SHOP UGLY

Beautiful Lady in Aisle Seven

The good old days weren’t all good

I love my hardware store. It’s a family business so it’s the opposite of Amazon. The people who work there are awesome and take returns without looking at the item. They don’t stare suspiciously like I’m returning a cigarette-beer- stenched prom dress. Their vibe is more, “I’m sorry I failed you. Don’t give up on us.”

It feels like the old days in my hardware store, where people are kind and customer service is relaxing and helpful. I don’t feel like I’m in trouble all the time, like now. These days, I’m always apologizing to salespeople for interrupting their phone calls or cigarette breaks or nervous breakdowns. This place is special, time trapped.

Unfortunately, there is another historical holdout that I wouldn't mind getting rid of. Creepy visibly horny dudes who remind me of a time men could slap an ass and ring someone up without a reprimand in sight. I know some of you are thinking “I miss those days.”

Yesterday, I was walking down the aisles looking for flower boxes when a grinning middle-aged guy in a red vest was walking towards me like a frat boy who just saw a high school girl enter a frat house. Dibs.

I hate it when I brush my hair, put on cutoffs and sandals and become less invisible. In the Midwest, where we’ve been covered up in snowsuits, medical masks, and quarantining for two years, summer is dangerous for females. The menfolk are very happy to see us in less clothing and in public.

What can I do for you lovely lady? The red vest asked. His pupils were so big I could have thrown seeds into them and planted a tree. It was one of those moments I wouldn’t have minded being called ma’am or grammie gram.

Whenever people ask me why I don't always make myself look beautiful, this is why. The side effects. My dumpy, crazy-haired, cat lady look keeps the riff-raff at bay. I like that. It makes the world bigger and easier to get around without being knocked cockblocked.

I’m not saying I’m suddenly Jennifer Lawrence when I show some skin and shine my hair, but with many men, even the implication I care about my appearance is enough to get them sniffing down the tool aisle.

I’m just looking, I said to the sniffer. He grinned, did a pivot, and dismounted off his horny perch.

Unfortunately when I found what I was looking for — flower boxes — they had been placed on a shelf that was about eight feet up. I’m not seven feet tall so that’s a reach for me. I pulled over one of their stools but that only bought me a few inches.

I was still a good two feet away from reaching the flower boxes. I considered throwing a basketball at them, but I didn't have a basketball. I thought about going to the shovel aisle, but for some reason, the shovels were locked down. People steal shovels?

I looked around for staff and saw no one but the red vester in heat.

I actually do need a little help, I said. I pointed at the flower boxes. I also noticed he was my height as he looked up at them. He pulled his radio out of his holster and said loudly, Beautiful woman in aisle seven needs assistance! She’d prefer someone tall.

He smiled at me the whole time he was speaking, eyes locked on. You ever have those moments when you're being held hostage by a grin? It was one of those. I felt complicit.

What could I say, “No, sir. There is not a beautiful woman in aisle seven. There is a woman who requires assistance in aisle seven. Yes, she would prefer someone tall or with a ladder.” I wondered if my horny dude was afraid of heights.

I know I’m sensitive. I’ve been told. I’m told by people who don’t want to take any responsibility for their being insensitive. I’ve also been a woman long enough to know the difference between slobber and helpfulness. I love my hardware store but I’d like it more if the men in red vests were a little less hard.