I went to two different Michael’s craft stores today and bought all the fake white fur they had. All of it.
In the first Michael’s, I walked right in the front door at 5 past 9 and made a bee-line for the far south corner of the store. I realized about half way there that I had absolutely no reason to believe the fake fur was kept there, and no prior experience with buying fake fur at this Michael’s, but somehow I just knew. Like I had worked here in a past life or something. I darted around the slowpokes. I walked with purpose. I trusted my gut to lead me to the fake fur, via the shortest path possible.
And I was wrong. They had it, but I had to ask two different salespeople and it was pretty much right by the front door. And they only had two little fake pelts, which is not enough for a clydesdale. I asked at the counter if they could contact the Michael’s across town, and the man behind the register says to me:
“I need to find a gun.”
Excuse me? Isn’t this just fake fur we’re talking about? He leaned into his little lavalier-clip walkie talkie all serious and said, “Please send somebody up here with a gun.”
Ah, ha. Right. A gun. To scan my fake fur. Ha-HA! I gave him a figurative rib-elbow and muttered something about how that sounded weird ha-ha, nervous-nervous. He did not think that sounded weird. He then said to me:
“Debbie’s in the office with all the guns. Someone’s going to have to go in and take them.”
I tried to make it a joke again and ended up saying something about hostages but it turns out that’s nothing to laugh about in Michael’s. GO FIGURE.
Also today I had two different repair people in my home: glass repair guy who also tried to get me to pay in cash for a discount (shadesville), and the heat and air tune-up guy, who was jolly and had beautiful handwriting. Both engagements took about twice as long as they needed to because both technicians were on the phone the entire time. The window guy’s phone rang about 4,000 times to the tune of no fewer than 6 different ring tones, one of which (Bing-bong-bing!) he refused to answer. I was about 2 seconds away using my best prying mom-voice as I chopped my onion: So! Danny! Who was that?
And later, when the heating and air guy finally pulled out of my driveway after sitting there for a solid 25 minutes after the job was over (on the phone, no doubt!) thus un-blocking my path and setting me free to go pick up the kids, I passed his truck parked on another side street and saw him all slinked back in his seat, leering at his drivers’ side mirror to watch an unsuspecting and very young woman jog past. It sounds all harmless and girl-watcher when I type it out because I’m tired and whiny and feeling verbally lazy, but this was no Doublemint commercial. I did use the word “leering,” right? The point is, I instantly regretted our conversation about the coming tropical storms and the details I shared about my former cat.