karen – Welcome to infinitefreetime dot com

My son and I needed to pick up our new glasses, so after dinner we went to that place, you know the one, the place that specializes in bulk goods and isn’t Sam’s Club. The one that promises … low cost. Yeah, them. I’m only being cagey because of how this story ends and I don’t particularly want it showing up in search results.

You tell me: Do you see a problem with this display of potentially explosive propane products? And, having seen this potentially problematic display of potentially explosive propane products, do you then draw any particular conclusions about the tanks themselves?

One way or another, my wife works in health and safety, and is therefore precisely the type of person for whom a triple stack of propane tanks, indoors might be a problem, and while I’m not a specialist, I’m not keen on, y’know, exploding. Or being exploded at. And I’ve worked retail, and am perfectly comfortable with the idea that some manager might have told some employee to get some shit out on the floor and either been misunderstood or not been smart enough to realize what he was ordering the underpaid nineteen-year-old he was talking to to do.

So yeah: I went and found a manager, and trying as best I could to radiate this is insanely dangerous and you need to take care of this while not radiating I am an asshole and we are both about to end up on YouTube, I pointed out that maybe this wasn’t a good idea or even maybe legal and please reassure me that you’re going to take care of it.

“It’s not dangerous,” he says to me.

I blink at him a few times, reconsidering my approach to the conversation as well as my entire understanding of how the world works.

“Were you under the impression that those were full?” he asks.

Well, yeah, and okay, I didn’t exactly pick one up and shake it, because again: dangerous, and while I don’t think any right-thinking person would stack propane tanks indoors, I am quite familiar with idiots. I actually find it more likely that an idiot might stack propane tanks indoors than that a retail store would have a giant display of items that you cannot buy and cannot be used for their intended purpose, especially without any signage indicating that if you want a propane tank you should, I dunno, go to the propane and propane accessories department located in Aisle F.

So no, I had not considered the idea that the tanks were empty, and I’m not sure how bad I feel about that, and I’m pretty sure this guy thinks I’m a moron but I’m also not sure how I feel about that, because I think I’d rather be thought a moron by a stranger who I’m never going to see or speak to again than not say anything about a situation that could potentially cause a huge fucking explosion.

Maybe I’m weird? I dunno. How would you have handled this?

Our grill has shit the bed, so we ordered a new one from Lowe’s, finding it online and setting it up to be picked up curbside at the store. I dunno if you’ve done this or not, but the way it works (at least at our Lowe’s) is that you pull into one of about eight labeled parking spots, dial a phone number, put in an extension, and then tell the person who answers the phone your order number and the spot you’re in. It took me a few seconds longer than it might have because I didn’t immediately realize that you can dial a # extension pretty much any time I want (I was waiting for a “to dial a specific extension, press blabla” prompt) but somebody answered the phone and said they’d be outside with my grill in a few minutes.

Cool.

Five minutes or so later I hear the unmistakable sound of a grill being rolled across a parking lot, and I put on my mask and hopped out of the car, figuring social distancing or not there’s no way dude is going to get this thing in my trunk by himself. And I notice that the guy pushing my grill out to me is being followed, at quite a bit less than a six foot distance, by a mask-free woman (note that wearing a mask in any retail store is currently mandated by our governor) who is highly upset that he is bringing me a grill and not bringing her something. Apparently she belongs to the minivan a space over, and she tried to call the number but no one answered and apparently this massive sin is worth abusing this poor dude who had nothing to do with it.

Dude, to his credit, is doing an admirable job of not getting caught up in her shit, and when a moment later she looks over at me and snots that She will Never Use This Service Again, but it’s Good that You got HIS Stuff for Him, he actually rolled his eyes at me, correctly figuring out that I was as annoyed by her as he was.

So, uh, Karen, look here: you either don’t know how to use a cell phone or you don’t possess the awareness necessary to realize that, every once in a while, it’s possible that people in retail jobs are busy and maybe you call back in two or three minutes if your call isn’t instantly answered. You also don’t have the sense to realize that you do not need to involve me in your shit. I don’t want to be involved in your shit, I have no reason to be involved in your shit, and if you insist on me being involved in your shit, you will probably not like the way that I involve myself, which will be to mock you into the grave and back. Because I don’t give a fuck if you had to call these folks twice.

A moment later, while the gentleman and I were ignoring the shit out of her and putting my grill in my trunk, someone else came out with all of her mulch, so … what, you got through after all? Was that whole thing just bullshit? Who the fuck knows.

Please don’t try to involve me in your customer service drama, people. I am always on their side, even if they’re wrong. If I need to paint that on my fucking mask, I’m happy to.