The Backroads: Corporate snipers
By Sean Hart
Saturday, September 19, 2009 3:55 PM PDT
All I needed was a belt. A simple task. In and out.
Navigate the circus-frenzy parking lot, dodge a few crazies on the way to the belt rack, secure the needed leather and toss a few bits at the clerk while in a trot for the door.
Of course, there was a chance I’d lose my pants in the process. (My suspenders were at the cleaner.) But I needed a belt, and I knew a place of this size would surely have one.
Normally, I would have waited until the safety of the darkness — when at least the children would have been tucked away. The night-shift box boys do have blades, but that’s no comparison to the dangers that lurk in these places in broad daylight.
But it was the end of the month. Almost payday for another hoard of degenerate bargain shoppers. The kickers and biters. A stampede of elbows and out-of-control carts. Better try it now, I thought.
I pulled into the lot with no major difficulty, save for a pack of young pedestrians grazing in a clearly marked driving lane. I kindly escorted them to the walking path with my horn and the gentle approach of my fender. Then, I screeched to a halt well within a marked stall on the opposite side of the parking lot.
That’s the problem with the youth today — no respect. Doesn’t anybody care about the rules anymore? Nevermind the fact I was showing as much underwear as they were on my walk to the front doors of the massive facility; I’m a productive member of society.
But it was then, I think, with my pants falling down, it first noticed me. The eye in the sky. With as many cameras as this place boasted, it undoubtedly had a security staff trained in the deserts of Afghanistan. I’m sure the snipers promptly loaded their guns, if they weren’t already watching those kids.
The parking lot was actually relatively normal. I should have known the circus was waiting inside.
Drunken clowns of all shapes and sizes, a host of little people (some wearing diapers), three bearded ladies and an obese man with built-in wheels hovering all over the place. He was actually a nice fellow, though, and cleared a nice walking path in his wake. I was pretty sure he wasn’t looking for a belt, however. I knew I would have to fend for myself to accomplish my mission.
I ducked behind a mountain of socks, and there they were, the belts, shining like some medieval treasure. Perhaps I might make it out alive after all.
Another step, and there they were — those kids from the parking lot, and they were a lot larger than I remembered from the driver’s seat. No time for a fight, I thought. I’d be eaten alive by cannibals in this place if I was in a weakened state after punishing these children.
So, I snuck a couple aisles over and perused the nice selection of hosiery and chest-support devices until they moved along, still grazing slowly like a herd of cattle.
When the coast was clear, I crawled over to the belt rack and hurriedly searched for my size. Without sequins. Without studs. Without being 3 inches wide. Doesn’t anybody where normal belts anymore?
I finally thought I found one. Tried it on. Nope. Tried another. Nope. Another. Eventually, I came across one that would work, and that’s when I could feel it. The snipers were on me. Having tried on so many, they thought I was going to swipe the sole item I came for.
You can tell when you’re in the crosshairs. It’s like that eery feeling in a dark alley, all hairs standing. For a moment, the roar of the circus faded away as I scanned the rafters for my enemy. I saw nothing. They must have been mobilizing the assault squad. I knew I had to act quickly.
I bumped and weaved through the mob like a running back. Stiff-arm. Juke. Right over them. No holds barred. Straight through the crazies. All the way to the register.
I threw a wad of bills at the cashier before the assault squad could stop her and was peeling out in my car, belt in tow, before they ever came out the front door.
At home, filled with the pride of accomplishing my mission, I donned the belt and cinched it up. But my pants hung as low as they did before putting it on. It was far too large to be effective.
I knew I was going back to the store, but I chose a different one. The hardware store. No drama, just a leather punch. A few holes later with 8 inches of extra belt sticking out, my pants actually covered my backside.
A belt — a simple task indeed.
Lifestyle Editor Sean Hart can be contacted at SeanH@argusobserver.com. The opinions expressed in this column are not necessarily those of the Argus Observer.
