Tired
The HP claims that he suffers from intermittent agoraphobia. It usually flares up on the weekend when we have errands to run but there is football on TV. In his case it is not so much fear of the marketplace as couch-o-philia. However, yesterday I realized how relaxing a short case of agoraphobia might be (maybe Campbell Scott was right).
One day this summer while my brother was washing my car (when he offered, I realized that I had been relying on the rain to keep it clean for seven months. When he was done, I realized that I have a gold car, not a tan one), he told me that I should get new tires before the winter. When the HP was home and took a look, he agreed, and I know somewhere in Afghanistan there is a post-it note with “Ask Shannon about the tires” on it. He tries to nonchalantly work it into conversation sometimes, but I know he is never nonchalant. I also had a mental post-it note to get new tires, but I hadn’t gotten around to it (and hey, it wasn’t winter yet) until the other day when a most bizarre light came on in the dash of my car. It was most of a circle with a wavy line at the bottom and two tiny arrows inside the circle pointing toward a dot in the center. It looked like something that might pop up on an episode of Lost, but when I looked it up in the book, I found that it is actually somehow a signal for low tire pressure.
This development prompted me, finally, to look at the tires. The tires were, how shall I put this, Kojakified. There was almost no tread on the outer three inches, and while I’m no mechanic, I figured that was probably bad. The next day I dumped the crying Marty saddy boy at hourly care and took the car to Sears for tires. I pulled into the door that said “ENTER HERE FOR TIRES, OIL CHANGES, BRAKES. EXPRESS SERVICE!!! COME RIGHT IN AND PARK YOUR CAR RIGHT HERE!! EXPRESS SERVICE!!! EXPRESS SERVICE!!! WE SWEAR TO YOU THAT WE WANT YOU TO COME THROUGH THIS DOOR WITH YOUR CAR!!!” and nothing happened. No one came out to provide me express service, so I finally shut the car off and walked through the waiting room into the autoparts center to be checked in.
Thirty minutes later, I was still standing there (literally) waiting to be checked in. At one desk was a woman who had spent an entire 30 minutes hemming and hawing over the price of her tires. First she wanted the warranties checked, then she insisted that her current tires were more recent than what was in the computer (uh, they can look at the tires and tell when they’re from lady), then she somehow made up her mind to buy three tires, but then she wanted the guy to check what the difference would be if she bought four tires, and did she really need the alignment and balance, and I have to say I’m probably not the only one in the room who wanted to grab her by the ponytail and bang her head on the counter. The guy on the other side made his way through three customers, one of which cut in front of me, which pissed me off, but he had only come in a few seconds after me and he had to go to the dentist so while steam was coming out of my ears, I wasn’t actually seeing red at that point.
Then a mechanic came in to find out whose car was blocking the entrance. My car of course. I briefly considered asking why the sign begs you to come in that way when they don’t want you to, but instead I handed him my keys. I think he had expected me to go move it, but obviously, that was not happening.
Then jackass extraordinaire walked in. He asked me which guy I was waiting for and I said, “I’m next, whichever one finishes first,” but before I even got that out he had walked away, because he had obviously decided that he was going to cut the line too. He strolled over to look in the waiting room, and just as the annoying pony tail lady left, he went right to the counter and started with “Hey man, how ya doing.” At this point, I said in my most annoyed-and-there-will-be-a-scene-if-you-attempt-to-cut-the-line voice “Excuse me…” This got the attention of both men behind the counter who immediately looked up and said “She was next, she’s been waiting, we’re sorry ma’am, thank you for waiting so patiently, etc., etc., etc.” And the jackass extraordinaire said “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s why I asked you which one you were waiting for,” a comment that I ignored because obviously he didn’t care which guy I was waiting for. He figured a woman in an auto parts store can be pushed aside. He wouldn’t have tried that at McDonalds or waiting to buy shoes, but somehow he figured I must be intimidated by my surroundings, so he’d be able to blow right by me.
As a reward for not dickering over the price of two versus three versus four tires and not causing a scene with jackass extraordinaire, the Sears guy bumped my car to the front of the line and said it would be done about an hour sooner than he had estimated for everyone else. But then he asked me where my car was. I had no idea. I said, “the mechanic with the hat and the glasses moved it.” He gave a big sigh, which undid the small bit of goodwill he had won back from me by moving me up in the line. Finally, I full 45 minutes after I walked in for my express check-in, I left the check-in counter. I made my way through Sears where a number of overly cheerful and clearly bored salespeople attempted to sell me a refrigerator. I tried to smile and dismiss them with an “I rent,” but they kept shouting to me as I speedwalked away. What is wrong with these people?
In the mall, I realized that the Sears employees are people who are not quite annoying enough to work at the kiosks that run down the center of the mall halls. I never go to our local mall, so I was wandering around a little bit, but no matter how many times you walk by those kiosks, the nimrods working there will throw their spiel at you. The worst one was some guy whose line was “Can I ask you a question?” I said “I’m in a hurry,” and kept going. I don’t know what he was selling, but I think it had to do with fingernails. The second time I walked by, his little girlfriend cohort came over and said “Can I ask you a question?”
Annoying kiosk workers, can I ask you a question? By walking through the corridors of a mall have I somehow implicitly agreed to be harassed? If I am clearly trying to avoid you, why do you think it is okay to come hassle me? Do you think you have such charm, that somehow a person who wants nothing to do with you will not only stop and chat with you but buy your crap?
I was so annoyed I considered leaving through one of the department stores and walking through the parking lot to another part of the mall, but then I came up with a better idea. The final two times I approached their area (hey, I said I don’t go to that mall much, I was lost), I stopped, pulled out my cellphone and put it up to my ear. I didn’t care if they saw me, I hoped that they did (I’ve told you before, I’m a bad ass) and as soon as I passed them, I put it away. I’m happy to report that so far, they are not pestering people on the phone, but I’m sure that day is coming.
And that will be the day that I settle in on the couch with the HP for a beer, some football, and a case of agoraphobia.
One day this summer while my brother was washing my car (when he offered, I realized that I had been relying on the rain to keep it clean for seven months. When he was done, I realized that I have a gold car, not a tan one), he told me that I should get new tires before the winter. When the HP was home and took a look, he agreed, and I know somewhere in Afghanistan there is a post-it note with “Ask Shannon about the tires” on it. He tries to nonchalantly work it into conversation sometimes, but I know he is never nonchalant. I also had a mental post-it note to get new tires, but I hadn’t gotten around to it (and hey, it wasn’t winter yet) until the other day when a most bizarre light came on in the dash of my car. It was most of a circle with a wavy line at the bottom and two tiny arrows inside the circle pointing toward a dot in the center. It looked like something that might pop up on an episode of Lost, but when I looked it up in the book, I found that it is actually somehow a signal for low tire pressure.
This development prompted me, finally, to look at the tires. The tires were, how shall I put this, Kojakified. There was almost no tread on the outer three inches, and while I’m no mechanic, I figured that was probably bad. The next day I dumped the crying Marty saddy boy at hourly care and took the car to Sears for tires. I pulled into the door that said “ENTER HERE FOR TIRES, OIL CHANGES, BRAKES. EXPRESS SERVICE!!! COME RIGHT IN AND PARK YOUR CAR RIGHT HERE!! EXPRESS SERVICE!!! EXPRESS SERVICE!!! WE SWEAR TO YOU THAT WE WANT YOU TO COME THROUGH THIS DOOR WITH YOUR CAR!!!” and nothing happened. No one came out to provide me express service, so I finally shut the car off and walked through the waiting room into the autoparts center to be checked in.
Thirty minutes later, I was still standing there (literally) waiting to be checked in. At one desk was a woman who had spent an entire 30 minutes hemming and hawing over the price of her tires. First she wanted the warranties checked, then she insisted that her current tires were more recent than what was in the computer (uh, they can look at the tires and tell when they’re from lady), then she somehow made up her mind to buy three tires, but then she wanted the guy to check what the difference would be if she bought four tires, and did she really need the alignment and balance, and I have to say I’m probably not the only one in the room who wanted to grab her by the ponytail and bang her head on the counter. The guy on the other side made his way through three customers, one of which cut in front of me, which pissed me off, but he had only come in a few seconds after me and he had to go to the dentist so while steam was coming out of my ears, I wasn’t actually seeing red at that point.
Then a mechanic came in to find out whose car was blocking the entrance. My car of course. I briefly considered asking why the sign begs you to come in that way when they don’t want you to, but instead I handed him my keys. I think he had expected me to go move it, but obviously, that was not happening.
Then jackass extraordinaire walked in. He asked me which guy I was waiting for and I said, “I’m next, whichever one finishes first,” but before I even got that out he had walked away, because he had obviously decided that he was going to cut the line too. He strolled over to look in the waiting room, and just as the annoying pony tail lady left, he went right to the counter and started with “Hey man, how ya doing.” At this point, I said in my most annoyed-and-there-will-be-a-scene-if-you-attempt-to-cut-the-line voice “Excuse me…” This got the attention of both men behind the counter who immediately looked up and said “She was next, she’s been waiting, we’re sorry ma’am, thank you for waiting so patiently, etc., etc., etc.” And the jackass extraordinaire said “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s why I asked you which one you were waiting for,” a comment that I ignored because obviously he didn’t care which guy I was waiting for. He figured a woman in an auto parts store can be pushed aside. He wouldn’t have tried that at McDonalds or waiting to buy shoes, but somehow he figured I must be intimidated by my surroundings, so he’d be able to blow right by me.
As a reward for not dickering over the price of two versus three versus four tires and not causing a scene with jackass extraordinaire, the Sears guy bumped my car to the front of the line and said it would be done about an hour sooner than he had estimated for everyone else. But then he asked me where my car was. I had no idea. I said, “the mechanic with the hat and the glasses moved it.” He gave a big sigh, which undid the small bit of goodwill he had won back from me by moving me up in the line. Finally, I full 45 minutes after I walked in for my express check-in, I left the check-in counter. I made my way through Sears where a number of overly cheerful and clearly bored salespeople attempted to sell me a refrigerator. I tried to smile and dismiss them with an “I rent,” but they kept shouting to me as I speedwalked away. What is wrong with these people?
In the mall, I realized that the Sears employees are people who are not quite annoying enough to work at the kiosks that run down the center of the mall halls. I never go to our local mall, so I was wandering around a little bit, but no matter how many times you walk by those kiosks, the nimrods working there will throw their spiel at you. The worst one was some guy whose line was “Can I ask you a question?” I said “I’m in a hurry,” and kept going. I don’t know what he was selling, but I think it had to do with fingernails. The second time I walked by, his little girlfriend cohort came over and said “Can I ask you a question?”
Annoying kiosk workers, can I ask you a question? By walking through the corridors of a mall have I somehow implicitly agreed to be harassed? If I am clearly trying to avoid you, why do you think it is okay to come hassle me? Do you think you have such charm, that somehow a person who wants nothing to do with you will not only stop and chat with you but buy your crap?
I was so annoyed I considered leaving through one of the department stores and walking through the parking lot to another part of the mall, but then I came up with a better idea. The final two times I approached their area (hey, I said I don’t go to that mall much, I was lost), I stopped, pulled out my cellphone and put it up to my ear. I didn’t care if they saw me, I hoped that they did (I’ve told you before, I’m a bad ass) and as soon as I passed them, I put it away. I’m happy to report that so far, they are not pestering people on the phone, but I’m sure that day is coming.
And that will be the day that I settle in on the couch with the HP for a beer, some football, and a case of agoraphobia.
posted by Shannon at 9:58 PM
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