My Hate-Hate Relationship with Home Depot
So I’m sitting in the parking lot of Home Depot. You’ve been there. Tell the truth, you’ve done exactly the same thing.
No, I’m not one of the day-laborers you see in the lot in the mornings, hoping for work. Can you image a day-laborer who’s physically intolerant to chemicals and construction materials? I’d be standing there forever!
No, I’m in the parking lot because Home Depot tries to kill me when I go inside.
If we have important purchase decisions to make, for which my input is needed (“Yeah, that’s good!” is usually my hurried response so I can run out) like choosing floor tiles, lighting or fan fixtures, I’ll go in and suffer the consequences. But those times are few and far between, thankfully.
Otherwise, if I even go, you’ll find me in the parking lot waiting. That’s where I was a few days ago, when it started getting hot in the car. So I got out of the car and stood under the tree watching the crows pick up sticks to make tools out of them, for what I don’t know. Everyone at Home Depot seems to be industrious.
A guy in a van drives by me slowly, looking (leering?) at me. I don’t know if he thinks I am looking for work, and if he does… what kind of work? Whatever!
Then a man comes out of the store to his truck two spaces over from me and pulls his purchase out of a bag. I hear an aerosol can spray noise and before I can see what he’s doing, the breeze carries Lysol spray odor over to me. Immediately, sinus pressure starts as I fumble with the door handle to hurl myself back into my car.
Inside the car, blinking my eyes from the irritation, I can’t help but wonder why this guy is spraying his hands with Lysol? Did he dig around in his cat’s dirty litter box for something he dropped?
