Dick's Sucks... Or, I Never Learn Anything from My Past Mistakes

That's right. I said it.

Better yet, I meant it.

So... There I was, in the largest sporting goods store in Concord, NH, and this smartass with bad hair told me (and I do quote):

"We don't carry those. No one rollerblades anymore."

Well, fuck you very much, Brad. (Oh yeah, NATURALLY his name was Brad).

I wanted to reach up, grab one of his eyebrows, and pull every damn hair out by the friggin' roots.

All the more so because on my way up Loudon Road, I happened to drive past two people who were, you guessed it, ROLLERBLADING.

*sigh*

How is this possible?

Seriously. And clearly, I have learned nothing from history... Because this is the very same problem I faced two years ago when my last pair of rollerblades bit the dust.

I LOVE to rollerblade.

It is the one time in my gravitationally and aerodynamically challenged life when I can actually do a physical activity that doesn't require me to wear two sports bras in order to avoid unsightly bouncing.

Plus... It's really fucking FAST.

I love me some FAST.

(Oh go ahead and snicker you perv. I'll let it go this time).

Anyway, the last time, I ended up having to drive to Manchester, where there are two sporting goods stores in adjoining strip malls... BOTH have an entire aisle devoted to nothing EXCEPT rollerblades and rollerblading accessories.

So don't tell ME that no one rollerblades.

I fricken' know better.

So anyway... yes, I once again had to go to ManchVegas to score my drug of choice. But, it's all good. I'm happy with the ones I got.

I just wish I could cast aside for once and all the shackles of propriety and really give one of those Dick's employees the come-uppance they deserve. As it was, all I did was embarrass him pretty good by making one of my oh-so-appropriate comments.

You see, after he told me that they didn't have the item I desired, he continued to follow me about the store. When I stared unseeingly at a kayaking display, he informed me:

"We have all kinds of kayaking supplies...blah, blah, blah... We even have several top of the line flotation devices. Are you interested in purchasing some?"

I raised an eyebrow, looked pointedly down at my chest, then looked up at him.

His spray on tan turned a little pink.

Slowly, I said the following, at the top of my lungs, "Dude... Look at me. I'm a D-cup. I AM a flotation device."

My sister, and several other patrons overheard this.

One guy looked like he was going to swallow his own tongue.

Martha (my sister) laughed out loud, and then repeated what I said in a choking voice that must've carried clear across to the Penacook and Hopkinton town lines.

I then stalked out, with a jaunty step.

Fuck him if he can't take a joke.

I rollerbladed for an hour and a half when I got home... and I plan to go out again after dark tonight.

My sister, ever the nutball, said to me, "Watch out for weirdos."

I looked at her, again raised a skeptical eyebrow and said,

"Martha... I have a metal yardstick, an imitation sword, a plastic pirate hook, 3 pairs of stiletto heels, and a prom dress in my trunk. I AM the weirdo."

Her reply?

"You have a point. Don't hurt anybody... Or, if you do... Make it someone cute, and just wound him so you can bring him home after."

I love her.

This is a running joke for us, ever since I learned that if you are in NH, and you hit something, you get to claim it as yours and take it home.


Watch out.


Just sayin'.