Friday, October 07, 2005
NZB and Me
We got most of what we needed at Babies R Us, which deadens me with its prefab conformity but impresses me with its deep product lines. They’ve got two dozen of everything you need, and dozens more of what you don’t. We walked out of there on our big shopping day with our heads spinning like brightly colored mobiles. But even so, BRU didn’t have the proper range of some things we wanted. In particular, we had a very specific set of criteria for a stroller, and for a baby jogger, too. BRU didn’t have the models we wanted most to consider and evaluate. We went to a few other places to explore broader selections but in the end the best option was right in our backyard - CitiKids, out by the eastern foot of Clement.
Not only did CitiKids have the most choices, they had a guy on staff who really seemed to know his business, to lead us through the thicket of options. What was designed to look good, and what was designed for sturdiness and reliability. What was a cosmetic difference, a real difference, an improvement. Why one cost more than another, and whether it was worth it. Customer feedback. Industry dirt. This guy really helped us out a lot in picking a stroller.
But when it came to joggers he would only advise us so far. He told us which ones were for runners, which were for off-roading, which for style and which for substance, and even with all these considerations folded together we still had a lot of choices.
With so many questions in play, the ultimate answer usually comes down to personal preferences. In this case, it meant a head-to-head showdown between two models, and I was selected to be the show-er-downer by a jury of my spouse and the CitiKids guy - consigned to take the two top contenders for a powerjog. Though I was hardly dressed for serious exertion, I was wearing running shoes and was not suffering from any significant limitation on my mobility. That made me both nominated and qualified. Willingness to serve was not a relevant consideration.
“Of course,” CK Guy then told me, “you can’t just take it out empty. It needs proper weight in the seat or it won’t feel right. It’ll respond wrong. You should find our test doll and strap it in, see how that works too.”
Clearly out-argued, I did as I was told and found the test doll - or perhaps it would be better to call it a post-apocalyptic hyperdense zombiette. It appeared to have been, at one time, a reasonably realistic and unthreatening, if uninspired, example of the dollmaker’s art - that had then been ripped open, emptied of stuffing, and refilled with lead shot till it weighed 20 pounds. The midsection was then resealed and wrapped with heavy duct tape in always-fashionable classic grey. Already thus disfigured, the reconstituted doll had been in near-constant use at this busy shop while patrons tried out cribs, strollers, carriers, and all manner of juvenile chazzerai. As a result of all this use, the adorable 20-pound duct-taped babydoll had grown grimy and somewhat ghastly in appearance, glowing eyes and limp body smeared and stained with greasy handprints like something recently and unceremoniously exhumed. Adding to the overall image, all the toes on one of its plastic feet had been broken off, leaving a gaping gangrenous open wound. The whole effect was disconcerting, but parenthood demanded of me the inner strength to face the Nuclear ZombieBabie - so I did.
We got the first jogger outside and loaded it up with NZB. I gave a shove-off and hove my creaking femurs down the block. The shop is at the foot of Clement Street, near a haute restaurant and the typical array of Clement Street shops and storefronts, heavily trafficked by locals and wayfarers alike. It was easy to tell them apart. The visitors were the ones who looked at me with preliminary amusement (to see me jogging in slacks and an officeweiner shirt) followed by anticipatory pre-gush (as they looked expectantly down into my jogger to take a peek at my adorable bundle of joy), concluding with horrified revulsion (upon seeing my gruesome zombiebaby). The locals, on the other hand, saw me coming a block away and knew better than to gawk. Nuclear ZombieBaby is just another local, so far as they’re concerned.
NZB was a great help to us, and I do hope that he and Zach become friends. It’s important to get in good with the movers and shakers in your neighborhood, and though NZB may not often be shaken, he sure does get around pretty well, despite his truncated foot. And his zombieism, too. I guess I shouldn’t leave that out either. It’s a lot to overcome, and Zach needs inspirational rolemodels.
(Note: the winner was the Sport Utility Stroller by B*O*B. We have no excuse in the world not to make good use of it.)
