I was in a Shoppers Drug Mart during a quiet spell, mid-afternoon. Going up to the cash register, the cashier exclaimed, "Yay! A customer!"
I spent perhaps 45 minutes chatting with the designer at Peach Berserk on Wednesday morning. There were no other customers in the store. (Surely, rent is cheaper in Toronto, and they can stay afloat on fewer sales.) They make clothing to order for the same price as off-the-rack, but I was only in town for a week. Nothing in stock fit quite right, so the designer suggested I order something. I observed the brevity of my time in Toronto. It's our slowest season, she replied. We could have it ready by tomorrow.
And they did.
I am still boggled by this: in 24 hours, they printed my choice of fabric, made my dress, and made further minor alterations when I came in the next morning to collect it.
I could see the sale rapidly being lost, the more the sales person spoke. She was new, nervous, and trying hard. We asked for the first Lush product on the list and she had not heard of it; for a moment, I thought it might no longer be in production. She info-dumped, telling us too much and, in the process, obliviously streamrollering over my shopping companion's request to be left to browse. The low point of her content, for me, was about bananas. They look like they are good for you, and therefore they are.