Please Remove Your Tongue from my Nether-Regions

I don’t know about you, but if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s people paying too much attention to me at an establishment I have chosen to patronize.  The biggest offenders are usually restaurants, where someone got the brilliant idea a while back that what the manager needs to do is go from table to table at least twice during everyone’s mean asking if everything is alright, as they metaphorically soul kiss the customers’ large intestine.  In fact, I got into the habit of rocking onto one hip when I saw the manager coming to afford them easy access.  I have a word for whatever genius thought that this would be a good idea:


If I want to speak with management at any establishment I patronize, they can be assured of two things:  I will ask to speak with them, and they won’t like it that I did.  I think that’s really simple enough – but it gets worse.

Yesterday I decided it was time for me to look for some new hiking boots because I am tired of my feet being cold and wet.  Call me a slave to creature comfort if you must.  I am who I am.  You would think this would be a relatively simple task, but because I wear orthotics and have back issues, shoe shopping never goes smoothly for me.  I tried our usual shoe store without success – fresh out of my size in almost everything.  I went to two sporting goods stores, same story.  Then I went to Famous Footwear.

I am convinced that the people who work at Famous Footwear have attended Restaurant Manager Graduate School and graduated with honors.  I am sure they are made to do this, because they do it in every Famous Footwear store I have ever been in.  They greet you at the door, “Can I help you find something?”  Find something?  It’ s a shoe store, what in the world do they think we are looking for?  One day I am going to ask in which aisle I would find the personal lubricant just to see what they say.

I always answer very politely, “No, thank you, I’m just browsing.”  Less than five minutes later, “Are you still doing OK?”   Still doing OK?  Do I look like I am in acute distress?  Should we call an ambulance?  Doing OK?!?  Nevertheless, I answered, “Yes I’m fine, thank you.”  I try to be nice, I really do.  I don’t want my inner asshole to come out, but these people seem bound to uncover it – probably so they can stick their tongue up it.

Before you get all upset and write to me saying that this is a loss prevention technique, I am aware that is part of the strategy here.  I will gladly stipulate to a cavity search prior to leaving the store IF and only if I get to choose which employee does the search and they aren’t allowed to wear gloves.

Anyway, I was continuing my search for boots when the same annoying employee popped around the corner and said, “Oh, you’re trying to find a pair that fit your orthotics!  I know how that is, I am wearing mine right now?”  Seriously.  I don’t want to know whatever you might be wearing under your clothes.  If I can’t see it, I don’t want to know about it.  What’s more, I’m not at Famous Footwear looking to make friends – I’m trying to buy some boots.  And, if you must know, lady, I was using my orthotics to scratch my testicles because when I get irritated they tend to itch.

I left.  It’s really just not worth it.

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