The carpet unrolled

An original literary non-fiction-style account of choosing a carpet in a small flooring shop.

The shop had no horizon. Rolls stood upright against one wall, leaned over a second and lay stacked beneath a shelf of sample books. A narrow strip of floor allowed us to move between them. The assistant led the way sideways, carrying a tape measure in one hand and two mugs in the other.

My mother asked for something practical. He said that practical came in several colours. She put down her mug and explained that she meant a carpet which would not look disappointed every time somebody entered wearing shoes. He nodded as though this were a recognised technical category and pulled a roll from the lower stack.

It travelled towards us in a slow brown wave. As the assistant pushed it open, the small aisle became a room without furniture. We could suddenly imagine the door, the chair by the window and the patch where my father always stood to take off his coat. None of those things was in the shop. The carpet supplied their positions simply by lying flat.

I preferred a paler sample. My mother rubbed it with her thumb, held it beside the brown and asked whether I would like to be responsible for its future. The assistant looked into his mug. I said that this seemed an unfair way to discuss a colour. She said we could discuss the vacuum cleaner as well if I wished.

We left the brown carpet open while we looked at the others. It occupied nearly all the visible floor, quietly making the rest of the room look like evidence for its own selection.

How does the writer use language to convey the experience of choosing the carpet and the mother's attitude?