Of Antiques and Age

image courtesy of Wikipedia

"How much is this?" I asked the salesperson, holding up a cameo broach/pendant. It was a small, delicate pink seashell set against a gold plating, with a white profile of a elaborately coiffed woman in the center. Just the sight of it inspired feelings of regal gravity and a delicate femininity. On the back, it had a little tag that dated it to Edwardian age. I was smitten.

"30 pounds," said the salesperson hurriedly, before becoming occupied by other patrons, all with more money than a poor college student who was both shopping for herself (when she should not be) and for her family members at home. At this point, I am used to this kind of (what we young people call) "ageism," having encountered it in restaurants in Italy where the waiter took the longest time to serve four college students in sweatshirts and jeans, and in pubs in London where we were asked for ID to prove that we were 18.

Sadly, 30 pounds for a pendant was a bit more expensive than I thought but I was grieved to part with the beautiful object. "Does it come with a chain?" I asked, hoping for some kind of redemption for the price.

She looked at me with a gaze that spoke of weariness from price negotiations and cheap tourists (and students) and answered a resounding "No, the price is only for the broach." With a small amount of grief, I put down the pendant and walked away, cursing the student budget that prevented me from buying things such as cookies or a leather purse in Italy.

But the bright spot was, there were still more stalls to pillage and find the best price. After all, I did not go into London for nothing that day (there was that Picasso exhibit). Mondays at the Covent Garden, a small shopping district in the center of London, was antiques. Stalls after stalls at the marketplace sold everything from antique jewelry, teapots, mirrors, and silver forks. All of the object beckoned to me, especially the teapot, yet sadly, there was no way to buy them and safely transport such fragile objects home.


image courtesy of Wikipedia

And at 50 pounds for a teapot, I was not willing to take the chance. It is the price to pay for being cheap and right now, for being young and relatively inexperienced to bargaining or even really working. Yet, at the moment, there was also another odd juxtaposition. For despite still being relatively young, there is that feeling of kind of growing up.



I am walking around London alone after having deciding last week to go (reasoning that I should go to the Picasso exhibit at the National Gallery but in actually, just needing an excuse to go to London). I boarded the bus alone and navigated the subway alone, without any assistance. Being able to stroll and not having to worry about getting back by curfew, deciding where I want to go and when I want to get there is a kind of freedom that sometimes makes me glad about getting a little bit older and wiser.

Not to mention that I did find a bigger cameo necklace two aisles down that I was willing to pay for (and which I have not been willing to take off ever since buying) and some gifts for my loved ones back home. And of course, getting to walk around Covent Garden, surrounded by music from a live string quartet...So in a way, not a bad Monday.



Britishisms:

• Salespeople are not obligated to say hello to you or wish you a good day. They're not really expected to overtly cater to customers, which kind of makes the whole sales transaction go a bit cold sometimes.
• At the grocery store, you bag your own groceries, which make for a very slow checkout experience.
• "You all right?" = "How are you?" They do not really think that something is the matter with you when they ask you that question, it's just a casual inquiry.