Shopping Rage
Looking back, it probably wasn’t a great idea for Dad and I to go shopping for shoes after school. We were both in irritable moods, and for both of us work was to blame. I was no longer shaken at what happened at the park, I was just really angry for getting involved in the whole sleazy piracy thing. Dad was just plain angry. He’d got a speeding fine a few days earlier driving to work and he was still seething; everything he said dripped with a potent mix of anger and self-pity. He ranted on about us living in a police state where everyone had to be punished like little children and that speeding fines was all about the government grabbing money off poor buggers like himself.
‘Jeez work was boring today,’ he said the minute he picked me up outside school. He didn’t even ask me how my day was. ‘Spent the morning sorting through excess stock out the back, there was hassles with builders, and the whole day’s pay is going to pay for that damn speeding fine. What a load of crap!’
‘You don’t need to go on about the fine anymore,’ I said, staring out the window as we drove the shopping centre. I didn’t feel like any of his work-related sob stories today.
‘Oh sorry, I mean, it’s only a whole day’s wages gone,’ he said, a look of grim death on his face. ‘And if I have to take any more crap from my manager…’
‘Well maybe if you hadn’t quit as a manager yourself…’ I mumbled., instantly regretting it.
Dad said nothing, gripping the steering wheel tighter to control himself from exploding. He scratched his leg, which must have been itching because he was wearing his jeans and not his tracksuit pants for once. He never did like jeans.
We drove the rest of the way in silence except for the blaring car stereo that Dad had decided to crank up as loud as his Cold Chisel cassette tape could go. I just said nothing. Cassette tapes. I mean, what a joke. This car was a joke. And he was the biggest joke of all. Man, I was angry. I could get in some angry moods sometimes, but Dad was usually the last one to cop it. I knew what he had gone through after Mum died and I was still pretty patient with him. But I didn’t feel like being Little Miss Nice today.
Things didn’t get much better at the skate and surf store. I wanted some flat sole skate shoes, specifically Vans, because even though I love my leather ankle boots, they killed my feet when I had to stand up all day at work. Vans were comfortable but they looked cool on girls too. Unfortunately they were over $100, which for someone who only wore discounted builder’s boots or thongs like Dad was the equivalent of eating at one of Gordon Ramsey’s five star restaurants instead of McDonald’s.
‘Come off it Stacey, you can’t be serious!’ said Dad when I tried them on. He had immediately asked how much they were. ‘I told you the other day I’m watching the money…and after the speeding fine too…and you go and think you can buy these.’
‘Yeah Dad, don’t go and blow your hard drive, jeez. I said I’d pay for half of it. I knew you wouldn’t pay for it all anyway.’
Dad stood there, hands in his pockets, looking faintly ridiculous slouched over with music pumping and a group of grommets wearing full skate gear pushing each other around in the background. He really, really looked like he’d rather be at Dave’s. I didn’t care. I wanted the Vans.
‘It’s still too much,’ he whinged. ‘What’s wrong with K-Mart?’
‘As if,’ I said, ‘These are for work and I’m not wearing K-Mart shoes at work. I’m not in primary school anymore. And I’ll pay for them all anyway, so don’t worry about it. I can handle it.’
A sales assistant with highlights in her blonde hair and a cute smile came over to ask if we needed any help. ‘I love Vans, they are like the most comfortable shoes,’ she said. ‘They will last you for ever too. Guaranteed.’
‘You’d want them too at that price,’ growled Dad.
‘It’s worth it,’ said the girl, ‘they’re quality shoes.’
‘Whatever you reckon,’ he grumbled. He turned and walked out of the store. The store assistant gave me a grin. ‘Parents,’ she said, ‘you can’t live with them, you can’t sell them on eBay.’
‘Yeah, I’d only get a few dollars for him anyway,’ I said, taking the Vans off. ‘So then, the Vans…?’ said the girl.
‘Oh, I’m taking them,’ I said.
‘That’s what I like to hear,’ she laughed.
I made sure I swung the plastic bag with the Vans in them as if it was a Gucci handbag, wanting everyone to see that I had just spent $120 of my own money on a pair of shoes without any help from my deadbeat father. He just snorted when he saw them.
We walked to the car and I made a big deal of getting the box out of the car and examining the white and pink Vans in minute detail. ‘These are so cool,’ I said, with mock enthusiasm. ‘These are most awesome shoes, and so worth it. Such a good price, I think I should have bought two. What do you think Dad?’
‘Can’t you shut it,’ he said, looking dead straight ahead.
I shut up after that. It was the worst fight my dad and I had had for a long time. He never told me to shut up, and I was rarely such a smart arse. I was on a roll. First the argument with Topps, then Crass, now Dad. A hat-trick! What a winner I was turning out to be.
I didn’t know what to do when I got home. I just knew I didn’t want to be around Dad. So I stayed in my room and listened to music and read, trying to get those words out of my head. Shut it. Ugly. That would take a while to wash off. I could sulk with the best of them. I wasn’t going to forgive him for saying that, not for a long time. Even if it meant getting up for breakfast early and leaving school before he woke, or going to Skye’s every night for a week and coming home late, I’d avoid him. Let him cook his own dinner and we’d see how much he liked toasted cheese sandwiches. Perhaps I could leave some recipe books out for him, circling the easiest recipes? Like scrambled eggs. Let him get the hint that I was done with him. That’d shut him up.
I heard the front door slam and the car start up. He was going to Dave’s, for sure. One day he was going to get caught by a police breathalyser. Then we’d see how much he liked spending his money when got some huge fine. At least I was alone now and could go and watch TV. But Dad had never just stormed out of the house without saying something, no matter how mad he was.
After a few minutes I walked out into the kitchen. On the table was a note. As I suspected, it said, “Gone to Dave’s. Back late” scrawled in black pen. Underneath the note I saw the corner of a twenty dollar note. I lifted up the note and saw there was a bunch of notes. I counted them. $120 exactly.
I sorted the notes out neatly and held them in my hand. Almost a weekend’s pay, after tax. Should I keep it? I deserved it. I mean, Dad probably spends that much on booze every second week. I even unconsciously smelt the notes as I thought about it. The notes stank, like a stale cupboard open for the first time in months. Why did money smell so bad? Wasn’t it just paper? Money stinks.
After a few moments thinking, I left the money back on the table and went and got a bowl of Nutri-Grain.
I could pay my own way.