Looking out my Backdoor: An interactive shopping spree

Growing up in tiny Harlem, Montana, local shopping — and there was no other kind — consisted of small individual stores for every need. A monthly trip to town and women could stock up on groceries and perhaps check out what’s new at the clothing store.

For breakdowns and tractor parts, back in the day, we had a plumber, an electrician, a couple hardware-variety stores, three farm equipment places, two car dealers and an insurance agent. For all things cowboy, we had a saddle shop. Hey, what more does one need?

Let me not forget catalogs. Do you remember catalogs? Such excitement and hours of enjoyment when fat wish books appeared in the mail boxes.

A few years later, a trip to Havre became normal, rather than a rare event. Imagine, whole blocks of stores of every variety. Eventually, on top of the hill, wonder of wonders, a mall. Under one climate-controlled roof, national brand names, everything one needed or desired.

Independent small stores struggled. Strip malls with boarded windows and closed doors began to resemble gap-toothed first-graders. Malls had it all and became social centers, places where friends gathered for a meal, for coffee, just to sit around a fountain and gab.

What brought on my reflections was a conversation with Denise who now lives in the Portland area. We were talking about the Lloyd Center, at one time one of the most exciting malls in the entire northwestern region. Even such a jewel as the Lloyd Center is looking bedraggled, like something chewed up and spit out.

Why go to the mall when one can sit in one’s recliner and with one click buy anything in the entire universe. Probably. If one has enough money.

I dislike online shopping. I do it. I recently bought a waffle iron online. I knew what I wanted. It was easy. And for something such as a waffle iron, actually makes sense, but that is because I know not one of the small tiendas in my town carries such an item. Books, yes, I buy books online.

Where I have to draw a firm line is shopping for clothing. Tempting as it is, I grit my teeth and click delete. I speak with the voice of grim and bitter experience. That beautiful blouse will not be the same color as pictured, will not fit the way it fits the model, and will probably not be cotton as described. Or linen. Or wool.

I’m sensitive to synthetic fibers. It’s hard to find cotton clothing. Even jeans have something mysterious added. If an item has a thread of cotton, the descriptive tag can read “cotton.”

Think about it. I’ll bet in a short time I’ll be able to stand in front of my computer and ask it to dress me. “Show me what this blouse #A73b9plmK will look like on me.” And magically, the blouse will appear as if I am actually wearing the item. “Uh, OK, please show me the same item one size larger.” “Good. How about green instead of blue, please.”

I’m not sure how I’ll deal with the fiber content of the blue/green blouse but I’m sure some genius will find a way for me to virtually feel the fabric.

Oops. I am so far behind times, a jet plane could not catch me up. Here I thought I was being so futuristic, so forward thinking, only to learn my futuristic fantasies are already here.

My daughter told me when she buys glasses, she sends her photo to the online site “store” and from that, she can “try on” glasses and choose the frames she likes best. She said they have apps for trying on clothes. They are here now.

I’ll wait. I want to be able to instruct the computer to give me my appropriate size but please shave off 20 pounds and 30 years so I can send pictures to friends of the wonderful blouse I just bought online!

I’ll wait until I have a completely interactive computer. When I ask my interactive buddy if this outfit makes me look fat, it will reply, “Never, my love.”

I will stand in front of the all-seeing computer eye each morning and chant, “Mirror, mirror, on my wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

My sweet interactive computer will reply, “You, my Queen.”

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].