AMERICA: OPEN 4 BIDNESS?

by TJ Johnston

The sign was staring right at me, declaring itself (and the rest of America) "Open For Business." I was transfixed by the "shopping flag" design for about 20 minutes. This was about as long as I could stand. The door would automatically open unless whoever was inside would walk out of the pay toilet on his own volition. But in the interim, the kneejerk reaction against such obvious advertising ploys didn't kick this time. I stood in front of the newly fashioned, ubiquitous logo long enough to realize America is indeed Open For Business.

His Willieness called upon San Francisco merchants to display these new signs on their storefronts and to ascribe a higher purpose to their customers' year-end shopaholism. Does it matter pocket money might be scarce this year? No, because just as my family in WWII bought bonds, I'm buying retail. Ba-da-da-da-dee-dum. Charge! Or, in my case, Cash!

Most people who hang Stars and Stripes outside their homes probably aren't even registered to vote. But, I bet they're registered at Radio Shack. I bought headphones there with a ten-dollar bill and the guy asked for my address and phone number. I told him, "Do you want me to make a purchase or go on a date with you?"

Where the red, white, and blue is plastered on windows, so was their tricolor merchandise on sale. Macy's had racks of patriotic wear and wasted no time in urging their credit card holders to donate to the American Red Cross (and for a 10% saving). No telling whether the consumer or the Red Cross would max out first.

Old Glory merch also abounded at Ralph Lauren and Tommy Hilfiger. If the color scheme flatters their professional anorexics, then an average Joe like me can drape himself with pride.

Patriotism as a selling point isn't limited to just goods, but also services. Erica is also Open for Business, so said the ad in which her star-spangled panties are obviously Photoshopped. Isn't it funny how I abhor the flag-waving used to sell SUV's, but I can forgive the flag-wrapping of our nation's sex workers?

The declaration "These Colors Do Not Run" prevails in the tie-dyed Haight-Ashbury, where hippie imagery has long been co-opted and marketed to weekenders and tourists. One store was able to reconcile peace symbols with the ensign. A T-shirt on sale incorporated "peace" in the blue field.

At a leather shop, both Old Glory and Union Jack were emblazoned in their clothing lines and camouflage wear was prominently displayed. Maybe they recognized jingoism as the latest fetish. I'll keep an eye out for this new kink next time I visit the Power Exchange.

And curiously, I finished my outing empty-handed. Instead of a new wardrobe and dates with Erica and the Radio Shack guy, I walked away with the realization this excursion would leave a Daisy cutter-sized hole in my pocket. I might have been fashionably patriotic, but I can't afford to look this cool in a recession.

This well-timed epiphany prevented me from possible destitution. I'm glad that this flash appeared more quickly than my original notion to shop 'til I drop. I already knew there were better ways to spend my disposable income: after food and shelter, there are ways to alleviate suffering and injustice. All in all, this lesson relearned didn't set me back much. It cost me the price of a set of 'phones, plus the quarter at the john whose broad stripes and bright stars started it all.