Shoefeathers

Personally, I hate shopping. For anything. But sometimes, ya just gotta. When I'm forced to do any shopping beyond a quick sortie to the grocery store, I suffer from SnAADD*, which can sometimes provide me with blog material when the second 'A' kicks in. So earlier today, I went to the mall on what turned out to be a five-pronged mission:

1. Get a new watch (the previous one RIP).

2. Get some lens cleaning stuff for my glasses.

3. Get a rubber chicken (long story).

4. Get a new pair of shoes.

4a. Write about the last.

I hate when this happens (shopping that requires more than one or two stops). So I share the misery (more on that presently), under the theory that missouri loves kansas. I'm not sure who's theory that is, but I'm not much for detailed research into it and I digress.

I went to the nearby Colorado Mills Mall (it'll become a 'Maul' during the Xmas shopping season, but I digress again), wherein all that I needed for this arduous task was present: Target, Lens Crafters, Spencers, and Famous Footwear. I wasn't sure where I'd begin to "share the misery/missouri" of shopping, but knew it was only a matter of time.

Pun intended.

First stop, Target, where I sought a cheap watch to replace the cheap watch what's time had come**. I found it; then needed to find a child to remove the child-proof apparatus holding the watch inside the box it was in. I found her in a store employee, though she appeared to be an octogenarian who admitted that she was still a child at heart, which she proved by adroitly stripping the watch from the bracket I had been unable to budge.

Then to Lens Crafters to buy cleaning tissues and solution. When the clerk asked if there was anything else I needed, I responded with "that's quite a list; how long do you have?" She was unamused, though I did draw a *chuckle* from a customer waiting off to the side.

I could feel the inner restraints slipping.

Then to Spencers, where the clerk was more than happy to find me a rubber chicken, and even quicker to remark that once I'd paid for it, I could choke my own chicken.

I shoulda got her phone number. Then again, if I wanted someone to tell me to choke my own chicken, I coulda called up my ex-fiancee.

Another long story.

Finally, I found myself at Famous Footwear. And it was time for misery/missouri to love sharing:

Clerk (a quiet, pleasant late teenster female with enough visible piercings to imitate flatulence under water, if she were): Can I help you?

Moi: I'm told I'm beyond that, but thanks for asking.

Clerk (with a confused look): Uh...can I help you find something?

Moi: Oh, yes. Any idea where I can find some shoes?

Clerk (now with a *duck hit over the head look*): Uh...what kind of shoes?

Moi: The kind that go on the feet.

Clerk: (first hint she was dealing with "one of those"): Ooookay...like (yes, she said it) what kind of shoes did you have in mind for your feet?

Moi: The kind that fit.

Clerk (first hint that an urge to beat me over the head with anything was creeping in): is there, like (TOING) a brand of shoe you're interested in?

Moi: Yes.

Clerk (after about 10 seconds of waiting): sir, what brand?

I cut her some slack after that 'un, and she led me to the particular shoe brand I had in mind. Expecting me to take my time and try them on, I looked at the size on the box, opened it, said "yawp", and headed for the register.

Clerk: Sir, aren't you going to try them?

Moi: Nah. That takes so long. First there's the arrest, booking, they get a lawyer and won't admit to anything, then there's the arraignment....this saves time.

About now, her older colleague (probably the shift manager), who'd been listening in, comes to her rescue, and offers to ring me up.

Moi (to her colleague): am I cheaper than the shoes?

Clerk 2 (with an amused smirk): Should I answer that?

Moi: Nawp...just ring up the shoes and spare my ego.

While the younger clerk is standing off to the side, looking at me like I have two heads, I slowly realize that I do, sorta: the rubber chicken's head is hanging out of the other bag I'm carrying. I'm about to 'splain that one, but know in my present frame of mind it can only go down hill and off a precipice if I do. So I ignore it.

After a moment, I further realize that Clerk 2 is having issues with the computerized register:

Clerk 2: I'm sorry, sir, we're having server problems.

Moi: That's why I gave up tennis.

Clerk 2: (quiet smirk, while Clerk 1 rolls her eyes)...yes...and how will you be paying?

Moi: Now, or in the hereafter?

Before she can come up with a snappy reply, I hand over my debit card.

A few minutes later, with a server slower than molasses running uphill in January, I sign the slip and get my receipt.

Clerk 2: Thank you, and I'm sorry for the wait.

Moi (patting my stomach): Eh, it isn't your fault....too many cheeseburgers...

Not only do I hate shopping...I think those who serve hate me shopping, too.

* Shopping Attention 'n Attitude Deficit Disorder

** Ignoring boos and ducking throwd expendables...