Wanted: A Trip to Penneys

And some beta blockers

On my way to physiotherapy last week, I took a detour to Penneys. Forty-five minutes later, I emerged with a cardigan, four pairs of eyelashes and high blood pressure. God, it felt good.

My confirmed kills were admittedly lean. That’s because I can now cross-check local stock levels online–and international stores too! Pointless? Perhaps. But it’s also immensely gratifying; a bit like my habit of labelling plastic baggies filled with twist ties. I like to know the lie of the land before losing my reason to retail Darwinism. It’s what a responsible adult would do. 

Who am I kidding? Penneys is no place for a responsible adult. The moment I cross the threshold beneath the blue signage, a surge of fight-or-flight hormones floods my brain. The rails. The hustle. The intent. It’s do or die! Instead, I do the typically Irish thing and buy a pair of pyjamas before I walk out. It’s only manners.

When I appeared on The Tommy Tiernan Show last January, I shared a story about my sister who, on hearing of my Parkinson’s diagnosis, went straight to Penneys on a jammies mercy mission. A few weeks after the show aired, a package arrived for me at the Irish Examiner offices from an audience member. In it were a card and - that’s right - a set of Penneys pyjamas. I was touched.

Penneys is a mindset. It’s how we show love. It’s also a source of national pride. Our cultural semiotics depend on the place, from the sea of brown paper bags at Christmas to expats swagging up before flying off. Tribal allegiances asserted.

In saying that, I wouldn’t advise paying a visit at 4 p.m. on a Friday, unless a fever dream is your speed. Nor would I advise shopping without a wing person who’ll keep you on task. That’s the thing about Penneys; it’s contradictory, contrary and will test your last nerve but it’s a bit of home. Just remember your beta blockers. 

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