duck-shaped pain

Today's attempt on my part to jumpstart the economy took me to REI, a store I truly hate. Maybe other locations elsewhere are okay, but the one here is staffed by some of the most annoying salespeople I've ever encountered. These people will just not leave you alone. I don't mind being approached and asked if I need any help, but when I say I'm just looking, I mean it. Please leave me alone.

But in some places, an unattended customer is an occasion for panic. I was looking through the selection of small plastic jars, looking for something to put pills in, when one of the salesclerks came over. I had told this guy about five minutes before that I was fine, that I would ask him if I had any questions. He then proceeded to walk me through their entire line of small containers. "See these ones with the squirty things on their caps? Those are for liquids and gels." I was feeling tolerant, though, so I just let him demonstrate. I picked out two wide, round jars with snap-on lids ("You can also put cotton balls or tiny beads in those.") and he seemed happy.

I also picked up some concentrated liquid soap and a set of plastic compression bags. These are essentially enormous Ziploc bags, but with one-way air valves in one end. You put your clothes or other fabric items in, close the zipper, and start rolling up or pressing down on the bag. The air in the bag escapes out the valves, creating a vacuum (more or less) inside the bag. They keep your clothing all flat and compact, easily stored, and � wrinkled. [1]

Then some guy tried to sell me a backpack, even after I told him I already had one. Maybe he was feeling friendly, like he needed to reach out and relate to me in some way, but I assure you there are better ways of accomplishing this.

After I made my purchases there (which included a tussle-let with the clerk over the fact that I didn't have a membership and didn't want to get one right then), I went over to the other sporting goods place in town, to see what they had.

Store No. 2 is a huge, rambling, old-fashioned sort of sporting goods store. Yes, they have mountain bikes and fancy hiking gear, but they also have guns and duck decoys and soccer balls. The staff is sort of lackadaisical and non-existent, just like I like 'em. They approach you (or they don't, a lot of the time) and then they go away. Things are sort of randomly organized: fish lures next to cast-iron skillets next to cheerleading skirts. Still, I managed to find what I was looking for: a fancy-schmancy super-lightweight microfiber backpacking towel. It's very large, yet, folded up, it can fit into the palm of my hand. Much easier than lugging a big, slow-drying regular towel around for weeks. And I didn't have to listen to someone lecture me about it -- I just found it, bought it and left with a minimum of interaction.

My entire morning was devoted to reading the paper and drinking chai. It didn't happen quite the way I wanted. For the first time in recent memory, the bookstore was sold out of the Sunday New York Times. Which is understandable, even though it meant I was stuck with only the local papers. But then there was no chai -- the people at the bagel shop said that there had been an recent inexplicable run on cardamom and their supplier hadn't been able to get them any. Puzzling.

Flags everywhere -- on houses, on businesses, on shirts, on the antennas of cars. Which is fine, except when people start looking amiss at those of us who are not following suit. Most of the criticism is just implied, though looks and furrowed brows, but then, some of it isn't -- witness the two letters to the editor in today's paper, both on a theme of how people who are not flying the flag should be ashamed of themselves. As if there was only one correct way to act. Not everyone is comfortable with overt displays of patriotism -- to some of it, it's like antiques: something you have, but that you don't show off.

H. referred me to something amusing. I'm really not sure what the point of it is, but it's essentially a bunch of pictures of a rabbit balancing things on its head. There are other pictures and themes (rabbit in field, rabbit taking a nap), but there's a lot of balancing going on. The opening picture of the pancake cracks me up whenever I see it -- I have never wanted something on a t-shirt so badly.

[1] Which might be a bigger problem for me than others, since almost all the clothes I'm planning to take with me are linen. The magic of linen, though, is that it's supposed to look like that. It doesn't matter what you do with it -- starch it, iron to death, refrain from standing up or sitting while wearing it -- it will wrinkle. Keeping it in a compression bag just speeds up the inevitable.

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