You Better (Not) Shop Around...

Back home, retail workers will robotically ask if you “need any help finding anything” when you waltz into a store, and when you tell them that you’re “just looking” (even though the truth is that you are looking for something specific), they leave you alone (and in some cases neglect you completely) until you seek their assistance. There are advantages and disadvantages to this system, (as well as to the once-a-minute dressing room check-ups), but for the most part I have always been content with doing my shopping without much assistance from a salesperson, and I would venture to say that most Westerners agree with me. The thing is, we don’t want to be bothered when we shop unless our arms are buried in clothes and we are in desperate need of a dressing room.

In Korea, however, it seems as though people genuinely wish to be helped when they walk into a store, and the salespeople are more than willing to accommodate for this desire. What they fail to recognize, however, is that while Koreans evidently want special help when they enter into a store, Westerners just want to be left alone. Even if I had the verbal ability to tell a salesperson in perfect and polite Korean that I would prefer to just have a look around, I think said salesperson would still be utterly confused by my meaning. Having “a look around,” doesn’t appear (at least on the surface) to be a common practice. Mindless, aimless, therapeutic shopping is apparently not a popular Korean pastime.

What this means is that unless you’re in an exceptionally busy store, you are going to get followed so closely by a salesperson that if you make an abrupt stop, he or she will apologetically run into the back of you. Under normal circumstances, this person won’t say anything (presumably due to the language barrier), but it is always uncomfortable, and I always feel compelled to (a) look faster, (b) make a decision quickly, and (c) buy something.

And this is exactly what happened to me unexpectedly within my first week of arriving in the country. I was on a quest for a hair straightener, as I did not want to bring mine from home due to the voltage difference. It was my intention to “shop around” as Americans are wont to do before making an official decision about almost anything. There was a large electronics/appliance store near my school, so I decided that this might be a good place to begin my pursuit. When I waltzed in, I was promptly greeted by no fewer than six salespeople who were huddled together near the entryway; evidently I was the only shopper that afternoon. One of the six was apparently up for a challenge, so she broke away from the pack to try to help me, even though we had no common language with which to communicate. I attempted to explain to the woman through broken words, caveman-like grunts, and full-body gestures that I was simply looking. “Earphones?” the woman guessed in our 30th second of what felt like the longest and most exhausting “conversation” of my life. At this, I put forth my resignation and began straightening my hair with an invisible flat iron. The woman understood what I was seeking immediately and shuffled me up three escalators to the hair appliance section. Safely escorted to my destination, I expected to now be left alone to ponder my decision; I was not left alone, however, as the salesperson dutifully remained by my side like a loyal Bloodhound. After maybe 60 seconds of comparing products under pressure, a small Korean man appeared at my side, bowed his head, and handed me a cup of green tea. “Kam-sa-ham-ni-da!” I said as I took the cup with both hands and a head bow. Still under the surveillance of the salesperson and now having just received an overt gesture of hospitality, the pressure to make a purchase had mounted even further. At this point, I only had two options: 1) I could drop my tea, run down three flights of stairs, and hold on to a vague hope that Koreans think that all Caucasians look alike so that none of the salespeople would ever recognize me again, or 2) I could sacrifice my instinctive desire to compare prices/products and shell out 45,000 won (about 40 bucks) on a hair straightener in order to salvage what small amount of pride and dignity I had left. I chose the latter…


The fruits of my labor...

Having now grown accustomed to the practice of being followed whenever I enter into a shop, I have come to accept it as a part of my shopping experience. However, while you eventually get used to it, you never feel comfortable with it. Kelly, Diana, and I went shopping last weekend, and while I successfully managed to find entirely too many things I wanted to buy, the pleasure that normally comes along with the act of shopping was at least partially replaced with anxiety whenever we walked into a shop. It’s always awkward when I merely touch a shoe, and the salesperson immediately asks what size I want and demands that I sit down to try it on. Since I have neither the stamina nor the syntax to put up a fight, I submit to her demands, try on the shoe, leave it on my foot for long enough to feign an interest, avoid eye contact as I hand the shoe back to her while letting out a soft, guilt-ridden “a-ni-o,” bolt out of the store immediately, and enter into another shoe store so I can do it all over again…


Sometimes the shoe fits...