It’s April, and you know what that means. Yes, it’s shopping season at Gilroy Premium Outlets. It’s not as bad as Thanksgiving (and please, don’t get me started on the fact that the outlets open at 6 p.m. or so on Thanksgiving Day—I mean, I love a good shopping spree, but even I draw the line there). But once the weather turns nice, the outlets start to buzz with activity.
Look, I’m not knocking the outlets. I love Gilroy’s outlets. I shop at the outlets. Way, way more than I should, as a matter of fact. Except for that jeans store with the really expensive jeans. Seriously? I do not need to draw attention to my butt by having a giant, embroidered horseshoe on the rear of my pants.
But I am an outlet shopper. For one thing, I love a good bargain. My favorite thing is to come home, loaded with shopping bags and eagerly tell Harry how much money I saved. Strangely, he doesn’t look at it that way. In fact, he always asked how much I had to spend to save so much.
Men. They just don’t understand the art of bargain hunting.
I mean, seriously, who doesn’t love the thrill of the hunt? Who can stroll past a store and resist the siren lure of 25 percent or more off regular store prices? The very idea of walking into a store and finding T-shirts at 40 percent off is enough to toss me over the edge of giddiness (admittedly, I don’t get out much—so between shopping and “Game of Thrones,” I’m pretty set in the excitement arena, although I have been known to be clap my hands with joy when Nob Hill has $5 lobster tails).
And don’t even get near me on a clearance rack. I am lethal. If there is a tug-of-war over a scarf marked down 75 percent, let me assure you, I will win. Even if the scarf is ugly. I will buy it. And I don’t even wear scarves. I think it goes without saying that you take your life into your own hands when you try to get in front of me for “buy one, get one 50 percent off” in a shoe store.
Let’s just say that there is a rumor floating around town that stiletto heels in my hands are considered dangerous weapons. And you don’t want to know the harm I can do with a wedge heel. It’s not pretty. And I’m not proud of my lust for a good bargain.
OK, fine. I’m a little proud.
But there is a dark side to shopping at the Gilroy Premium Outlets. It’s the not-so-pretty side we Gilroyans like to avoid. I’m talking about the parking. Why is it that we can have eleventy billion stores and only 22 parking spaces that will fit anything bigger than a Smart Car or a person wearing rollerblades?
And who among us hasn’t tried to get into the In-N-Out Burger drive-thru line, only to find out we entered from the wrong direction? And of course the penalty for that error is to drive around in circles through the In-N-Out parking lot, trying desperately to avoid hitting one or more of the million shoppers walking through said lot with their eyes on their smart phones as they try to decide which stores to visit after a Double-Double and Animal Fries.
And let’s not even get into the right turn arrow that takes you from Leavesley to Arroyo Grande or Arroyo Circle or whatever that street is called. I have spent precious years of my life waiting for someone three cars in front of me to turn on the green arrow, only to have them wait until the main light is green, start to turn and suddenly slam on their brakes when they realize the crosswalk light is also green and they are in imminent danger of plowing down a dozen shoppers.
It’s a dangerous place and not just because I might spend too much in search of bargains.
But the truth is, on my favorite shopping day there, when I’ve gotten some ultra cool sunglasses or a watch or a purse or anything other than jeans with a giant horseshoe, it’s a very cool, place. Unless I can’t find a place to park, of course.
