Sunday, 11 May 2014

Ricki's

I was heading into Kitchener on Friday to pick up some building supplies at Home Depot.  Jen messages me and says "Oh, could you stop by Ricki's while you're there and pick up these things I ordered off the web?".

Ricki's?  I vaguely recognized it as the name of one of those stores that takes up space between Canadian Tire and Future Shop.  I'd never been in one and never before believed I would EVER have a need to change that condition.  I find all those stores confusing.  Is there really any difference between Ricki's and Reitmans and Cleo?  Couldn't they all just be lumped into one store?  Guys just have the one store, Mark's Work Wearhouse, and we're perfectly happy.

Whatever, sure, I'll go.  A store's a store.  How bad could it be?

I pulled up to the store and followed another woman through the doors.  And immediately regretted my decision.

With one look I knew this was a place I did not belong.  This was an alien world and every fiber in it was screaming at me "GET OUT!".

Two waifish saleswomen were bee-lining it to the front door at the prospect of a commission.  Looking at me, the scruffy man in jeans and polo shirt, and the woman who I had followed in, they both veered towards the likelier sale.  While they were distracted I desperately looked for the counter so I could just make my pick-up and get the hell out of there.  There was no check-out at the front of the store.  Why the fuck is there no check-out at the front of the store?!?

Jesus Christ I was going to have to talk to one of these robots.  The woman who had first entered the store was not interested in talking to sales people, so one of them eventually gave me her attention on the off chance I'd actually spend money and wasn't just there to ask to use the bathroom.

I quickly explained my reason for defying all the laws of nature to enter their unholy den of couture.  She motioned me to follow her to the back of the store.  I was actually worried that I was being lead into some trap that preys on unsuspecting men whose woeful fate brings them inside a Ricki's.  As I passed each freakish mannequin I became more and more worried.

We got to the counter (at the back of the store?  seriously what kind of fucking sense does that make?)  and she floated off to find Jen's order.  Thankfully, Jen had already paid for the order so when she came back with the package I practically snatched it out of her hands and I'm pretty sure I sprinted out of there.

The sunlight never felt so warm and the fresh air has never tasted so sweet as when I finally made it through those doors.  Never again.

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