Little Shopping Horrors
Shopping in of itself, I find a pretty tough experience. I can never find exactly what I want, I always feel like I’m paying too much, and then the constant frenzied atmosphere in a mall or shopping center just bogs you down. If you ever wondered why do men hate shopping so much? I’m going to spell it out for you right here. Shopping is putting yourself out there, all of those people that you’d never want to spend a minute of your life with, you make the decision to cram into a building together, and compete. Secretly, we all smile when some Joe Schmo is at a counter and you know he’s paying too much for something. We all take such joy in knowing that at that very moment, it’s not us that’s getting ripped off. It’s the crying babies, locked up in little cages disguised as play pens, the screaming ones strapped into their strollers, roaring at the top of their lungs. Its the over bearing, way too loud crazy mum that reams into her daughter in the middle of the mall, thinking it’s an acceptable form of discipline. Then the lady wonders how her sweet little daughter got herself pregnant a few years later. It’s the lady that doesn’t stop ripping into her boyfriend or spouse, and that uncomfortable understanding between you and the other guy, that sooner or later it’s going to be turn. It’s the group of kids that walk by an Aldo like they’re walking by 110th street. It’s the men who love their novelty souvenir t shirts. Those who want to let you know that they’ve been there, done that, got the overpriced, tacky t shirt that’s now a size too small. How is it a good thing that I know your last vacation without even talking to you? It’s the groups of folks that don’t cover their faces when they sneeze, wash their hands in the washrooms, or breath when they eat. And, those are just the people that we’re in this mess together with. Never mind, those that are supposed to be serving you. The old shoe sales guy who thinks he’s tailoring suits on Savile Row.
‘ Yes sir, they feel great, and nothing like a ten dollar pair of brooks.’
The young kid at the cash counter, who really doesn’t care about what he’s doing or how he’s doing it. You standing at their till is ruining their day. Just steal that item, get tackled by security, so they can go home and mention how crazy work was. That’s just the kid behind the counter, forget about his counterpart, who takes his gig way too serious, and is the shift supervisor. It’s the stores themselves, the advertised buy one, get one free(with very few exclusions), how odd that the one item I like is an exclusion. It’s a new style, color, fit, size, otherwise it’s the same piece of crap. It’s the one store that’s blasting the latest rap or rock song, and then the next that’s playing the sound of a stream. How about just silence? Then, there’s the travel, you’re battling travel, hunger and your driving partner all at the same time. The radio isn’t playing any music you like, and the CD you have has been spinning for a year. And, that’s just getting there!
Never mind, the drive back with tired feet and a sore back, marks on your hands for all the shopping bags, true battle scars. Then, it’s taking all those bags and carrying them into the house, the covers,cases, and wrapping that builds and builds. All of those bags that lay about, and what feels like cataloging and inspecting your purchased items more than you did before you bought them. At some point, the man can finally sit down and rest. It’s all over. Until the next time.