Freeport is a town that would likely make Vladimir Lenin's head explode, were he alive to see it. This municipality, bordering Brunswick, is a staunch bastion of capitalism, saturated with more than 170 outlet stores, restaurants, hotels, and even a psychic to tell you, perhaps, where you will be shopping in the future.
Amazingly, despite Freeport's massive commercialization, the town retains some quaint and charming anomalies?anomalies that are almost Walt Disney-esque.
The town's Friendly's and McDonald's restaurants are both located in old houses, for example.
Also, the drive-thru at McDonald's has no audio output; that is, one speaks into a microphone and is greeted with silence. Town bylaws, according to the bright red sign next to the microphone, do not allow speakers at any drive-thru.
The town's Abercrombie&Fitch outlet is situated in the old town library. It is a solid, sturdy-looking building of brick and stone that could easily house a town hall, police station, or courthouse?but it doesn't. Instead, shoppers are asked their verdict on expensive new clothes, some artificially aged to give them more cachet.
According to abercrombie.com, one type of A&F blue jean will have "inconsistent destruction and wear on every pair [including] authentic worn in holes and abrasion."
It is more than just the town's feng shui that feels forced: employees at many stores insist on being intrusively friendly.
At Wilsons Leather Outlet, a store with enough jackets to elicit an approving "Heey!" from the Fonz, a young woman with short brown hair asks every customer who enters, "What can I help you find today?"
"I'm just browsing," I say, almost choking on the thick scent of leather in the air.
"I like your shirt!" she suddenly tells me in loud voice.
"You like my shirt?" I say with incredulity?it is a cheap, raggedy tee-shirt with the Corona Beer logo on it.
"I love beer!" the saleswoman tells me. I scurry down the stairs to the men's section.
"Can I help you, sir?" a new employee asks.
"I'm fine," I insist.
"Are you sure?" she asks.
I don't respond.
Employee friendliness aside, the store has an immense selection of leather products, from jackets to pocketbooks to briefcases to flasks, at surprisingly low prices.
Of course, the most attractive thing about outlet stores, and particularly the majority of stores in Freeport, is that they all have low prices. It is these goods-for-cheap that draw many thousands of tourists here each year.
Early on one weekday morning, not much past the 10:00 a.m. opening hour of most outlets, three bus-loads of people, all older than 65, wander about Freeport center. They marvel at the discounts on products at the Gap, Burberry, Polo Ralph Lauren, Reebok and a number of other outlets. It doesn't look like any of them are actually buying anything, but the idea of brand-name goods at cut-rate prices seems to intrigue the gaggle of senior citizens.
"Did you see that, dear? That jacket was 60 percent off," a white-haired woman exclaims to her husband. The man, wearing a "Korean War Veteran" medallion around his neck, grunts in response. Slowly, they walk hand-in-hand down Main Street and slip into the L.L. Bean's famous flagship store.
Every store in Freeport has a unique vibe and L.L. Bean is no exception. The store is a comfortable place to be: employees are friendly, but not overly so, and the variety of people browsing the multitude of products for sale makes the store feel almost cosmopolitan.
If L.L. Bean is a laid back lunch of sandwiches and gorp with friends, the Polo Ralph Lauren outlet is a cold plate of foie gras and beluga caviar with an estranged spouse.
A heavyset man, an employee of the Ralph Lauren outlet, yells at someone on the telephone: "No, John, those sweaters were supposed to be here today! Tomorrow is one day too late!"
I peruse the various items the store is offering and see a shirt that I like. I look through a rack of the shirts, hoping to find my size, but am unsuccessful.
"Do you have any of these shirts in medium?" I ask the man on the phone once he stops yelling, perhaps na?vely waiting for an answer. He raises a pudgy finger and points to the rack of shirts that I had just looked through.
I look again. There are still no mediums. Classical music wafts through the air.
As I walk out the door onto Main Street in Freeport, Maine, the bright sun glints off the over 170 retail establishments.
The door at the Polo outlet closes very slowly. Before it clicks shut, I hear the male employee shriek into the telephone:
"Can I please speak to someone with even a modicum of competency?!"
Ah, the fruits of capitalism.