I ran 32.77 kilometres today. Before I could run, however, I went to the Urban Fare to buy some gels. (When you are weak, it is necessary to self-medicate with sugar in order to trick your body into thinking it’s capable of running further than it is.) This is irritating; better to have a box of gels in my house.
So when I was finished, I came home and walked the dogs across the bridge to the Running Room on Cambie. They needed exercise and grass to defecate on, and I needed gels. Win-win.
Yeah girl, water them shits.
I arrived at the store, entered, and began carefully selecting my gels. I was going to buy a shitload of them, but my one hand was preoccupied with the dogs, so I had no means to carry them all. So I simply shoved handfuls into my hoodie pockets. Vanilla. Chocolate. Tri-berry. I picked almost all the flavours, except Mandarin Orange (wtf) and was trying to determine how many comprised a “box”, (for that sweet bulk discount) when I heard a loud voice: “Take those out of your pockets!”
I looked over to see an old lady in a hot pink t-shirt glaring at me, angrily. “What?” I asked, confused. “Take those out of your pockets!” she repeated.
I stared for a second, then made a confused look and then asked “… then how will I get them to the cash register?!”
I understood of course that this woman had apparently found me guilty of shoplifting while I was still in the process of shopping, if you can wrap your head around that one.
I don’t recall exactly the rest of the immediately conversation, but I walked over to the cash and dumped loads upon loads of gels in a heap on the counter. The bitch rang the gels up in silence, as I grabbed one of their business cards. “Lori Parton – Manager”, it read. “I suppose this is you?” I asked. It was. I told her I’d be complaining to someone, and she argued that she “was still in the right” and that “I could have given you a box” and that “… it’s very unusual…”
That’s right, Lori Parton, you should have offered me a box, instead of harassing me in front of the entire fucking store.
“Thanks for your help, Lori.”
I asked her “Where are your little baskets to shop with, like at Safeway?” and she says “We don’t have any!”
“Exactly,” I said. Exactly, Lori.
So anyway, I actually did send a strongly worded email though I’m sure nothing will come of it. Though, surprisingly, the last time I sent a strongly worded email I was reimbursed hundreds of dollars to get out of a gym membership I was screwed over with, so you never know. Maybe John Stanton, CEO or John Stanton Jr., COO will bring the hammer down.
John is a total badass that looks like a cross between Chuck Noris and Arnold. There’s no way he’d tolerate those shenanigans.
I’ll let you know if I hear back.
Mitch out.