THE JOYS AND PERILS OF SHOPPING

© Punkbirder

Although I live in West London, I had never been to Westfield, a new shopping centre which opened at the end of last year. A grevious oversight for more than one reason: non only is it impossible to retain my claim to coolness without having visited "the largest in-town shopping and leisure destination in Europe", but in these days of credit crunch, it is my civic duty to spend my hard-earned cash to stimulate the British economy.

So, having some purchases to make besides my usual food shopping, and being reluctant to travel into central London, I decided to head to the fabled shopping and leisure destination. The location is quite surprising for a place that boasts such a high-end image: it is located between Shepherd's Bush and White City, which is to say between a run-down residential area, a giant housing estate and an industrial area. Not really where you're most likely to find customers for the Prada, De Beers and Armani shops inside the centre.

Now, maybe it is testimony to the plebeian kind of shopping centres I had patroned so far, but when I arrived there, I was surprised to see a valet parking desk, where two people were expectantly waiting for customers. The parking being quite empty, and finding a place next to the elevators being no problem at all, I am guessing they had not had a very busy day so far. But they were very helpful, and gave me ample directions to the toilet. That is, the one one the ground flour of the centre two levels above, not the one located on the same level, which was reserved to their hypothetical customers. For a moment, I felt like asking them to re-park my car, just to be able to see those undoubtedly sumptuous lavatories, but I thought better of it.

As I went on to start my shopping, I soon had the impression I was being observed. I even imagined that one of the sales assistants in the department store where I was browsing was speaking about me to a security guard, but I tried to dismiss it as a bout of paranoia. Well, no sooner had I stepped outside the department store that two other security guards (the first one must have transmitted my coordinates through walkie-talkie) converged upon me. I thought my cover as an international terrorist and spy was finally blown, but as it turned out, the trolley that I had found at the local supermarket and taken along, expecting to have a lot to carry, was not allowed outside of the confines of said supermarket. When I asked why such a ban was in place, all they could say was that it was the centre's policy (they repeated it quite a few time, as if the number of iterations could somehow make up for the lack of details...). I briefly weighed my odds in a trolley chase through the arcades (I watch too many movies, and after all these gym sessions, I tend to over-estimate my athletic abilities), but I had to relinquish my treasured vehicle, luckily still empty at that point, and was left to speculate for the reasons behind the iniquitous edict. Maybe they want to promote their "handsfree shopping" service, where for a fee, a member of the concierge team (I know!) will collect your purchases after you. Maybe they think that the trolley would hide the labels on the beautiful designer carrier bags, and deprive them of a well-deserved source of advertising. Or maybe they have access to some recent study which has discovered that the World Trade Center towers were in fact brought down by supermarket trolleys, and the planes were only a clever decoy.

Be it as it may, I must say I was not overwhelmed by that first visit. As slick as they try to be, they don't seem to have got it just right yet, and I probably won't go back there in a hurry. Of course, having the nagging suspicion that I have been judged too white trash to be a valued patron doesn't help...

EDIT: I actually went back to Westfield two days later (a long story - even for me), and spent like a drunken sailor. I have no shame!