Monday, August 18, 2008
TSC is not for the Pseudo Princess
Why doesn't life come with a little instruction book? One with definitions and pictures? Last night I decided to take advantage of having a sitter for a few hours and went shopping. My mother called to ask me to do her a favor and pick up some flyblock for horses from the TSC store. Not "A flyblock" mind you but "some flyblock" which led me to think that it was a spray especially after she told me it was to keep flies of the horses. (Even though I grew up on a farm I know nothing about farming) I walk into the TSC store, dressed in a flowery sun dress and open toes stiletto hills, (I'm a girly girl, can't help it) painfully obviously out of place, looking for the spray section of the store. No store clerks were in sight which was all the more better for me because I hate asking for assistance or directions just like most men. I walk over to the fly sprays but I can't find exactly what Mother is looking for. No sprays have the name "FLYBLOCK" on the label. Reluctantly I decide to ask for help. I find a man and ask him for the "flyblock for horses" He directs me to the back of the store. There I find these strange looking blocks all stacked on each other. Then I'm pissed because this man obviously wasn't listening. I walk back up to him with a little condescending look on my face and say "I need the flyblock for a horse to keep flies off, you know, like a spray?" He then looks at me as though I'm Kelly Bundy and states in a very dry tone "Honey, the horse licks on the block, chemicals are released throughout its skin which detracts flies. That's why they call it Flyblock." I then sheepishly respond okay as I follow him back to the blocks. Then he offers to carry the block for me. I ignorantly responded that no I could get it because I wasn't getting anything else, never taking into account the weight of the thing. (33.4 pounds in case you're curious) So he then hands me the block, which I proceed to drop on my foot since I didn't anticipate it being quite so heavy. My poor little open toed stiletto covered foot. I'm sure a blank stare then registered across my face as the sheer magnitude of the pain of a 33.4 pound block landing on my foot registered through my body. The nice man (who I'm sure thought I was the blondest redhead he'd ever met in his life) lifted the block off of my foot and carried it to the register for me, most likely out of pity) me quietly limping behind. He even carried it out to the car and loaded it for me, as we exited the store I could hear snickers of laughter. As if that wasn't bad enough as he was loading it he noticed my metallic hot pink fishing pole in the back of the car and said "You actually fish?" Never going back to that store. Ever. Any future request from my mother to pick up anything from TSC, Southern States, or Feed and Seed in its name will be denied.