Need Help? Too fucking Bad ...

I'm a woman.  And I like to think I can do just about anything I put my mind to.   I take on most projects with a zest and a confidence that I can finish it.  Sometimes it isn't as successful as I'd like ... such as the infamous "Night of a Thousand Juices" ... but most of the time I can pull victory from the jaws of defeat.

Sometimes though, I find myself someplace where I feel like a fish out of water.  Tonight ... that place was Lowe's.

I needed to pick up a new doorknob and lock set to go with my new front door.  Everything will be installed in the next day or two and I'd waited until literally the last possible moment to get this last piece of the puzzle.   Stoney and I talked about me painting his mailbox now that the weather has gotten nice ... and so I'd planned to pick up the necessary supplies for that project as well.

So far so good, right?

I parked at the end closest to the locks, as Stoney suggested, and sure enough, everything I needed was very close.  I picked out my new door hardware ... and then started on the mailbox supplies.  This isn't hard.  I knew what I needed.  I needed sandpaper to sand off the rust on the top of the box ... I needed a rust-inhibiting primer ... I needed a silver-colored enamel to finish ... I needed a few drop clothes ... and several foam brushes.

(Shut up ... I like cheap foam brushes.  They work nicely and you can pitch a $0.99 brush a whole lot easier than you can clean a $8.99 brush.)

I found everything I wanted easily ... except the sandpaper.  I wanted the kind that would fit Stoney's sanding block.  I needed the kind with the special backing that works with velcro.  I stood there for at least ten minutes ... starting at the sandpaper like a monkey looking at a math problem.  I felt the backs of all of them ... and they were all paper.  They had sanding blocks ... and the paper to fit them ... but none of them were like the kind Stoney has.

So, I walked up to the two guys hanging out in the paint department ... and my existence and use of their air immediately pissed them off.   I showed them the used piece I'd brought with me ... and asked if they carried this type.

In the same tone of voice you'd use to speak with the mentally challenged, the older gentleman with the longer, graying hair said, "Yeeeeees.  We dooooooo carry this kind.  But this ... this is a special kind.  This is for a power tool.  You have to look in the power tool section to buy power tool sandpaper."

I raised my eyebrow and looked at him ... the sweat trickling down the back of my neck, reminding me that I was both tired and hot ... and I politely said, "This is for a hand sanding block.  Not a power tool.  We took it off the block so I could bring it here."

"Sure you did," he interrupted me.  "You want the power tool supplies right up there, honey.  Go that direction."

I was so fucking mad there aren't words.

Yes ... that's where this particular sandpaper was.  Right next to the identical sanding block that Stoney owns.  Same brand, same color, same everything.   Why do you have sanding blocks back by the paint ... and other sanding blocks up by the power tools?

And, more importantly, why do you have to be an asshole about it?

Fuck you, Lowe's.  Menards is getting my money from now on.  And fuck you paint section dude.  You know that much?  You're that cool?   You bet you are ... so goddamned cool in that red vest.  You're a super cool dude, yes you are.


Everybody knows that you're just an asshole
Everywhere that you go, people wanna go
"Oh, everyone knows"
Everybody knows, so don't pretend to be nice
There's no place you can hide
You are just an asshole
Everyone knows, everyone knows

Eminem - Asshole