Lasse Fischer // A Midweek Shopping Experience


He jerked his head back and looked up from his phone. There was something that hadn’t been there before. He looked around the store. Shoppers were browsing the racks, sliding through the clothing with blank stares, suddenly pausing before sliding the item of clothing to the right and moving on to the next rack. The cream-colored walls were sprawling with aesthetically pleasing pictures of flowers and young women clothed in the designs hanging from the racks, laughing at each other. ‘Warmth’, ‘Don’t worry’, and ‘Summer Vibes’ were spelled out in lightbulbs on the wall opposite to him and were reflected countless times in the many mirrors in the store. An upbeat melody of smooth, soothing bass, snare and saxophone filled the gaps between the shoppers, displays, and racks. But none of those things had made him put his phone down. There was a slight buzzing, no not buzzing, something else, coming from somewhere in the store. He stood up from the steel blue velour couch and listened. He couldn’t quite make it out, but something about it unnerved him. He decided to investigate and moved through the shoppers, following the sound.

Big white signs with the word ‘Sale’ sailed past him as he continued through the store. The sounds grew as he moved in and out the aisles. He tried to tune out the other sounds around him. His rubber soles shrieked against the marble. Soft indistinguishable mumbling could be heard all around. He went to a square where mannequins stood on a podium in long draping dresses of muted greens. The fabric moved slightly as the fans over them churned the warm, dry air. They held their arms towards the ceiling, carrying wicker baskets of plastic fruits. Hangers clacked as they hit other hangers. The sound became louder as he walked closer to the mannequins, and as he stood before the figures, he realized; it was screaming. He stretched his neck, stood on his toes and scouted over the rows of clothing behind the mannequins. Someone was screaming from somewhere. He saw only a poly fiber leg carried by a store employee, fluorescent lamps hanging from a black celling, and heads and heads drifting about. Could it really be? No, he probably just couldn’t hear it well enough. He noticed bubbles floating upwards in the blue see through plastic of a water cooler next to the wall. A girl in a flower-patterned dress was drinking water from a white plastic cup. Maybe it was a child?

He turned and paced the store to find his girlfriend. He passed a pillar of mirrors. Glancing into them he thought how the rows of clothing and shoppers looked endless in the gleaming silver-like surface. The screaming grew louder still as he searched the store. It was no child. He was no longer unsure. Someone was screaming, and he spun around and checked for the source, but he saw nothing that resembled any signs of distress or urgency. None of the shoppers seemed to have noticed the screaming and carried on browsing, slowly shifting their feet on the bright white marble floor. He started to sweat. How could they not notice? He wiped his brow with his sleeve. A cash register beeped and crunched behind him and a drawer flew out. That will be 5 pounds. How could anyone not notice?

He finally found her. He saw her reflection in one of the mirrors. She was holding up a black t-shirt with a bright green and purple palm tree print in front of her. He rushed to her, and he noticed that his breathing was heavy. Hi babe, she said as she continued to admire the shirt in the mirror. She held her phone in her hand and looked back and forth between it and the mirror. Do you hear that? he whispered. He had trouble keeping his voice down due to his labored breathing. She took a picture with her phone and put the t-shirt down on a pile of clothing on her right, and pulled a short sleeved, knee-length summer dress in a warm yellow from a pile on her left before she answered. What? She didn’t take her eyes off the mirror and he tried again. You don’t hear that? he hissed at her. The screaming grew louder again and was now clearly audible. It was a woman’s voice. She glanced at him in the mirror before putting down the dress and pulling out a pair of bright-red shorts from the pile on her left. No, what do you mean? Or was it a man’s voice? He looked around and had finally gotten his breathing under control. The shoppers were still looking down and moving slowly through the aisles. A great big ‘Relax’ in light gray tones hung from the ceiling over their heads. The screaming, you don’t hear someone screaming? He had raised his voice over a whisper and surprised himself with the volume. The bass and snares increased in volume and flushed in between the aisles. There is clearly someone screaming, listen, just listen for a moment. She looked at him in the mirror again and raised her chin and veered her head around. The voice had become shrill and raspy and it was clear, that it was someone in agony. No, I don’t hear anything, now stop acting weird. She put the shorts down and pulled up a linen blazer in white with deep blue-vertical stripes. Now pleading was heard, and then a series of ‘no, no, no’ before the screaming continued as before. He stared at her in the mirror. That sounded like a child. She couldn’t be telling the truth, she couldn’t. He felt like the screaming was coming from the walls just beside them, like the person in pain was trapped behind the wall right next to them. She seemed so at ease. You must hear that, he shouted to make his voice heard over the scream. I really don’t, could you please not yell at me, she snapped back at him.

The scream grew louder, more desperate. She picked up a pair of bleached, ripped jeans, held them up and snapped a picture with her phone. He looked over the aisles once again, and saw the shoppers browsing and shifting from side to side, looking down with matte eyes. There were hundreds of them, not one was looking up. Two of them bumped into one another as they moved down a rack but hardly seemed to notice. He looked up at the ceiling, at the endless rows of fluorescent lights, and suddenly became aware that he could not see the exit anywhere. He turned around, still no exit to be found. He turned again, no sign of the green neon. He spun around himself, but all he saw were rows and rows of aisles and racks and mannequins and employees and light bulbs and pillars and signs and cash registers and mirrors and shoppers and couches and sale signs and water coolers and it all came together in one big sickening blur, and he had to stop. He felt queasy. There was no sign to be found anywhere. There were no windows with light coming in from the outside. Beads of sweat fell from his chin and onto the marble floor. He got lightheaded as his breathing became hard once again. He tried to steady himself, rationalize and make sense of the situation, but failed as he was hit by another realization. He couldn’t remember how long they had been there, nor how they had gotten there. He couldn’t really recall anything before he looked up from his phone. The scream grew again, this time to a deafening, piercing level, and he covered his ears and clenched his jaw. He grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her around and shouted: We have to leave, right now! She didn’t look him in the eyes, but kept her eyes on his chest, and she said something that he didn’t hear. What? he shouted and put his ear next to her mouth. And then he heard her. It isn’t there, okay? Her voice was harsh, she had spoken through her teeth, and he pushed her away and saw her face. It was contorted in a strange smile and her eyes were tearing up. She moved her lips again, but her words didn’t reach him. He was pressing the palms of his hands tightly over his ears to block out the screaming and was looking around while a creeping sense of desperation rose from his stomach. He looked over the rows of people all bearing the same strange smile. None of them looked up, but instead they continued browsing and pulling clothes off the rack as the screaming drowned out the soothing melody from the speakers.



Photos: Lasse Fischer, Mads Zaar Riisberg.