“Hello there, ailment
I had something to buy. He wouldn’t run it through the register.
I said, “I’d like to buy this male-to-female RCA lead.”
“You’re an IDIOT,” he said. Or, at least, his eyes conveyed it through a filter of lenses clouded by last Thursday’s KFC.
“Are you sure?” he wanted to know.
I counted, as I vowed I would, to ten.
“Yes. I’d be so grateful if I could buy this male-to-female RCA lead, thanks.”
“What are you going to do with THAT?” asked Smartarse McTool.
I could have offered many responses. Most of which are unpublishable in a proper lady’s blog. I didn’t. Instead I imagined the painful and inappropriate intrusion of a male-to-female RCA into Smartarse McTool’s USB port.
The image didn’t help. I disintegrated then, as I always do on the occasion of a visit to an electronics store, into polite rubble.
I should have snarled. I should have flourished the lead like a confident porn star. I should have waved my cable, said “How you like me now, baby?” and made him suck it before leaving him 8.95.
I just wanted to go home and get my dirty patch job done.
When Smartarse asked “What are you going to do with THAT?” I had to answer, didn’t I? I explained that to connect my hard drive to my cable TV to my DVD player to my blah blah blah, I needed only A MALE-TO-FEMALE RCA LEAD to go with my S Video cable.
Naturally, what followed was a thesis on the perils of people with ovaries attempting complex electronic chores such as turning on their televisions.
After a grown up shopping life, I should be used to this. I should know just to grab the fucking lead and run. Actually, I should just shoplift the things. No man would suspect a woman of theft in an electronics store.
But I will not learn my lesson. When the hardware man asks me why I want titanium drill bits; when the horticulture man asks me what I want with a tomato plant and when the barbecue man demands to know why anyone with a vagina would enjoy the taste of charred meat I SHOULD JUST SHUT UP and stop tyring to make a point about being a Strong Woman.
Or, I should possibly say, “I don’t, tee hee, know. I’m buying this for my fiancé.” That’d get me home quicker.