Just last night I went into one of those mega stores operated by the world’s largest retailer. You know who I mean. I was shopping for a bicycle and really didn’t want to spend a lot because it’s extremely likely that I will never ride it and it’ll wind up in a garage sale 5 years from now. I just like knowing that there’s a bike in my garage in case I decide to really get in shape some day and start preparing for the Tour de France.
After wandering around the multi-acre store for about 15 minutes, I finally located the bicycle display which contained an unimpressive assortment of bikes ranging from those little pink and yellow things with white tires and training wheels (presumably for young girls, but one never knows) all the way up to ultra-masculine MOUNTAIN BIKES weighing about fifty pounds apiece with knobby tires that look like something you’d expect to see on a monster truck at a county fair as it flies over fifty school buses and bursts in flames to the cheers of tens of thousands of fans who hope and pray that just this once the truck will explode on impact and provide some REAL entertainment (sorry, I got carried away there).
Anyway, the only bikes I might have been interested in were caged inside a sort of two storey rack consisting of spars and levers and springs and struts that was just high enough off the floor to make it impossible to reach. Naturally, I started looking around for a salesperson, or “sales associate” as they are called these days. I wonder if sales associates get paid more than salespersons…? Never mind. Several minutes passed during which time I didn’t see anyone in a blue vest with a name tag bearing a smiley face (standard sales associate attire) so I started wandering around the store hoping to find someone to help me.
Another quarter hour went by…still no blue vested associates were sighted. By this time, I was lost and had forgotten why I’d gone into Mega Mart to begin with so I started looking for an exit. As I headed toward freedom, a chirpy, blue vested greeter wished me a a good day and said she hoped I had found everything I had been looking for. Since I was empty-handed at the time, I wondered if she thought I had my purchases concealed somewhere beneath my clothes.
Obviously, I did not buy a bike at Mega Mart, but did purchase a nice one at a sporting goods store nearby. I’m confident that the new bike will look spiffy in my garage right up to the day, five or six years from now, when it goes (unused) into a garage sale.