» HADOUKEN « Leisure Lou's Life of Luxury
With two days until Christmas and one gift left to purchase, I found myself short on time this week. Instead of scrambling to put together some non-sequitor-riddled stream of conscious blabber loosely related to fashion, I've decided to publish a satirical short story I wrote a few years ago lamenting the state of marking down fashion retail. Unedited, I hope it reads well. (My apologies in advance.)
Happy holidays.
* * *
The moment Lou’s alarm sounded, a mid-century relic of no discernible brand name he casually found at Brimfield while hanging with his “downtown friends” a few months prior, he had already made up his mind. Today was going to be different.
There was nothing special about this random Friday in January, but Lou was determined to make the most of it. He was determined to evoke some sort of emotion opposite to that which he usually felt in his oversized Lower East Side co-op before heading uptown for another soul crushing day in the office. He was determined to feel alive.
As a rising star at Gotcha Capital, a fixed income fund with approximately $34 billion under management, Lou had already achieved (in his mind) “Master of the Universe” status and fucked The Man many times over. Hell, he was The Man. As such, he decided he was not going to the office that day. Instead, he was going to spend the day shopping—shopping for luxury.
Excited, he threw on his favorite casual winter gear: the club promoter starter kit. Stacked distressed denim, a pair of white leather Common Projects he scored off some guy facing foreclosure on eBay a few years back during that whole credit crisis thing, buffalo check flannel shirt worn open exposing a Miles Davis tee underneath and a leather moto that he purchased on his quadrennial hajj to Woodbury Common last summer. He completed the look with a black wool beanie worn slightly askew and aggressively hanging off the back of his head. Nothing could stop him.
Shooting for the stars, hoping at the very least to land on a cloud, Lou decided that his first stop would be Mercedes-Benz. It being January, Lou couldn’t even imagine the kind of deals that would await his arrival at the German automaker’s flagship Manhattan location.
Upon his arrival, and much to his chagrin, there was no one to greet him at the door. “It is only 9:00, and I am the first customer on the lot,” he thought to himself, not to be deterred by his disappointment. So he pushed on, through the spotless glass facade, right to the center of the sales floor. Like a lamb in a lion’s den, he wandered about for a minute or two before he was finally approached by a man in his mid-forties who bore a striking resemblance to Agent Smith of The Matrix.
“Fine morning to be looking at the world’s finest driving machines! My name’s Jo…” he stated with great exuberance, although cut off by Lou before he could finish his cold open.
“Tell me about your winter deals. I had a great 2013, and even though my bonus doesn't hit until March, I got a problem spending before I get it,” Lou replied, flexing his financial girth while simultaneously quoting the great Kanye West.
Sensing a whale, Joe—or was it John?—broke out the big guns. “Well congratulations to you, my friend. A big year calls for a big car. This here is our finest luxury sedan, the S600. Six-liter engine, V-12 with 523 horsepower. You could hardly drive this bad boy a solitary block without turning a few heads.”
“Say no more. I always wanted an S600! I’ve been eyeing it for a while. I know it retails at $160,000. But seeing that it’s January, I assume last year's model is at least 60% off. That puts us at $64,000. Why don’t you tell me about financing options. Oh, and can you have someone bring me a bottle of water—just thinking about driving this beauty home has given me a lump in my throat—I’m finally going to own an S-class Benz!”
Mortified, Joe-hn was at a loss for words. Never in his 15 years at Mercedes-Benz had anyone ever spoke to him with such assertive absurdity. He laughed. And laughed. He laughed until he his chest hurt. He laughed until he fell belly-over, the way people do in insurance commercials but never in real life.
“I am appalled by your behavior, sir. If my money is no good here, I’ll have you know that Mercedes-Benz Manhattan will receive a one star review on Yelp as soon as I get home," Lou tried to scream but barely mustered through his shivering, anxiety-ridden lips. "I will dispose of my hard earned money somewhere else—where the staff is more appreciative of my business."
Pirouetting 180-degrees, Lou headed for the door so quickly that he almost crashed right through the plated glass panes separating the real world—his world—from this ridiculous prison of a car dealership. Still trembling, Lou gingerly removed his iPhone 5S, recently acquired with a shrewd-yet-risky exercise of his upgrade discount upon news that the next generation 6 would be further delayed, and ordered an Uber X. His wait was a bit longer than expected—a mere inconvenience seeing that they were running a 20% promotion on cross-town travels—so he walked one block east, away from the crime scene, in an attempt to remove this morning’s episode from his mind.
“Forty-ninth and Fifth, the Cartier store,” Lou pompously ordered from the back of a 2012 Chevy Suburban. It was no S-class, but it would have to do. He certainly wasn’t going to walk the 1.1 miles that separated him from his next stop. And the cross-town bus? Heaven forbid.
Lou’s spirits were immediately lifted the moment he caught a glimpse of the window display. Stopping only for a quick second to take an Instagram of the perfectly symmetrical red awnings that adorn the timepiece mecca’s frontage, Lou burst through the front doors with a reinvigorated spirit. Wasting no time, he muscled his way through the droves of tourists and over to the men’s collection. Waiting for him was a pretty, yet incredibly basic, blond woman in a two-sizes-too-tight pencil skirt polishing her rectangular, thick black spectacles—the kind one would see on a gigantic six-frame Cohen’s Fashion Optical advertisement from the late ‘90s.
“I’ve had my eye on the Ballon Bleu Flying Tourbillon for quite some time. But I know those have become really hard to come by these days. Hrm. I’m also OK with the Tank Solo. I mean, a Cartier’s a Cartier, am I right?! So maybe why don’t we just start with you giving me a breakdown of what you guys have on sale. It’s January, after all!”
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not quite sure I understand what you mean by 'it's January, after all," she replied, her voice trailing off as she stepped from behind the counter.
Shocked, Lou invoked the power vested in him by the state of the internet. "Nevermind, January. Everyone knows you can find any watch online for at least 30-percent off it's MSRP. Let's avoid any more awkwardness and just assume that your current stock is marked down to that paltry--insulting, even--amount."
"Sir, I am very confused here," she countered. "You must have us mistaken with someplace else. This is Cartier. We do not have sales. And if you can find any of these timepieces online for a discount, you are free to purchase them there with no service warranty or even guarantee as to its authenticity."
Confused, fIghting back tears, Lou stumbled backwards. He slid out the door and unto the street. Who are these people? He thought to himself. Surely this must be some sort of prank, some worldwide collusion to prevent him from achieving happiness.
Down on his luck, Lou meandered through midtown aimlessly for the better half of the next hour. Making his way further and further east, he remembered that one of his all-time favorite department stores had just opened a new flagship. With two strikes against him, Lou thought to himself, "what do I have to lose?" So he stepped back into the batter's box, opened his stance and prepared to take one last, big rip at the first pitch he saw.
He was greeted by a beautiful yet years past her prime associate--the type of woman whose Facebook photo isn't criminally representative of herself but certainly wasn't taken within the last five years.
"Welcome to Mr. Bloomdorfey’s 3rd Avenue," she shouted from across the room, so excited by the prospect of a sale that she could hardly wait for him to arrive within an appropriate conversational range.
"Please, I beg of you: show me the discounts! I have been searching for a deal all morning. Anything would do. Thirty, forty-percent is all I ask. Please...!"
Who is this guy? Doesn't he know that it's January? Doesn't he know that the entire store is 60 to 70-percent off?
It took a moment for his apparent obliviousness--or was he just desperate?--to settle in. Once it did, a smile flashed across her face.
"You've come to the right place! Shall I take your coat? Would you like a glass of champagne? We have loads of marvelous items I'm just certain you'll find something that suits your fancy. Those are just lovely sneakers you are wearing--where did you get them?"
Lou exhaled. Everything was right with the world.