After seeing Central Park and Dylan's Candy Bar on Saturday, what else was there to do that could possibly top these things? I know, let's go to a store where the merchandise is so expensive that NOTHING has a price tag on it. And so, it was off to Tiffany's.
At 727 5th Avenue in the heart of downtown Manhattan, sits Tiffany & Company. It is the stinkin', filthy rich person's Wal-Mart. There is floor after floor of high-dollar jewelry, watches, accessories, and gifts. Tiffany's has elevators - and athletic looking men dressed in designer suits operating those elevators. There are sophisticated security cameras on every wall, and security officers, also dressed in $500 - $1,000 suits. They swarm every inch of every floor.
Every display case in Tiffany's is filled with exquisite, sparkly things that no working person could ever afford. And yet, the Saturday afternoon I followed my two Decker women into that place, there were more shoppers crowded onto those ritzy display floors than will likely be in Times Square on New Year's Eve.
I assume that most of them were like me. They were either sucked in through the large revolving doors by the lure of a warm place to stand, or else they followed one or more loved ones inside to make sure that nothing of any great significance was acquired. A single Tiffany's purchase carries with it the potential of sending one's credit rating into an unrecoverable nose dive.
Since Tiffany's had no sections marked, "Sporting Goods," "Hardware," or even "Electronics," the only other place a man could go was the area marked, "Men's." However, in Tiffany's there are no restrooms that are marked as restrooms. They are, instead, known as the, "Men's and Women's Comfort Lounge(s)."
This sounded very good to a chilled-to-the-bone southern boy who just wanted to get away from the shopping crush. I should have listened to my recall of Daddy's voice. He warned me so many times in years gone by about things that seemed too good to be true. Once again, he was right.
How disappointed was I when I found the "Men's Comfort Lounge." It was, in reality, a very small men's restroom, with only one porcelain fixture of each variety. There was no attendant, and not even one flat screen TV mounted on the wall with ESPN's "Game Day" blaring through the speakers.
Some comfort lounge.
This Georgia boy proceeded to extract all the "comfort" this little lounge could afford. He then tried to reach the wife's cell phone. While the intent was simply to leave her a voice mail, what a pleasant surprise it was when my little buttercup answered the phone. "Where are you?," I asked. I could hear in the background what sounded like a noisy herd of angry bison all around her. She shouted into the phone that they were on the second floor with all the diamond and pearl necklaces, and that they would be through shopping in just a little while.
After explaining to her my dismay with the, "Men's Comfort Lounge," I informed her that I was retreating to the great outdoors, and would, thus, be standing out on the sidewalk in the freezing cold waiting for them to finish. "Don't hurry," I told her - which really means, "Aren't y'all ready to go yet?" She assured me that they would not be long - which usually means, "Cool your jets, son, we will be in here at least another three hours or so."
I hung up the phone preparing myself for a long, bitterly cold, wait on the sidewalk.
When my two sweet shoppers finally emerged from their journey through this equivalent of a retail Disney World, Sarah suggested that we, "walk this way." That kind of veiled instruction usually meant trouble. This time, it meant that we would walk several blocks in an Arctic Northwest wind - so that we could stroll through the lobbies of both The Plaza and The Waldorf Astoria hotels.
Great suggestion, Sis!
Those two grand, old, hotels were magnificent!
Some areas of the two lobbies were roped off to the general public. Those were reserved for the actual hotel patrons/guests. The other sectors of these two gargantuan lobbies contained gift shops, lounging areas with couches, large, comfortable chairs, and small cafes. These were a welcome sight where weary shoppers, tourists and other pedestrians could rest their tired, aching feet.
And, of course, it was also the perfect place to get yet another a hot cup of coffee and a bagel. As I sat there resting my 55 year old carcass, I must confess that I actually began to think that these Yankee folks were not such a bad lot after all. I mean, not even Guitar Center back home (MY retail Disney World) gives you couches and lounge chairs.
When you do finally visit NYC, make sure you take the time to go through both The Plaza and The Waldorf Astoria.
Also, be gracious enough to allow the women folk with you to go on and have their Tiffany & Company experience.
It will make you SO thankful for Sam Walton.
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