04 February, 2013

A Trip to the Fabric Store

Despite being a literary cliche, it was indeed a cold and stormy night when my girlfriend and I found ourselves at Jo-Ann fabrics in Gainesville. We had come to avail ourselves of their wares for our various projects: the construction of Mandalorian armor, the manufacture of pouches for my wheelchair, and so forth. We thought nothing of the terrifying weather around us, only paying the requisite attention one need pay when a risk of sleet and ice is present.

We wrapped ourselves in our coats and crossed the parking lot with all due haste, not caring to linger in the downpour around us. Upon entering the store, we were bathed in the customary fluorescent light characteristic of low-end, big box retail establishments. Knowing what we wanted, we set to work, not yet entirely aware of the dour mood that pervaded the store.

Our first hint of the misery within came when I observed the pained expression common to the customers of the store. It spoke to me at length of great longing and sadness, of tragic and wasted lives spent amongst half formed constructs of felt and cheap yarn; where budget priced white box wine pushed regret down - temporarily - into a nice, forgettable corner of the subconscious. The expression did not seem entirely unusual to me, as this is the sort of person one tends to find out and about at the hour we had made our expedition, and so we paid these tortured souls no heed.

We pressed on amidst these shambling husks of people into the aisle which contained the raw materials we needed for one of our projects. Turning to grab what I required, I spotted an employee whose back seemed to be hunched by the weight of all the world's sorrows. Our eyes locked and I knew then what it was to glimpse into the very heart of misery. I turned away with haste to gaze once more upon my lover's warm continence, lest this wretched creature claim my very soul. I heard, or at least I believe that I heard, the pitiful being amble towards a customer in the next aisle where a muttered conversation was only half audibly perceived by me.

At length, the employee issued forth an anguished cry. "What do you wanna go to Micheal's for?" she asked in a nasally, high pitched drawl. She was answered only by the back of the customer, who I saw exit the aisle and leave the store, a cashier reaching longingly for her as if to pull her back down into the pit of depression in which this store resided. I knew that we were no longer safe here. If we did not make good on a hasty retreat, I feared for our ability to ever feel joy again for the rest of our natural lives.

We gathered our goods and made a diligent path towards the sole cashier on duty that dreary night as the previously encountered employee's cries issued forth from a back room to which she had presumably retreated. Before we even reached the counter, the cashier shrieked at us an offer to join their value club - ensuring that they would forever have us in their sullen grasp. My girlfriend, wise beyond her years, immediately replied as she laid our purchases upon the counter. "I'm sorry sir" she said, presenting a far braver facade than I believe I had at the time "but we're moving." The cashier was unfazed. "Well when are ya movin'?" he replied. "If it's not too soon..." Here he was cut off by my beloved as she pushed her debit card forward to buy her items. We paid with no further conversation and made good on our exit.

Arriving home, we slowly absorbed the pain and desperation of the atmosphere we had narrowly escaped. As a final insult, it seemed they had overcharged us on a sheet of foam presentation board, which would have been far cheaper than what we believed it had originally been anyway had we gone anywhere else. We had been cheated, in the end. We had been cheated by that damnable pit of sorrow and misery. And darkness and decay and Jo-Ann's Fabrics held illimitable dominion over all.

UPDATE: My good friend Elisabeth tells me that this is not at all unusual for fabric stores, so just fuck the whole damned enterprise.

2 comments:

  1. I was in a Jo-Anns last weekend, and it wasn't that bad. but it was on a weekend and in good weather, so maybe that's when all the happier people shop. As for those annoying membership cards, a simple "Nope" or "No thanks" once or twice usually works for me, though occasionally I get a clerk who is too persistent. One (at a different store, not Jo-Anns) launched into a spiel about how almost everyone had one, to which I replied, "And someone has to stand for the minority!" This went back and forth for about three or four minutes before my wife finally got sick of it and pulled me out of the store.

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    1. Perhaps your experience was a tad more reasonable, I'll grant. However, I insist that their Gainesville, Georgia location is built upon a nexus of despair whereupon the very heart of misery is made to be a very real and terrible corporeal being.

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