I’ve been out disturbing the masses again with my mind boggling baby wearing. Don’t get me wrong; there is a small colony of folks in Middle Alabama strapping on their babies and living their life of hands-free leisure. But, I’m still curious if they get the same hideous responses as I.
Sunday, I treated myself to an hour of one-child parenting while deluding myself with dreams of replacing/repairing a leaky bathtub faucet. Our tub faucet has been leaking long enough to thoroughly drown irrigate a sprawling plush golf course. After inviting an a$$hole plumber courtesy of our a$$hole home repair insurance (schamerican schome schield, a few more days without showering and you know where you can suck it) into my bathroom only to have him glance at the faucet and say, “Ma’am, yorn insurance ain’t gonna cover this. You done removed tha cap to that there faucet. Tsk, tsk. That’ll be $55.” And, off he went. So, off I went (stomping and mumbling xxx-profanities under my breath) to the computer and found this. Easy enough, it seems. (and, the plumber teacher? i totally want to befriend him and have him tell bedtime plumbing stories to my children. such a calm, relaxing voice. plumber video guy? call me?)
Since Alani is the lightest and loves the easy to finagle Björn, I willingly toted her along on my solo adventure to the 0rgy mecca for do-it-yourselfers, H0me Dep0t. Although there is a L0we’s a bit closer to our leaky bathtub faucet, I recently watched a bio on the guys who gave birth to H.D. and remembered their philosophy of hiring store clerks who know home repair and are eager to guide you in your wild dream of leaky faucet repair. And, while I viewed the faucet repair video a thousand bajillion times, a little guidance never hurts.
So, there I am on the Plumbing Whatnots aisle with Miss Al strapped to me kicking about and drooling puddles on the floor which I immediately smear away with my shoe (are her two maxillary central incisors ever going to push on through? we’re going on two/three weeks, maybe more, of swollen cherry gums with barely a hint of leaf shredders. she’s drooling more saliva than the bathtub’s leaking water). Umm, I all of a sudden have no idea what I’m doing. The main thing I remembered from the video was the Easy-Out although I don’t see anything labeled as such and Whoa! there is a plethora of stem things, knobs, caps, washers, wrenches galore,… Yeh, I have no idea what I’m doing.
So, again, there I am, obviously staring dumbfounded at the Mount Everest of bathtub faucet repair doodads. And, right on schedule, along comes Mr. Eager To Guide Me In My Do-It-My-Own-Damned-Self Repair Endeavors (geez, his parents gave him a lengthy name). Scattered along the aisle are several other bathroom-be-damned customers. Steadily, Mr. Eager works his way down the line, greeting each bleary eyed person, “Hello. Can I help you? Hi. What can I do for you today? Howdy. Bathroom got you down?”
I was standing midway, ready with my barrage of questions, beginning and ending with, “Tell me what to do. I am your bathroom faucet repair slave.” One person shooed him away, the next had a pricing question, then my turn.
Hey, where did he go? It was my turn, but he breezed right past me. Like he had previously arranged business with the balding, pudgy fellow fingering rod and ball mechanisms in toilet repair land. Yet, I overhead the same, “Hello. Drop one too many kids off at the pool? How can I help with your toilet repair?”
Hmm. Maybe he thought I was with one of the other couples on the aisle? I don’t think so. He was leaving me be to my fetish for all things shiny and plumbing affiliated? He simply overlooked me and the additional person attached to my body? No and no, I doubt it.
Out of curiosity, instead of grabbing him on his next trip down the aisle, I just turned and attempted eye contact to see if he would ask me about my plumbing needs. (my plumbing-plumbing works just fine, thanks) Nothing. The Great Breeze of Mr. Eager passing me by.
I should have spoken up and asked for help, but after the two repeated blow-offs, I had no patience or desire to talk with the dude anyway. (he made a total of 3 separate trips down the aisle and never once even made eye contact with me…he pretty much had to step around me to get past the bulging, dangly, chirping alani) I picked what I thought might do the job, eeny-meeny-miny-moing my decision between 6-step seat wrench and tapered seat wrench (??? i have no f*ckin clue. this was not mentioned in the video, but seat wrench was listed as a necessary tool on the back of the box i had in my hand at the time. maybe that’s the “Easy-Out”?).
I still had one problem (besides having a box full of crap about which i had no clue and the 6-step seat wrench i decided to go with since there were 6 steps listed on the box to follow). Our house is 40-years old and does not have a water cut-off valve for the tub inside. I would have to turn off the water at the water meter in the front yard. Which is no big deal for me as, when I was a kid, my mom regularly had me turn our water back on after failing to pay the water bill and having our water “turned off” by the water company. All I needed was a big, rusty metal T-bar. (i bet they sell them without the rust)
I looked around and couldn’t find squat. So, up to another section of plumbing I went; I was not about to succumb to Mr. Eager To Ignore with my t-bar inquiry. An older guy was stocking plastic pipes and pieces, so I asked him, “Excuse me and my dangling baby. Do you know where I might find a T-bar to turn off the main water supply?”
He gave me a brief, uninterested glance, then just turned around right where he was standing, “Nope, don’t see any. Guess we don’t sell them.” And, returned to stocking his shelves.
Are you shitting me? I’m not in the toilet repair section anymore, so no, you most definitely are not shitting me.
His very brief search was in the sprinkler area there behind him. Seriously, just a brief glance right and left along the sprinkler tubes, and ZILCH. I stood there another moment, “Umm, you don’t sell the bar to turn off the main water supply? Here at a mega home repair store?” He snapped without a further glance at me, “Nope. Don’t guess we do.”
Wow. I went on to L0we’s where my nightmare continued, where another clerk claimed to not have any t-bars in stock, looked them up on the computer, “Oh, that’s odd. We have a ton of them. I just don’t know where,” and gave up looking for them. “Sorry. You might want to try H0me Dep0t.” Find that box of T-bars and shove them up your…
Thus ends my dream of repairing the leaky bathtub faucet (which is drip, drip, dripping away). Now, what was it? Being a woman? Being a woman with a baby attached to her chest? Coincidentally three (3) separate grouches not in the mood to help? I am perplexed.
One more odd encounter with Miss Al riding shotgun in the Björn on Monday. We ventured out to a nearby park where Gab could burn some energy and we all could get some fresh air. A few other kids were romping about up and down the ladders, through the tunnels, down the slides. One particularly adorable doe-eyed girl of maybe 5-years old had been playing with another girl who looked to be a year or so older. I couldn’t decide if they were sisters or not but sorta doubted it as the older girl kept insisting they go to HER house after the playground. A bony man in glasses, roughly my age, was following the two around, providing essential bottom-holding assistance on the trickier ladder climbs.
Out of nowhere, the doe-eyed lassie walks up to me, looks me square in the eyes, and emphatically professes,
“I Hate You.”
What?
I don’t know if the dad heard her, but he quickly shuffled her away. I was relieved to hear her declaring her hatred for him, too. “Daddy, I hate you.” To which he sheepishly whimpered, “That’s ok. You hate Daddy. That’s fine.”
So, maybe that had nothing to do with babywearing. But, I could have done without the Hatin’ after my home improvement experiences the previous day.
For what it’s worth, I don’t hate you and will be there for you in your time of bathroom faucet repair needs. Do you mind if I strap my baby on for the job?
8 responses so far ↓
Nylonthread // September 4, 2008 at 6:43 am |
There is something about H0me Dep0t and L0wes that really sucks your smarts out doesn’t it? Even though I’m generally a together shopper, my brain boggles with all the options. If I don’t have an airtight list (with brand names, if possible) I will browse, blank out and maybe even leave without buying the necessities.
D@mn those guys for not helping you!! That is their JOB. Are there any mom-n-pop hardware stores left for you to try?
Mary Lynn // September 4, 2008 at 11:28 am |
That’s insane…can’t believe the treatment you got. Was all fired up after reading this post this morning and went off to rant to Ed about it. He rolled his eyes at them saying they don’t see the T-bars for water cut-off. Please!
I had a similar experience a few years ago tring to buy paints and paint supplies at a hardware store. It was like they were actively opposed to me making any purchases at their store. And I didn’t even have a baby attached to me at the time. On the other hand, I have purchased power tools a couple of times and had good service, so it varies.
I still think it’s strange people give you such looks when you’re using your Baby Bjorn. Honey, you come up to Ontario and wear your sweet babes ’round here…no one will blink an eye. Baby Bjorns and baby slings are very much the norm up here.
XUP // September 4, 2008 at 12:02 pm |
Ya! What MaryLynn (fellow Ontarian) said. Our Home Depot type places are also usually more than happy to serve customers with or without penii. And nobody says stuff like “don’t guess we do”. And kids don’t go around mumbling hatred. And, health care is free. And our entire federal election process only takes 6 weeks. And we’re polite. Get out of that backwater ya’ll call civilization. Oh, and we have snow!!!
might i add ... ? // September 4, 2008 at 2:44 pm |
Grrr!! I hate the H0me Dep0t! If I had any time, I’d be writing a scathing post about them over at my place. Maybe I’ll just write them a letter. I should do that.
In the one near me, you go in, the place is huge, you can *never* find someone to help you, and the one you finally find never knows anything. Plus, they have a tendency to shut down all the cashier-run registers after the ungodly hour of, say, 8pm, and want you to check yourself out. Um, no thanks, I’d rather not do your job for you.
Did you ever think about heading over to the customer service area and asking to see a manager? That’s what I do whenever they don’t have a real person-run register.
But what we had happen with the HD was worse than all this, oh yes, much worse. I hate them, and I refuse to go there any more.
Mary Lynn // September 4, 2008 at 10:19 pm |
Well sh1t, XUP…you had it all sounding so good to you mentioned the snow.
onthecurb // September 4, 2008 at 10:58 pm |
Yeh, way to ruin it with the snow, XUP. An occasional snow that lasts for one day is fine, even fun. But, snow for days/weeks/months? Man, I don’t know if my puss of a cold-hatin’ body could take it. Buuuut, I am open to the possibility.
The free health care itself is almost enough to send me packing. I’ve been without health insurance since a month after the twins were born; trust me, I sweat bullets every time I even get a runny nose now. (don’t worry, all the kids are covered) Oh Canada! And, your maple syrup. Honey, I’m coming home. (i really should go to bed now; i’m delirious and failed to work in a shower for myself today and that has nothing to do with anything, just thought i’d mention it for anyone who reads the comments…my blog within a comment…what else? remind me to tell you how e and his parents think gab is a picky, almost non-existent eater because i breastfed her for 20 months. me and my bad, bad b00bies. ::hiss hiss:: )
I’m curious to hear your H.D. tale, might i add. If you decide to send a nasty letter, I’d be glad to throw in my 10 cents of H.D. displeasure. We’ve had other foul experiences when shopping for paint there. argh.
Other mom-and-pop shops? The mega retailers have pretty much squelched their hopes and dreams and stores. I have one option downtown to try. We’ll see how they treat me and my baby army.
Get ready, Mary Lynn and XUP. I’m envisioning many passports in my future.
XUP // September 5, 2008 at 8:17 am |
Hey, forget the passports, you’re from Alabama, I think you can claim refugee status. And, as much as your kids love the beach they’ll love the snow. There’s snowball fights, snow forts, toboganning, ice skating, snowboarding, snowmobiling, snowman building, just throwing themselves in the snow. For grown-ups who don’t want to do any of these things, there’s the bonus of being able to bundle up so much that you don’t have to worry about watching your figure ever again PLUS it’s almost mandatory to huddle indoors with fortifying alcoholic beverages during the winter.
wrekehavoc // September 8, 2008 at 6:47 pm |
i effing LOATHE home despot. they’ve blown me off so many times, i don’t go there anymore (not to mention a woman i know who was shot outside of it, so i get upset everytime i’m there anyway.) i suspect i’d feel the same way about lowes if one were nearby. i stick with my local yokel hardware store. it’s small, stuff costs a little more — but they actually help you.
you ought to write to HD and tell them about your misadventures. about how they treat women. i don’t think it was a sling thing. it is a women thing. that plus the fact that a lot of the people they hire must be from the bottom of the barrel.