If you’re smart, you’ll lock all
your doors and windows, draw your shades and spend the day watching the scariest
horror movies you can find—and compared to Black Friday, they will ALL be
comedies, believe me.
I made the mistake of venturing
forth this morning.
First stop, Rockler. For the uninitiated, this is a store filled
with woodworking tools. There were a few
things Stij had on his list that I knew I could get there, since he had folded
the pages at the corners and subtlely circled each item he wanted in day-glo orange
marker. I’d found the catalog under my
pillow.
Once I located a parking spot one
town away, I trekked to the door. There
was, I kid you not, a maroon velvet rope of the type one sees at movie theaters
and exclusive clubs, strung across the entrance. There was also a rather burly fellow standing
next to it with his massive arms crossed.
To see what he looks like, just go to the AMERICA’S MOST WANTED website—he’s
the third one from the left.
“Hello, my good sir,” I said.
He turned a gimlet eye toward me.
One was all he had. The other was
covered by a black patch with the catchy slogan, ‘Die, You Bastard!’
embroidered across it. “Whaddya want?”
“Merely to enter this esteemed
establishment,” I replied. I go all ‘finishing
school’ like that when I’m in total fear for my life. I figure if they can’t understand me, they
won’t kill me…at least not right away.
Plus, while they’re busy mulling over what I’ve said, I have time to get
away.
I could hear the gears in his
head, the lubricant of actual thought absent, moving like a tricycle left out
in the rain for a month or two. After a long moment, he looked down at me
again.
“Wha?”
“I’d like to go into this store.”
“What’s your number?”
“I’m flattered, but I’m married.”
“No, lady. You gotta have a number to get in.”
“And where do I get this number?”
He pointed inside the store to
one of those deli gadgets that spits out pieces of paper with numbers on it.
“How can I get a number if you
won’t let me in the store?”
He had to think about that one
for a while, too. The smell of burning
wood drew the fire department.
Finally, in a remarkable stroke
of logical reasoning that would have Aristotle shrieking in his grave for weeks
to come, he said, “You gotta have a number.”
“Fine.” I yanked my cell phone and the catalog from my
handbag and keyed in the store number.
“H’lo?”
I sighed. “Hello.
Is this Duffy’s Mortuary? Where
the elite meet to spend huge wads of cash?”
“Uh, no. This is Rockler.”
“Oh, what a relief. I’d like to do a little shopping there, if it
hasn’t been outlawed.”
“Sure, come on down.”
“I am down. Look out your front window.” He turned and I waved.
“Oh, hi.” He waved back.
The relationship did not seem be
to progressing.
“May I come in?”
“Sure. You got your number?”
“How am I supposed to have a
number if you won’t let me in the door to get one?”
“Oh, you were supposed to stop by
and do that last week. Dincha see the
flyer?”
“So what you’re telling me is,
because I actually have a life and do not spend my dwindling moments on this
planet poring through the bale of ads I receive each week, that I can’t shop at
your store today?”
“That’s right, ma’am.”
“How about if I call the
police? This can’t be legal!”
“If they don’t have a number, they’re
not getting in, either.”
“This is outrageous! I will never shop at your store again.”
“And we’ll do our best to explain
the drop in the stock prices to our shareholders, ma’am.”
If I ever wanted to slam down a
receiver, it was then, but cell phones rob us of that olde-tyme pleasure. The only option I had was to crush it
underfoot, but then I’d have to buy a new one, and God only knew what I’d have
to go through to get into the phone store.
From Rockler, I drove to straight
to Barnes & Noble and had no problem whatsoever getting in. I was welcomed at the door and given a sandwich
and a latte. It was peaceful, since I
was the only shopper in the place. While I browsed, unhurried, the sounds of
crickets and peepers accompanied me. Others
can go to WalMart and fight over Elmo or televisions the size of Montana. Others can go to Rockler and have an aneurysm
in front of the store. I was among
friends now. When my pile of books was totted up and paid for, the cashier
rushed to the door to open it for me and said, “God bless you and keep you for
coming in today.”
Stij is getting a pile of books
for Christmas. Though they won’t help
him in the shop, they will save him
big on bail money.
