Teen Times Kate FergusonIt happens together sometimes. The craving for coffee and the unwillingness to pay for it. One such day I happened to be in the company of Hugh, a theatrical and quick-witted friend.
The sparkly displays and sweet fragrances engulfed the senses as we entered the doors of an upmarket department store. We ascended to level five and morphed our personas from first-year arts students to newly-wed nouveau-riches. I became Clíona, an ambitious upwardly mobile professional who felt a little undermined by Marv, her strong-willed husband who expected her to be a Stepford wife as well as a successful career woman. We had just bought our own apartment, and needed a coffee machine.
Marv wore a leather jacket and a neat covering of cool confidence. Clíona was up for the laugh. Improv happens to float my artistic boat. We're busy people, we explained. We want this machine for spontaneous entertainment where quality is matched with efficiency. It must be self-cleaning. "Clíona's the coffee expert here," Marv guffawed as I gave him an oh-so-theatrical push. "Stop it, Marv."
The conversation continued for several minutes. Marv was the epitome of restraint. He was here to get on in life. Purchase of a coffee machine just happened to be the first step. Clíona, though equally enthusiastic, failed to stay focused on the task. She had to turn to look at various models as she attempted to hide the mirth that accompanies first-time buyers.
Like all successful career women, she pulled it off. She inquired about filter paper and asked whether any model had a latte function. (Incidentally, the answer was no.) Having looked at some pricey models (quality being paramount) Clíona and Marv each gratefully accepted a full cup of coffee to sample.
We still planned to "look around", we told the exceptionally patient sales assistant, who did not deserve to have her standing-from-nine-to-five leg pulled. Clutching an aromatic Styrofoam cup each, Marv and Clíona departed.
Marv and Clíona have made a reappearance looking for an eau de parfum for Marv. They have sampled fragrances but have yet to find the perfect one. They plan to go shoe shopping next.
I cannot morally justify the ridicule of commercial mannerisms or the exploitation of helpful staff. What I can do, though, is communicate the potential that exists in all of us to step out of ourselves every once in a while if it means achieving a worthwhile goal. Or simply a cost-efficient, jovial dose of caffeine. We are so confined to our social roles, so sure of our boundaries, that sometimes we forget that we are, in fact, our own puppeteers. It took a joke to justify and identify this freedom to me.
In later years, when I publish my self-help book, I will recommend pseudo-shopping as an elementary exercise in realising potential. If life is a stage and we are the actors, let us take our scripts into our own hands.
Kate Ferguson (19) is in first year at Trinity College, Dublin
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