Holiday shopping from Hell

Everybody on earth wears pants. I would like each of you to personally drop me a line and tell me how. I can't figure it out.

Anyway, so last night I went to Wal-Mart to buy jeans. This was after spending 3 hours in the Eaton Centre looking at jeans that all cost over $80 and don't come in my size. I remember there was a time when I would just pick the colour in my size and walk out the door. Those days are gone.

I decided to leave the jeans shopping to last as I hate it. Inevitably some 20 year old stick man will come up to me as I'm frantically looking for my size, and wondering if they even carry my size. What do fat people do? Throw on the drapes and be done with it? Anyway, this stick will say "Can I help you find your size?" and if I have to say the actual number I will burst into flames so that isn't happening. Also if he has to then say to me "Sorry, sir, we don't carry sizes that big" I will immediately drop dead of embarrassment so my options here are limited. I can either throw a bunch of pants in his face and run like the wind, or do what I usually do and say "No thanks, I'm fine!" as I rummage for my size like my mother at a yard sale.

So as I walked into Wal-Mart, they had a huge poster on the door, "Pies now available at McDonalds in 'Smores flavour!" so I said "Out of the way, bitches!" and hightailed it over. They were alright.

Onto my shopping. Generic Christmas music is playing over the intercom, the kind they play in Hell where every song sounds the same and has annoying children laughing. After looking around for a few items, none of which were in stock of course, I headed over to the flashlight section. My step-father wants a crank flashlight for Christmas. So they had two, one for $25 which is crazy, and another for $12. The problem is, the $12 one looked good but it had a screwdriver with attachments built in. The further problem is the light shines straight ahead but the screwdriver parts are on the side. So how can you see them in the dark? And the other problem is, how many times in your life have you done carpentry in the dark?

So I made my way over to the jeans section. My eye was caught by the sign that said "Now $10!" so I looked at those jeans. Now this store has maybe 8 brands of jeans and each jean comes in 10 or 12 styles. Maybe it's just me but I don't know the difference between boot cut and straight cut off the top of my head. How do they come up with these names?

I picked up about five pairs of jeans that weren't red or purple and headed over to the fitting room. This Wal-Mart is the closest to downtown Toronto (still 30 minutes out of my way though) and is the worst Wal-Mart on planet earth. It's small and dirty and they never have anything in stock as they don't have any room. Terrible.

So I go into the fitting room and the first thing I notice is it's the size of a postage stamp. The second thing I notice is the body odour of the person who was in there before me. I hate BO. I ducked my head out and saw they had two other change rooms, both locked, and no salesperson around for miles. Great.

I hold my breath and while trying not to pass out, attempt to put on the first pair of jeans. The confines are so tight that when I bend over to take off my shoes I nearly knock the walls down. Plus the thing is so flimsy as I steady myself with one hand against the wall, you hear a "SLAM!" as the entire change room nearly falls over. I picture armed security entering thinking I'm vandalizing the place or something.

So the first pair I tried on were the cheapest as I figured I'd start at the bottom of the price line and work my way up. If the $10 jeans work, why pay more?

The first thing I notice in these jeans is the fly. On a standard pair of jeans the fly is about 4 inches long. On these jeans, the fly is about 10 or 11 inches long. When I put them on the crotch ends just below the knee. Also they made the seat extra wide, so the ass of these jeans has more material than my winter jacket. I could shove a litter of kittens in there with my butt and there's still be loads of room.

I can't wear jeans with a crotch below my knees.

I continue trying on jeans and all of these have the same problem. Apparently poor people are meant to look stupid.

I leave the change room, say hi to the salesperson yelling into the phone that her man is no good, and go get some mid-priced jeans. Again, no idea what kind to get. "Relaxed fit"? "Carpenter"? "Straight leg"? Argh.

I come back and try on these six pairs and either the zipper is still too long or the pants are too baggy. One of them has a distressed hole in the leg and I see something white shining through the hole. I figured they had put a piece of white fabric in behind the hole. That white thing was my leg! I can't wear a pair of jeans to work with a one inch spot of skin showing through in the crotch area. One pair was kind of okay but they were "725" brand, which is Wal-Mart’s store brand. A shirt in 725 is okay as you can hide the tags but jeans? I can't go on my cruise with a big sign reading "Wal-Mart" on my ass. I may want to look cheap, but not in that way.

At this point, I've spent about 40 minutes wrangling into 12 pairs of jeans in a closet and I have nothing to show for it. I run out and grab the most expensive jeans in the place. At this point I would pay $50 just to be able to go home.

I try on another eight pairs and find three maybes. They're like $40 each so I can't buy all three so I try to remember which pairs I liked best. I can't remember, I have to try them all on again. I pick two and run away, interrupting the salesgirl's phone call long enough to promise to never return.

When I get to the cash, the girl rings them in and says "One of them is 50% off - did you want to go back and get another pair?" I said "These are both the same brand. There is no tags on the jeans indicating they are on sale. There is no signs on the floor saying they're on sale. I have touched every single pair of jeans in my size in this entire store and I have no idea where I got them from. So no, I'm good thanks."

I pay and run for my life.

I will never buy jeans again, please bury me the one of the pairs I bought yesterday, I will be wearing them for the rest of my life.