2005mar23. Driving to pick up my new bike from a national department store chain that rhymes with “Target,” I ran into another swarm of bees with the truck. The vegetation around Tucson has gone crazy with the craziness, weeds all over the place, thus, more bugs. Snakes. Scorpions. Scions. Those U.S. Scions are so huge. I want a Japanese Scion. Anyway, I was also gifted a large windshield-based rock by a caring cement truck, so I’m in a crabby mood today, randomly hitting things with my hitting stick. It seems something always goes wrong on the rare occasions when I want to spend money. I bought a PowerPC five million years ago – the clerk looked at me and said “wow, people are usually overjoyed when they purchase one of these things” which was the phrase that initiated the later addition of the hitting stick and matching belt loop.
Schmarget – I mean, “Target” – really isn’t geared up for the bike trade. They can sell their frilly little plastic-smelling knick-knacks all to shit, sure. But try and purchase a 26” Schwinn men’s Jaguar cruiser from one of their stores in Tucson. No, wait – try purchasing one from all of their stores. I visited seven of eight. I don’t want to get it into it, but a woman’s bike is not a man’s bike, even if you drive 30 miles out of your way to get it, and a mountain bike is not a cruiser bike, even if you drive another 20 miles out of your way to get that one. And a bike that is not assembled isn’t one that you can roll out of the store with, and if the model you’re interested in isn’t on the floor, I bet you could maybe go in the back and look and see if there’s one? No, that’s a woman’s model. No, that’s a mountain bike. No, you’re scanning my forehead.
Yeah, that paragraph was difficult, it was too long, and it didn’t make sense. There, you’ve captured the essence of my 100+ mile unsuccessful bike retrieval odyssey o’ the previous week.