It all began when I finished my holiday decorating and realized that I have absolutely nothing with which to adorn my kitchen table. Well! We can't have that, since my entire Sunday School class is coming over for dessert in two weeks - shah! Hence my trip to Hobby Lobby. Now let's talk about Hobby Lobby for a second. First of all, I think it has a really stupid name. At least they spelled both words correctly, unlike Kwik Kar, but that's about all it has going for it. Unfortunately, despite not liking it I find myself going there at least every other month or so because it's way closer to my house than Michael's, and I'm just a crafty kinda gal, and I am oft in need of crafty kinda supplies.
Upon arriving, I parked in Egypt and joined the swarms of folks headed to the Lobby. It was when I got inside and entered the Christmas aisles that I was fully exposed to the after Thanksgiving shoppers. Now, my friend Cousineddie loves, loves to shop on Black Friday. She gets some kind of weird high off of the crowds and the sales. I don't know what's wrong with her. I get no such high. I get really, really annoyed is what I get. Annoyed at parents who
Kids: Hiiiiiiiii-yah! [brandishing rolls of wrapping paper in sword-like manner]
Kids: R-r-r-r-r-r-r! [machine gun, now aimed at me]
Parent: Hmmmmm... [checking prices on candles, now blocking aisle with cart]
Me: Ahem. [smile, politely clear throat, give kids the "aw, you're cute" smile.]
Parent: STOP THAT RIGHT NOW! [grabs kids roughly by elbows and yanks them to her]
Well, that wasn't really what I was going for, but to each his own, I supposed. At least I was through. I squeezed by Rambo and Killer and made my way to the next aisle. I was bumped, elbowed, scratched and blocked repeatedly until I finally had all of my supplies necessary to create my table centerpiece. I took a deep breath and wove my way to the lines that were approximately 32 miles long. I sighed. I am The Worst at picking the good line.
I resigned myself to the one closest to me and began to amuse myself by looking at all of the junk on display. Texas sized jalapeno jelly beans? No, thanks. Glow in the dark lanyard strips? No. Easter basket grass 90% off? Um....The slowest cashier in the world? Yes! I was going to get her! Alright!! I gamely looked around into everyone else's baskets just to see if I could get any good ideas, I checked out everyone's clothes and hair [Not good - when did it become acceptable to shlep out in public in pants that resemble pajamas and fat rolls hanging out? I stare at those people.] I tried to imagine how the people were going to use their decorations in their homes, I imagined what their homes might look like, I planned next week's dinner menu and plotted most of my lesson plans, and then finally, finally it was my turn.
That was when I met Cheryl. Cheryl was middle aged and slow motioned. I don't know what was physically or mentally wrong with this woman, but all I had was a hand held basket of stuff. Not a cart, a basket. I timed her because this line had become something of a laughingstock. The people behind me rolled their eyes. I attempted the "it's not my fault" gesture, but I don't think I pulled it off. Cheryl's..........hand......would.......pick.......up......an......item, Tuuuuuurrrrrrrrnnnnn itttttt ooovvvveeeeerrrrrr and loooooooooooooook for the price. I helpfully leaned in and pointed to each price for her, then to the accompanying sale paper for the discount, since she had to ttttttyyyyyyppppe eeeeeeaaaaaccccch one in to the register, then rooooolllllllll it over in her hand. Then she reached for the wrapping paper.
"I'll do that. You just keep going," I hastily said, wrapping my own vase. She looooooooooooked up at me and staaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrred. "Keep going, I got it!" I smiled helpfully, placing my package in the bag for her. The woman behind me snickered. Cheryl sh-sh-shu.....rugged [it really did take that long] and reeeeeeeaaaaaached for the next item. Now, multiply that times the 8 items in my basket and consider a credit card transaction and you've got (ready?) FOURTEEN MINUTES!!!! Fourteen minutes to check out! How do I pick this line every single time? It's an unbelievable gift. Curse. Hex. Something. I snatched my my packages, smiled sympathetically at the woman behind me and dashed out of Hobby Lobby like I was on fire.
Hate. Stupid. People. Well, the ones I don't know. I'm never going to Hobby Lobby again. During Christmas season. Well, at least not on a Saturday. Or if I really need something.