Saturday, June 18, 2011

The Plastic Thingies and the Honest Lobe

I don't know what they are officially called.  Those little clear plastic bits of tube that women--and maybe some men--put on the end of earrings for pierced ears to prevent the earring from falling out.  I had lost one.



I wear four gold—real gold, I might add—earrings.  I shower in them, sleep in them and rarely remove them from my lobes.

With the price of gold rising daily, I was doubtful as to whether or not a lost earring could be replaced without refinancing our home.  So to find a new back thingie became a mission.

I was in Melbourne, Australia when I noticed the loss. I mentioned it to my husband and because he had no interest in mortgaging our house to replace the gold earring that might fall out of my ear in a hotel bed, shower, bath, Malaysian restaurant or taxi in Australia, he eagerly joined in the hunt for the little plastic things of no particular name.

We were walking around the CBD at the time and came upon a Target Store.  I had been explaining that, at home, these little thingies were purchased in malls at CLAIRE’s at great mark-up.  They probably cost less than a cent to produce and are sold in a pack of 10 for $5.95---$6.25 in Canada (as per the back of the pack that I have at home).

But Target seemed a most likely option; better than the bookshops, pubs and office blocks that we’d passed. The “greeter” at the front door was of no help. I have found through life that when you ask someone a question to which they don’t know the answer, they lie, make something up or send you astray—especially if they are male—which was not the case in this instance.

In the girl’s defense (“defence” since it was in Australia) I have several things to say:  1. We were not in a Wal-Mart and I think I may have mistaken a shop girl who worked in a clothing department near the front door as a “greeter.”  2.  She may not have had knowledge outside of her department 3.  Maybe she didn’t understand our accents because there were plenty of times we didn’t quite get theirs. E.g. “Do you want a rhyme?” meaning, “room.”  But I digress.

I consider myself a fairly savvy shopper and instinctually knew that I was on a wild goose chase.  In spite of that we went to the earring section under the slope of the escalator. Each cheap metal set had the little plastic thingie on the back of the hooks.

I looked at my husband and whispered that I could easily remove the plastic thingie and no one would be the wiser. He was appalled—visions of CCTV cameras capturing my crime in grainy black and white, being stopped and shackled by ardent customs agents at Sydney airport then hauled into a little paneled room with no windows surrounded by bearded terrorist suspects, a man who tried to smuggle a snake in his trouser leg, a shuddering woman waiting to evacuate a condom of heroin, AND our professional reputations sullied all for the quick allure of one little plastic thingy. No.

The search continued.  And then we found NINA’s.

 NINA’s is the CLAIRE’s of Australia.  The girl behind the counter immediately knew what I wanted, and they were sold out.  BUT they had a sale on.  I bought the cheapest earrings I could find, took off the plastic thingies—my husband keeping the one not required in his wallet for future need.  With the plastic thingy firmly in place behind my ear, and acquired honestly, I gave the earrings to the clerk as a gift.  In actuality, two gifts were given that day. I have honest lobes.







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