Lulling Labels and Knowing Glances

As the patrons walk in they feel the cool air of humming, whirring fans above the entrances, the fans which are meant to keep buzzing flies out and which unintentionally can represent the entrance into a world all its own. The sound of sliding feet along the ribbed entrance carpet provides a very different walking texture than that of the rough, industrial sidewalk outside near the cars and smog and heavy air. The air of the Target feels shocking to the lungs at first, while it is still heavy, it feels and tastes clinical and sharp and clean. The red carts up ahead are organized slightly haphazardly pointing out the avid use of them by the customers. Mothers walk in carrying babies and diaper bags and purses and other utilities necessary for the everyday mom. Young children sometimes hold their hands, either squirming, or walking patiently awaiting the arrival of the rarity that is a warm, salted pretzel from Target. Occasionally, a father will walk alongside these families as well but it varies because perhaps there are single parents, or perhaps the father is off from work or got off early or it is the weekend. Any of these are possibilities, but with any of them, it is clear that families are a major percentage of the people coming and going through the seemingly psychic automatic doors marked with the white noise of fans and rolling noise of ribbed carpets.
All along the walls behind every aisle, are pictures of people. The people smile like dolls all placed in happy places; some are surrounded by fitting and colorful clothes they love, some are sporting flashy and reflective sunglasses they love, some are glad to be able to buy fresh produce free of bumps or scratches placed on either side of them. This joy plastered on the walls, though fake, dissipates the stress caused by frantically running errands; it provides reassurance to be surrounded by positivity. I am filled with hope, personally, to see pictures of smiling people; it makes me optimistic and helps me remember that there are happy times other than the times when stress lingers behind me, reminding me that it is still there.
There are shoppers amongst the iridescent shampoo bottles with lulling descriptions. There are shoppers amongst the jewelry organized by color and material, beads shimmering in contrast to the white shelf and feather earrings floating away from the shelf. There are shoppers amongst the soup cans all with bold text and colors reminding one of warm and comfortable Thanksgiving dinners.
The main noises past the entrance and through the aisles, are the conversations made by the customers. Every part of every sentence can be heard if the listener makes a point to pick out the thoughts spouting from the mouths of eager shoppers flowing through the aisles. The syllables are heard, the consonants are heard, the vowels are heard. One woman with a grating, throaty, droning voice, advises women on picking out the proper shade of makeup for their skintones, abruptly and bleakly telling one of the women to look at other brands as her skin is too light for the shades being observed. A young man with a bouncy, energetic voice asks swiftly yet articulately about which phone charger would fit his cellphone best. An elderly couple speaks to one another in voices like a soft, worn pieces of leather, the words gliding out of their mouths expertly. A business man looks uncomfortable and out of place while he speaks into his bluetooth factually and sharply, saying that a project “needs to be completed by the end of the week or we’re all in trouble,” leaving the passersby in the shampoo aisle in suspense. A multitude of languages drift in and out of aisles: most often a bubbling and trilling Spanish is heard.
Not just voices are heard. The castanet-like, sassy tapping of a woman’s cowboy boots has swiftly succeeding clacks on the white tile floor while she rushes through the aisle. Guttural, moan-filled, wheezy -- a newborn baby’s soft cries attempt to be mighty as the mother of the baby pushes the cart along. Shifting carts squeak like a fork on a china plate when the cart is moved without the help of the wheels.
When I walk through the store, I get progressively colder as I further myself from the door and delve deeper into the frigid environment. The cold is not bothersome--though it sometimes gives me goose bumps--because with the passing of other customers, a warm, lived-in wave of air brushes up against my face and through my hair. This is like walking into a beam of sunlight on a sunny, yet cold day; it is energizing. This wind can also bring a wafting smell of perfume, whether it be caustic and overwhelming, or fruity and subtle. I sometimes like to imagine what is happening in the passing customer’s life based on their appearance, the smell of their perfume or cologne, and what is inside of their cart. Through all of the sterility and emphasis on consumerism, there is a definite connection shared with fellow shoppers. As shallow as it sometimes seems, the true appearance of Target to me is the people within it; I may share a funny comment or moment with someone next to me in an aisle, or with unspoken words agree with someone on how great a movie is while in the entertainment section, or knowingly smile at a woman watch over her child in the toy section while I as well try to reign in the exuberant energy of my five year old sister while she is surrounded by all of the toys she “needs.” These connections and eye contact with people are comforting because they help to let one know that they are not alone in the stress of finding a perfect birthday card, or hunting down the right size light bulb, or searching for food the whole family will enjoy.
The checkout is where one notices these connections most; the journey is over, and people let out shaking sighs in relief that the errands are completed. Customers waiting in line look out at the juniors’ clothes and the women’s clothes and the dressing rooms and the men’s clothes and the cards section and the children’s clothes and the produce and the makeup and the pharmaceuticals. The lines are mostly silent while everyone decompresses after a long day, but there is no shortage of glances between the check out aisles and between customers and workers, silently saying “we made it together.”

-Lucy (per 1)