I Can’t Home Depot

If you have to go–by yourself–to a hardware store or a home improvement warehouse superstore or some sort of Depot of Home things, make sure you have the requisite penile organ to escape the experience with your sanity and your pride intact.

I’m a girl. (Okay, I’m a woman, but I am totally a girl. You know what I mean.) Going to a hardware store shouldn’t be a traumatic experience, but it always is for me. I can’t help that I appear terrified and lost. I mean, the place has, like, 200 foot ceilings, the smuggest-looking employees in the world, and 25 different places where a particular item could or should be.

Completely Hypothetical Example:  I need a new twisty knob thing for my shower that turns the water on. I’m actually walking around the store with the broken one in my left hand. Is it in Bath, Plumbing, or Hardware?! Why are all the dipshit employees named Jason and why are they looking at me with the same look of condescension I give women who wear capri pants? How is it that I’ve walked down the same aisle three times? Why is a customer asking me if I need help? Where are all the orange-vested Jasons? Where do I pay for this thing? Why is the parking lot so big? WHERE DID I PARK MY CAR?!

I figured out why the parking lot is so big. I literally needed that five minutes driving across the lot to decompress before I got back out on the road.

So damn you, Jason. Also, the other Jason. And all your little Jason friends.

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