The other day I ended up going for a walk to get some fresh air as well as a bunch of supplies.
Among the stops I had to make were the fabric store and the hardware store. Since I try to plan my errand-running routes as efficiently as possible, these were both on my way back home.
The fabric store was first. I picked out a few different things, but most importantly I grabbed one yard of each of their most believably realistic fake animal furs.
When I went to the checkout counter, the nice lady who rang me up apologized for the fact that they were out of the larger size of shopping bags (this being the Christmas season) and would instead have to put my huge pile of fur into a large, clear trash bag so I could carry it home. Since I would be on foot and it was likely to start raining before I finished the walk, I figured any bag at all was a good idea.
Then I went to the hardware store.
Picking out the handful of items I needed was only a matter of minutes. Then, as is often my habit, I wandered around the store for a while to see if there was anything on the shelves that would seem like a solution to any of a number of problems simmering on the backburner of my to-do list.
The staff at this particular store was exceedingly helpful. In fact, I was asked "can I help you?" so often that it started getting annoying. Eventually I realized that this wasn't the "I'm asking because we have great service" version of "can I help you?" so much as the "would you please leave my store because I don't want you here" version of "can I help you?"
Somewhere along the way I also noticed that people were giving me occasional dirty looks. Things were getting weird. Had I left my fly unzipped? A quick, discreet check verified that it wasn't the problem. Was I wearing a t-shirt with something on it that was considered offensive by the locals? No, I glanced down at a plain black sweater. Did I match the description of some locally notorious sex offender? I had no way to know.
Feeling unwelcome, I made my way to the cash register. The girl behind the counter was courteous but curt and things still felt a bit strained. Then, after rushing to get me out the door, she finally asks me, "What's in the bag?"
"It's a bunch of fake fur for a costume project," says I, "why?"
"Oh my God," replies she, "the manager said there was some guy wandering around the store carrying a bag of dead animals. Looks like he was wrong."
I guess I can see where he got that idea:
Apparently it's not unheard of for folks to bring roadkill into the hardware store.
If nothing else, the reactions I got from a handful of strangers made me appreciate the suppliers and local shops that I normally deal with. Every time I walk into the local shops back home, the folks on staff tend to ask what I'm working on and no matter what my answer is, it's never too weird. Whenever my the representatives from my various supply companies stop by the workshop to discuss new products, the conversation is always fascinating, off-the-wall, and nobody ever bats an eye.
That said, I kinda miss the little bits of shock value that used to come with the normal goings-on in my projects. I think I need to start making things weirder. Or weirder things. Either way.
