hundred?” “Yes, that’s what I said. Fifteen.” My palms sweated and my heart raced.
When had the store changed from costume jewelry to real? No one had ever told me. Did my friends feel that an account of the store’s radical transformation constituted lashon hara? Did my husband feel that this vital piece of information fell under the rubric of “tragic” news he refused to convey? Unfortunately, the only people who were about to experience a “tragedy” were the saleswomen. Why, oh why, hadn’t anyone ever told me that the famous store had abandoned its costume line a long, long, long time ago? This story should have been reserved for a “Truth or Consequences” column because the incident tested my ethical mettle. I was, alas, in too deep. Shame washed over me as I realized my mistake. I never would have wasted the saleswomen’s time nor heightened their expectations had I known they traded in real gold, silver and diamonds instead of elaborate fakes.
I felt mortified, but at the same time a little gurgle of mirth bubbled up inside as I considered the scene. I wished that I had the courage to tell them the truth, that it had all been an innocent blunder, but I didn’t think they would laugh at my glaring faux pas. They had invested their time—and hopes—on a sale that would never materialize. I wanted to explain and profusely apologize for my embarrassing gaffe, but sadly I lacked the courage. Instead I chose the path of least resistance. “You know, I think that maybe it would be better if I brought my daughter-in-law in to choose. Everyone has such different taste. What are your hours?” I slowly backed out the door, waving and smiling amiably, never to be seen again. Was my face red!
