I started out my holiday weekend exactly the way you would expect– hitting up Hobby Lobby, Target, and the nearest Big Box store to stock up on everything I need for the projects I’m planning to tackle in the next three days.
Those projects include:
Organizing and removing from the sacred place of tools all of the junk we I piled into the shop during the big move.
So basically I could end my list there, because that, in and of itself, is a three day project. But I’d also like to get the trim around the doors and in the bathroom hung while I have exclusive use of the air compressor. Of course, I would be able to find the finish nailer until I get rid of some of the overwhelming number of boxes in there, so this is really forced organization.
None of that is even related to my story, which goes like this:
I walk into my favorite big-box store fresh out of my 9 to 5. It’s a beautiful day, and instead of being in an overcrowded home-improvement store, what I want to be doing is this:
Listen. Don’t underestimate the awesomeness of having a donkey smear donkey-spit all over your face. Um. It’s possible I need to get out more.
I’m meandering through the Big Box slightly irritated that there are 400 people in my way, and also that this place doesn’t sell rough-sawn cedar posts so I can make a dang clothesline. Do I really ask for too much? I decide in lieu of rough-sawn cedar, I need lightbulbs. The fact that I consider that I logical leap in thought should explain why half the time MysteryMan stares blankly at me, and the other half the time he rolls his eyes so far back into his head that he looks like a zombie.
I don’t generally buy lightbulbs at the Big Box, and I’m somewhere near the electrical aisle, looking a bit confused and trying to figure out if I’ve mistaken this for the other Big Box and whether or not the lightbulbs are on the other end of the store. I realize at that moment I’m in my fancy girls clothes wandering around a home improvement store, and someone is bound to look at me condescendingly and ask me if they can help, and then I’m going to have to rip their face off. And while it’s obvious that I do need help, that fact just pisses me off more. Mind you, I’ve only been looking for lightbulbs for 5 seconds, so it’s not like I’d been wandering around for hours.
I turn around to head in the other direction, and all of the sudden I hear from one of the employees “Don’t tell me you’re walking around here like you can’t find something.” He’s laughing, and I’m about to snarl at him until what he said actually registers.
Then I about die of hysterical laughter.
Because of course. I’m in this store minimum three times a week. I very rarely interact with the employees because no, I do not need help picking out my lumber. But of course they remember me, I’m the crazy short girl who’s in here so much I’m basically a permanent fixture in the store, and never needs help thankyouverymuch.
So I’m all “Touché, man. Now where the crap are the lightbulbs in this place?”
I think there is supposed to be a moral for me in that story somewhere, but really it just made me laugh.