Worst. Retail. Experience. Ever.

Okay, maybe I'm spoiled. I'm going to own up to that right now. I work for a retail company that's known for its customer service, and I shop in our flagship store almost every single day and have become very accustomed to, oh I don't know, being treated like a human being who they're happy is spending their hard-earned dollar with them. So when I go somewhere with less-than-stellar customer service, I'm pretty forgiving. I mean, not every place can bear the standard, right? But when it sucks, it sucks, and Karla May gets fucking pissed.

Case in point: Mother Fucking Garden Ridge. Today. Noonish.

First of all, I never would've gone to this damn place if it hadn't been recommended to me. I think I've been there a grand total of 3 times in the past 7 years, so it's not one of my favorite places. However, I was in the market for a Christmas tree, and I was given a tip about their selection and prices. And I went today during my lunch hour. Bad idea. Very bad idea.

Let me 'splain:

I am a shopper who generally knows what she wants. I am a commando. I go in. I get it. I leave. Rarely am I in the mood to just mill around. It happens, but as I said, rarely.

Today, I was in commando mode. I knew I wanted one of those tall, skinny trees. My living room has a vaulted ceiling, but not much floor space, so I wanted to work within these parameters. It took me all of 2 minutes to find the tree I wanted. But it was in a HUGE heavy box on top of a shelf on top of a bunch other boxes, so I needed help. Sigh. I looked around for some orange-shirted helper-elf, but had to trot all the way across the 200-yard wide store to find a lost looking cashier type person to ask for assistance. Her answer? "It'll be a while. He's doing a carryout." So they had ONE doofus working the CHRISTMAS TREE department (where they've merchandised everything in a way that pretty much guarantees everyone's going to need help tree wrangling) on a very chilly, Christmas-like December 1st. Brilliant.

I finally get my tree into my cart and guide the unweildy beast through the aisles that are so crowded with asinine merchandising it's like guiding Noah's ark through a cocktail straw. And guess what: only 4 of the 16 lanes were open. And two of those had their "Manager! Please help me!! I need a price check on a Sponge Bob pinata!!" lights blinking. It was a total clusterfuck.

See? Good GOD! So I got in line behind two carts. And, as always happens everytime I'm anywhere that requires a line up (the airport, the bank, etc.), I got in the slowest line of all time. Yes, I got two carts, but actually, one of the carts was filled with three grandmas buying all sorts of nutcrackers and witty Christmas-themed throw pillows for their condos, and of course they were checking out separately. And writing checks while talking on their goddamned cellphones to their Boniva dealers. I'm surprised they weren't in more of a hurry to get to Applebee's to try the new Tyler Florence menu offerings. He's adorable!!The only thing I had to relieve me from wanting to disembowel the old bitches in front of me was looking at the retail clogfest that was Garden Ridge's awesome attempt at merchandising. Need some dried, shitty chives? Some Italian Seasoning perhaps? You're in luck! 'Cause Garden Ridge has about a 652,000 of them right here at the checkout line. Talk about your "impulse" purchase! I mean, minced onions ranks right up there with "People Magazine," batteries, and gum! And it's displayed so beautifully, how could anyone resist its allure? The spices were to my left. To my right was this work of art:
That's right, bitches: Bucket Drink Fixins, now with their own spigots!! Woooooooooooo!!! Well I guess I can't say that Garden Ridge doesn't know who its regular customers are.

I tried to look away from the grandmas and the bucket drinks and the dried spices, and here's all I had to comfort myself with:Hot, no?

Notice what's in his right hand. A shitty metal, wobbly flamingo. And tucked under his left arm?
Yep, he had a box containing 5 lighted flamingos. What I wish had been captured was his kick ASS mullet and baseball cap. Because I want ya'll to be able to recognize him when I post my wedding photos.

I finally said "fuck this line" after the cashier turned on the damn "Manager, help me!" light. I got in a line with a young Hispanic cashier who, seriously, acted/looked like she'd been lobotomized. I think you would pretty much have to be mentally altered to work there. I got the sense I was surrounded by zombies.

Fuck that place. This goddamned Christmas tree BETTER last for at LEAST 5 years, or I will seriously go fucking postal.

(Mad photo props to Jaye. That poor gal was with me during this ordeal, and happened to have her digital camera. Thank God.)