i’d have made a good rack master


I realized that I still hadn’t acquired a present for the swap thinger we’re doing this Thursday at the company holiday shindig at work this afternoon.

“Hell and damnation,” I murmured to myself (or at least thought to myself). “This means I must do one thing I hate above almost all else–go to the store the week before Christmas.”

So I debated for a while; should I go to Target, or go to Wockenfuss (which, in case you don’t know, is a local candy company. Also a Hallmark).

A certain someone who shall remain nameless suggested that I go to Target. I had been leaning that way, dances of cranky old ladies and way too many people crammed into the small Wockenfuss in my head. So to Target I trekked after work.

That was a mistake.

A big mistake.

A BIG BIG BIG mistake.

It took me twenty minutes to even get three hundred feet around the building from where I turned into the parking lot.

And let me tell you, the parking lot at this particular Target is usually enough to make me go to a different Target. And that’s on a regular day. Forget at the holidays. Fuck that noise. I don’t know what possessed me to even try. Oh, it mightn’t be too bad.

The store itself really wasn’t, actually. There were plenty of people there, but it was probably less busy than a busy Saturday. Only I couldn’t find a bloody thing to buy that wasn’t just junk. And as I’m in the process of trying to get rid of a lot of the junk in my life, the idea of purchasing more junk just made me shudder. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

So I called my mother who, poor soul, was a the mall at the time. What possessed her to do that, I shall never know. I wouldn’t set foot near that place this week, not for all the tea in China. Not for all the “sugar” in Columbia. She’d had no luck either, and was headed to Wockenfuss. I wormed my way out of the damn parking lot, which took nearly as long as getting in, and moseyed my way down Joppa Road to a damned shopping center that’s ON MY WAY HOME FROM WORK.

There was no trouble getting into this parking lot. In fact, I got the spot at the very top of one of the rows. Waltzed right into Wockenfuss, where there were no dancing little old ladies, and no lines to speak of either.

Figures. I picked up a present, paid for it, and went home.

What could’ve taken me ten extra minutes took two extra hours. I’ll make someone pay for that. Don’t know how, don’t know when, but it shall be painful.


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