Paint this!

Lets talk about the absurd.

Wednesday, being my day of pain and all, also seems to include the moronic as well. I have just gotten use to the fact that "hump day" blows.

Today I needed to swing by the giant hardware store and pick up some primer for a few projects I need to finish. With the amount of primer I buy, I am an expert on the stuff. Ran in, picked up four cans and headed to the cash register.

Now I don't know about your neck of the woods but here, you can have 27 people in line and only 1 cash register will be open. The guy ahead of me will be buying 132 different screws, all of which he neglected to mark the price on the little bag, and the poor minimum wage employee will now have to measure each and every one of them. It will take a grand total of 48 minutes and the total charge will be $4.12 and he will need to pay with a hundred. My pregnancy didn't take this long.

By the time I get up there, I'm not feeling the love for giant hardware store. Plop my four cans of primer and the cash to pay. The helpful hardware employee rings up the first can. I am daydreaming about getting out of this store before nightfall, when I realize she is speaking to me.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" I inquire nicely

"I need your birthday" hardware employee states

Now, I'm a little puzzled. I've been carded before but last I looked I was still in the hardware store. I look at the primer to see if it is possible I substituted wine or another liquor product to help my day of pain.

"Why?" I inquire, still nicely. I'm just that way

"This is a controlled product and you cannot purchase it without a birthdate." hardware employee informs me.

"What is the cut off date for primer?" I inquire

"I can't tell you that. What is your birthday?" hardware employee is getting a little huffy with me.

I pause for a moment and try to think how old you would have to be to buy primer. What if I don't make the cut off? Am I then banned from all giant hardware stores and all primer? Or just this store and this brand of primer?

I fork over the information about my date of birth. In which case, no microphone needed, she bellows it right back at me. The entire line of people now are judging my age. All I can think, is thank goodness, I have make up on and I did my hair. Most days that is not a forgone conclusion.

Then at the top of her voice she announces that "Am I sure that is my age? because I don't look 45!"

Now all the people who were daydreaming about ever leaving this store in their LIFE TIME, don't have to do the math to find my age. It was just given to them and the store next door, and half of the parking lot. Thank you very much.

By now, I'm hardly friendly when I state "That yes I am sure."

Finally my primer is bagged and I can escape.

As I leave I ask "What is the cut off age?"

"Oh, it is way younger than 45" I am informed.

Good to know.