She widens her eyes. “Not really Spanish, though, are they?”
CHRISTOPHER
“And this is it, the BlackWolf Nomad.” The salesman smiles proudly. “The bees’ knees of backpacks.”
I stare at the huge oversize backpack.
“Thank you, we’ll let you know if we need any help with it,” Elliot replies.
The salesman walks off, and I unzip the pack. “Zipper works well.”
“I don’t see how anyone could possibly walk around with that shit on their backs,” Elliot whispers. “What would it weigh when filled? Like, twenty kilograms?”
“Probably.”
“See if there’s one with wheels?”
“I don’t want to look like a wimp, wheeling my bag when everyone else is carrying theirs.”
“Everyone else is an idiot.”
“I don’t want to stand out.”
Elliot chuckles as he stares at the bag. “Trust me, a bag is the least of your stand-out issues.”
I go to another bag and pick it up. I start to go through all the little compartments. In the bottom there’s a little tray. I take it out and hold it up as I look at it. “What’s this for?”
“Hmm.” Elliot takes it from me and turns it over as he looks at it. “A dish?”
“Bit shallow for a dish. Wouldn’t be much of a breakfast, would it?”
The salesman walks back over. “That’s the toilet.”
I stare at him as my brain misfires. “The what?”
“That’s the pan.” He shrugs. “You know, for when you need to take a shit in the woods.”
Elliot throws the pan back onto the bag as if it burned his fingers. “He’s going backpacking, not feral.”
The salesman laughs. “You two haven’t been backpacking before, have you?”
Elliot and I glance at each other but remain silent.
“If you’re stuck in a crowded place and you can’t find a bathroom, go in this pan and empty it when you can. It’s easy as.”
I frown as I stare at this feral animal. “Nothing about that sounds easy as.”
“What? You think he’s going to put it back in his bag dirty?” Elliot snaps, horrified.
The salesman shrugs happily. “It’s an option.”
“That I won’t be taking,” I mutter dryly as I walk away from this animal.
For fuck’s sake, what is the world coming to?
I need to get out of here. I can feel my blood pressure rising by the second. “What is your most popular backpack?”
“This one.” The salesman holds it up. “Without a doubt.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Do you want the black or the red?”
Red.
I narrow my eyes. Is this guy for real? Nobody wants a fucking red backpack. “Black.”
“What else does he need?” Elliot asks.
“How long you going for?”
“Twelve months.”
The sales assistant whistles. “Hard core.”
Hard core . . . what the hell does that mean?
“If I wanted your opinion, I would ask for it,” I snap.
He points to Elliot with his thumb. “He just asked for it.”
I roll my eyes; this guy is getting on my nerves. “What are the essentials?”
“Comfortable shoes, good mini towels.”
“What’s a mini towel?”
He holds up a little pack the size of a deck of cards. “This has a towel in it.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Impressive.”
“What other mini things do you have?” Elliot asks him.
“Apart from the obvious,” I mutter under my breath.
“Stop,” Elliot whispers.
“Compass.” He marches over to retrieve a compass.
“Compass?” I call. “I’m going backpacking, not climbing Mount Everest.”
This guy is a total fuckwit.
Elliot widens his eyes in a shut-up-now sign.
The guy returns and passes me a compass, and I pass it straight to Elliot.
“We’ll take it,” Elliot replies way too fast.
“We have these great water bottles,” the salesman continues as he walks to the other side of the store.
“We are not taking the compass,” I whisper.
“What if you get lost.”
“I’ll look on Google Maps like a person from the twenty-first fucking century.” I roll my eyes.
“You’re taking it,” he whispers angrily.
“I am not taking it,” I whisper. I snatch it off him and stuff it onto a shelf.
The salesman returns with a huge-ass water bottle. “This one here is great. It will stay hot or cold for twenty-four hours, and this long cord allows you to wear it around your neck. And look, it’s camouflage.”
“If you think I’m wearing a camouflage water bottle around my neck, you need to go to the hospital.”
Elliot gets the giggles as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you sell GoPros?”
“Why would I need a GoPro?” I frown.
“Because I want you to wear it strapped to your head at all times so we can watch this shit live as it goes down.”
I roll my eyes.
“This would make great reality television, actually.” He raises his eyebrows as if having an epiphany. “I should call someone; a network would defo want this.”
“Shut. The fuck. Up.” I widen my eyes. “You are not calling anyone.”
“Sleeping bag,” the assistant says as he marches over. “This is vital.”
“I’ll be sleeping in a bed.”
“But you need to have a sleeping bag. There will be times when you can’t get accommodation and have to rough it.”
We narrow our eyes as we stare at him. “Define roughing it,” Elliot replies.
“You know, have to sleep in the woods or in a train station or something.”
Train station . . . seriously?
“Do you sell mini mattresses, something that folds up like the towel?” I ask.
The salesman throws his head back and laughs out loud. “You’re hilarious, man.”
It wasn’t a joke.
“We’ll take a sleeping bag. This kind here.” Elliot taps the display.
“Yellow or black?”
“Are you color blind?” I stare at him deadpan. “The fuck is wrong with you? Nobody wants a yellow sleeping bag.”
The assistant begins to take our things to the cashier station. He piles all our purchases onto the counter. “Will that be all?”
“Yes.”
He begins to ring them up.
Elliot eyes the pile of things on the counter, and I can see something running through his mind.
“What?” I ask.
“How is all that going to fit into that pissant bag?”
Hmm, he does have a point.
“I mean, where do your clothes go?”
“That’s a very good question,” I mutter.
“You travel light,” the salesman says.
“How light?” I frown.
“Just the essentials, like one or two pairs of pants, two pairs of shorts, like three T-shirts, and one jumper. The shoes you are wearing.”