The Gift of Capitalism

I wasn't like this back in Iran. My mom literally dragged me to buy some clothes for the forthcoming occasions. I thought it was a waste of time to wander in malls and trying on various things that had no apparent distinctions with eachother (My belief at the time).
However, since I came to Canada I found shopping an escape from the absurdities of life, a refuge from morbid obsessions and, last but not least, a good way to spend time and money. You don't have to think long term, it's just something to wear at a party next week and maybe if it fits well for a couple of times more. You don't have to think about your future, your ambitions and what you are gonna do in next ten or twenty years. All that is important is if they have the medium size of this shirt or the blue one of that trouser, the most complicated problem is whether they match together. Another good part is the artificial respect you get from those working there (what are they called by the way?). With their mannered smile they make suggestions. You know all they care is that you buy something and they know that you know and you know that they know that you know. But that doesn't matter. At these occasions, where we are cut off from the obscure reality waiting for us outside, we enjoy each other. We enjoy hypocrisy.