The problem at Eaton's

Eddy Elmer

Personal Article, 1996

We hear the commercials endlessly. They all begin so... melodically. "Eaaaaaaaton's, weeee want to be your store." Well these days, I get the impression that Eaton's wants to be my store just about as much as Claudia Schiffer wants to be my girlfriend.

At first, I was mesmerized when George Eaton, president of the venerable company, held a press conference in which he announced restructuring plans. It was sad to hear that a Canadian institution was suffering so many woes.

So, being the great guy I am, I thought this weekend I would drop by Eaton's and do a little shopping, just to show my support. Yeah well, o.k.. I only wanted to buy some watch batteries, but that's better than nothing, right? After all, Rome wasn't built in a day.

I arrived at the watch department, looked around, but didn't quite seem to find what I needed. I did, however, see three nice salespeople who obviously had nothing else to do and would, I figured, be more than delighted to serve me.

So, in efforts not to seem overanxious (I didn't want anyone to think I had a desperate need for batteries over the weekend), I stood patiently, looking at the lovely pattern of tiles on the ceiling. I started counting.

Three hundred and fifty seven. That's how many tiles were up on the ceiling. I counted three hundred and fifty seven. All perfectly flush to one another. All beautifully installed. Such craftsmanship.

I stood there like an idiot for over fifteen minutes, while they all stared at me—as if I was a schizophrenic morphine addict staring at the sky and waiting for gremlins to save me this one last time. But do you think any one of those Barbies would come over and save me some embarrassment?

Nnnnnnnnnnnnoo.

Well, to hell with this, I said to myself before walking up to the Queen Barbie.

"Excuse me, miss. But do by any chance carry any watch batteries?"

"Why, yes, sir, of course we do."

I stared at her for ten seconds. She reciprocated. I lifted my brow. She lifted hers. I made a funny twitch with my nose. She bit her bottom lip. My God! We could have gone on forever. There was nothing but sheer silence and our intimate exchange of facial gestures which, if prolonged any further, might very well have turned into a carnal episode right there between Children's Apparel and Housewares.

Finally, I decided to make the first move... again. "Oh, fabulous!" I said. "Could you please tell me where?"

"Oh!" she cried, feigning innocence. "They're right over... there."

She waved her finger in the direction of some locale directly behind me. But as far as I was concerned, she could have put that finger elsewhere, because when I turned around, I saw sunglasses, hats, luggage, men's briefs, and an elderly lady secretly running from counter to counter and spritzing herself with every perfume sample she could find. But nooooooo watch batteries.

I looked at her again. "I'm sorry. Where did you say those watch batteries were again?"

"Right over... there." Again, her finger flailed in some direction behind me.

"Over there?" I asked again.

"Yes, over there."

"Oh, over there! Silly me."

But hell, she could have been pointing to the whole damn store, because I did not see any bloody watch batteries!

Fed up, I strolled around the counter behind me, three times, pretending to look for watch batteries. I was hoping she would make the next move in our relationship and physically walk with me over to the magical counter which housed those precious watch batteries.

But no. I turned around slightly, looked at her from the corner of my eye, and instead noticed that the run in her nylon was more engrossing than the customers.

I was such a sorry sight that a customer actually patted me on the shoulder. "There, there," she said to me in a comforting voice, "I know it's hard. It's hard for all of us."

"But all I want is watch batteries," I said, tears streaming down my cheeks. I sniffled. "And she won't help me."

"I know, dear. I know. Maybe you should go back to her and talk to her again. Maybe she'll understand."

At this point, my simple expedition for watch batteries was turning into The Dating Game. I had to win this woman over before she would even give me the time of day.

I mustered up my courage, checked my breath, and walked back over there, shoulders back and chin up. I looked her right in the eyes, took in a deep breath, and with every single ounce of confidence... broke out in the biggest, loudest sequence of sobbing you have ever heard. I dropped to my hands and knees, and begged her, "Please, miss, please just tell me where my watch batteries are."

I thought I had done it now. I thought I had finally won over her stone cold retail heart. I looked up again. She smiled! I felt a connection between us. I blushed. She brushed her hair away from her face. My heart pounded. Her breath deepened. My pulse raced. Her eyes widened. My body tingled like it never tingled before. She helped me off the ground and then looked into my eyes. I moaned in anticipation of those watch batteries. And then it happened—the most memorable moment of my life came when we both tensed and with all her passion she turned my body around and said, "Over... there."

And then, as if timed by the heavens, that melody once again echoed throughout the store. "Eaaaaton's. We want to be your store…"