Laura D Durham

It is always an issue when I go into Home Depot.

I’m not saying this issue has anything at all to do with that fine establishment. It’s a chip on my own shoulder. I should just go in going, “WTFever.” But I don’t. I always go in stressed out that I’m going to be looked down on.

Unless I am in the middle of a project and on my fourth or fifth trip to return a part or get something I missed and I am beyond caring about anything other than getting the damn thing done, the issues always start with what I’m wearing. See, I want to look butch. But not so butch that people think, “Of course you’d shop here.” I want to look competent. But all my butchy clothes are winter wear. And it was too damn hot, yesterday, for that. So I had to wear capris (denim, of course), a tank, but I made sure to wear real shoes even though sandals would have been cuter coooler.

I went in to buy the toy I’ve been wanting for, like, ever, omg. My sliding compound miter saw. Oh, oh, you guys, she is so very pretty. Anyway, I got my shopping cart and headed in to get her. I greatly underestimated the amount of packaging that would go into such an amazing machine, however. So struggled to get the cumbersome box into, and finally settle for onto, the cart. But I was also picking up a miter saw stand. And this was a big bastard of a box, as well. After a quick sprint to Garden to get a flatbed cart, I load those bad boys up and I am off. But see, as I am loading the stand onto my cart, an employee stops briefly to slide the end of it the last, like, 4 friggin’ inches as he’s walking by with another lady. I thanked the guy, but I also kinda wanted to say, “Dude. I got it.”

When I went to check out, the cashier helped me pull the cart along, even after I said that it wasn’t heavy, just big. But, having been a cashier, I know it feels weird to just walk in front of a customer while they are pulling a big thing. So, ok, fine. I decline the offer of help out and head to my car.

Remember where I underestimated the size of the boxes? Yeah, my 90’s Corolla probably laughed as I walked up to it. I was able to slide the stand into the backseat, all smooth as silk. But the saw itself was just half-an-inch too big to go into my trunk. As I’m walking the box to my front seat, a cart guy runs up and asks if I need any help. I say, “Nah, I’m just Tetrising this into my car.” He still helps me the last little bit. I could have done it on my own. Honestly, if it had been heavy, I would have been fine with the help. But it wasn’t a “team-lift” item, ya know? Still, the guy helped me and thanked me for my business. All the employees were being nice, as they usually are. Just because I sorta half take them as possibly maybe “helping the little lady” is my issue.

Through the whole process I wanted to tell everyone who passed me, “These are mine. I’m not buying these for some husband or whatever. These are mine. I have wanted them, and I will use them. Because this big ass saw is mine. And, man, am I gonna cut and miter the crap outta stuff!”

I have issues. I come by them honestly, of course. But still, I wish I was cool enough to not worry about what other people are thinking.

Oh, and while shopping for my bad-ass power tools, I stopped to grab some paint. I spent 5 minutes deciding which color I wanted, contemplating the different shades on the color chips. I finally took my choice up to the counter and paint guy said, “You wanted the black, right?”
“Uh, no, you barbarian. I wanted Cracked Pepper.”