Want to Get Nutballs Off the Street? Seal Home Depot's Exits.

I don't know why I continue to shop at Home Depot. Between the apathetic staff and the confusing layout of home improvement items, I always feel that walking into the store is a blood pressure problem waiting to happen. But if that's not enough, the store seems to attract the "crazies."

Today I walked into the store to buy some plexiglass and a "rubber thingee" and all around me was insanity. It's like that scene in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest", except instead of a boat trip, they snuck out to buy sandpaper. One woman in particular decided it'd be a good idea to express her inner-monologue vocally. "Oh my God! It's so warm in here!", she loudly proclaimed to an audience of exactly zero. "Where are the sticky house numbers? This is not it. Oh, this is what I'm looking for. These are so nice." I looked around to see if maybe had some unseen shopping companion - a tiny person in her pocketbook perhaps. Nope. She's just a fucking wacko - not only because she enjoys having mundane conversations with herself, but also because she got excited over house numbers. As an added bonus, her ass took up the width of the entire aisle, meaning I couldn't plan my escape easily.

I should also mention that there are people who think Home Depot is "McDonald's Playland" and they bring their kids to play with the Reciprocating Saws. Actually - I kind of wish my parents let me do that. Okay, maybe they're not crazy, they just have awesome parenting skills. But that doesn't mean their little brats have to get in my way when I'm trying to get some wood screws. I'm trying to grab the box but little Johnny's head is in the friggin' way. He's not rebuilding a deck, I'm sure, so why couldn't he stay home and watch cartoons. They should allow drinking and gambling in Home Depot so that children would be strictly forbidden.

The machines are crazy too! Ever use the self-checkout? Don't answer that, because I won't be able to hear you talking. Basically, it's prone to severe hallucinations; the machine keeps accusing you of putting things in the bagging area that are nowhere to be found. The assistant has to keep clearing things, but gets offended when I tell her to just ring my stuff up like the good ole' days. It's not like she's a bathroom attendant and I just asked her to wipe my ass.

The self-checkout baffles most people, obviously because "cashier skills" aren't part of most school's curriculum (though it should be - I can get out of the store a fuck of a lot quicker if cashiers learned not to drool so damned much).

Home Depot frightens me.