One evening this week I went along with The Husband on a shopping expedition and I came close to being suffocated by machismo.
He was looking for a plug-in cooler for use in his truck as he traverses the highways and byways of this great land of ours. This particular appliance is pretty hard to find at this time of year, so we were forced to cross the thresholds of two establishments I would normally avoid.
First we tried Dick’s Sporting Goods (I will avoid the glaringly obvious joke that immediately springs to mind here). Wall-to-wall day-glo couture for your average Olympic wannabe, sold by attractive teens and college kids who looked like they just stepped off the cover of “Runner’s World,” but for whom the concept of customer service was entirely alien. We tracked one of these “sales associates” down amongst the miles of racks and displays when we couldn’t find the item we were searching for on the shelf. Asked him to please find out whether any of the other Dick’s locations in town had one in stock. The young Adonis’ response: “Yeah, it would be best if you just call the other stores and ask them.” Nice.
As we left, swearing we’d never darken the door again, I conceived a new advertising campaign for Dick’s: “Catering to the discriminating playground bully.”
And then it was on to Bass Pro Shop. Disney World for bubbas, complete with arcade games, taxidermy, and an indoor waterfall. I had to steel myself to enter, but by this point I really needed to pee, and I figured they had to at least have a pit toilet for camping enthusiasts. We were greeted by an older gentleman stationed at the door. Here’s how our interchange went:
Greeter: “Welcome to Bass Pro Shop. Can I help you find something?”
Me: “We’re looking for two things. The restroom and…”
Greeter: “Guns? That’s the most popular request.”
Me (scraping myself up off the floor): “DEAR GOD, NO!”
Bad-Ass Pro shop did have the cooler, and we made it home just in time for me to light a Yankee Candle and recover from these two cojones-saturated businesses.
But it was a narrow escape.
2 thoughts on “Death by Testosterone”
Sounds very similar to my experiences following the Garden Gnome around Bunnings or Masters hardware stores. lol
Oh, dear. Hardware stores are painful!
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