Add Arizona to the list of states that hate me

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The following is a true story. If I’m lying then I will send you one of my kids, preferably one of the teenagers because they’re harder. And meaner. And more expensive. And think they know everything. But technically they’re all up for grabs. Except the boy. I get to keep him. He’s the only one who likes me no matter what.

I recently applied for a Lowe’s credit card because I needed things like a refrigerator. And nails. Did you know there are over 4000 kinds of nails? Well I didn’t. And when you go to Lowe’s and ask the dude in the red vest named “Vince” where the nails are, you better have your shit together. Because if you don’t know whether you need 1 by 3 quarter inch nails or half inch concrete nails or whatever the fuck else kind of nails there are, you’re gonna get NAILED.

After hearing the speech on the history of nails, which caused me to want to drive very large ones into my eardrums, Vince asks, “what are you looking to do with the nails?”

“I aim to hang things on the walls, while using them. For example, photographs in frames.” (Hey, I can be obnoxious too)

“Hmm.” Vince thinks for a second. “Are you sure what you need are nails and not a ‘picture hanging kit’?”

“I don’t care if I duct tape the god forsaken pictures on the walls at this point, can you please just point me in the right direction. I don’t have all day and talking to you has made me suicidal. I am not a well woman.”

“You’re standing in front of them.”

I look at the sea of nails IN FRONT OF ME and sigh, loudly.

Behold. Nails.

Vince turns to walk away and I reach out, grab him by the arm and say, “I’m scared, Vince. There’s so many of them. Can you help me?”

“Yes ma’am. That’s my job. Now let me tell you a little something about nails. Nails come from…”

Dude. I had to listen to the the history of fucking nails AGAIN. And this isn’t even the story!

The story is that I got the credit card, right? And it came in the mail a few days later. You know how you have to dial that 1-800 number on the front to activate your card? Well, so I called it. And the nicest woman ever answered the phone.

“Thank you and congratulations on your Lowe’s credit card. How’s the weather in your part of the country? Fort Worth is it? Oh. Must be hot.”

Does she even need me to say anything? Because it sounds to me like she’s doing a pretty decent job of having a conversation with herself. I almost hated to interrupt.

“Yes. It’s hot.”

“Oh I’ve been watching the weather channel and you all are having record highs there. I’m in Phoenix and it’s hot. But it’s dry heat. So it feels less hot than the humid weather you have in Texas. I was in Texas once. Just passing through on my way to Florida. It’s hot in Florida too. Old people are dying because they don’t have air conditioning. It’s so sad. You HAVE to have air conditioning in Arizona. There’s just no way around it. Oh my stomach is growling like crazy! Must be about lunch time.”

Then a pause.

“Ms. Glenn? You still there?”

“Yes ma’am. I was just listening.”

At this point I’ve completely forgotten who in the bloody hell I’m talking to. Mom? Is that you?

“Well Ms. Glenn, while I’m activating your card I would like to tell you about our protection plan. Our protection plan covers you in case of unemployment, hospitalization…”

And then the call dropped.

NOOOOOOOOOO.

Is my card activated? Had she gotten to that point in process? Or were we still talking about heat stroke victims and her growly stomach?

Jesus, I was going to have to call back. I needed my card to be active so I could go back to Lowe’s and get one of those hotdogs they sell outside the store. You think I’m joking? Think again.

Hastily, I dialed the number. A man answers this time. Phew. This should be quick. If there’s one thing I know about men–they have a fewer daily word quota than women.

“Hello and congratulations on your new Lowe’s credit card. I’m Phillip and I’ll be assisting you today. How’s the weather in…where are you? Oh, Dallas. Wow. You guys are having a MAJOR heat wave going on over there, huh. I’m in Phoenix and it’s hot here. But it’s a different kind of heat.”

“And people in Florida are dying from the heat, yes I already heard that.”

Silence. Except for the faint sound of typing on a keyboard. And breathing.

“Sir?”

“Yes, ma’am. One minute. I’m just making a notation on your account.”

This can’t be good.

“Do you want to talk more about the weather?”

“No ma’am. We’re almost done here.”

“Wanna tell me about the protection plan.”

“Nope.”

“You sure are typing a lot.”

“Just part of the process, ma’am.”

“You know I have a brother named Phillip.”

“There are a lot of us.”

“He’s really cute. Are YOU cute?”

“We’re all done here. Enjoy your new Lowe’s account, have a good day.”

And then he HUNG UP ON ME.

I wonder what he wrote on my account. But I’m definitely screwed, right?

PS. Favorite SPAM comment of the day:
I nearly had an assgasm when I read that. That’s just wild. It makes me think of the point in time I took my honey all the way down to the neighborhood walmart to find some tubes but we could only find was a plastic swimming pool and a couple of doggie bones. We made do with some plastic clothespins and some neon yellow weedwhacker line but theres nothing like for the real thing. I figger that as the economy over there in china or wherever gets even worse then those french people are gonna start jackin up the price for their plastic crap. Lets hope it gets real expensive so that a few of them uptight city individuals start spending at walmart. Then I can go down there and guffaw at them and key their cars when they try to take up two parking spaces.

PPS. Second favorite SPAM comment of the day:
i harvest worms through my wormfarm, then i drink their piss.