Dear Home Depot,

Originally posted on September 7, 2010 at 4:00 PM

I love your store. I have a nickname for your store. (The Home Pot—inspired by a sign with burned-out letters.) With the vast quantity of home improvement and craft projects I do, I practically live in your store. I know it like the back of my hand, and often find myself directing stragglers to the correct aisle. But it is important to note, Home Pot, that when I come into your store, I am more often than not one or more of the following:

• anxious to start on a project
• covered in paint, mortar, spackling, and/or unidentified particles of stuff
• in the middle of a project
• in a huge rush
• exhausted, aching, and grumpy (exchanging the wrong piece with the right one or buying more of what I ran out of)
• mumbling measurements to myself that I have to remember at the peril of failure

Lately when my lovely, handy husband and I have been perusing your aisles for such reasons, we have come across a lady. A very specific lady who approaches us with a big smile and a clipboard. The first time this happened, I somehow failed to notice that she was not in the orange apron your employees are either required to wear or sport for fashion. She asked us about our kitchen, and—unwittingly oblivious to her tapping fingernails—we answered. For about three minutes. THREE MINUTES.

(Now, I am aware that in our fast-paced society we must all take some time to slow down, stop, smell roses, and do yoga. But this is the hardware store, not temple, and to understand my frustration with this, you must reference: above list.) After realizing that this woman was not, in fact, a regular Depot worker but an overzealous “guest employee” with all of the fervor of working on commission, we politely declined her pleas and progressed to the plumbing aisle.

Where we were approached by her again about five minutes later. I guess the pressure of getting a sale had clouded her vision, because she didn’t even recognize us. About fifteen minutes after that, in the flooring department, she stopped us again. By this time I felt like yelling, “MY GOD LADY THIS STORE IS HUGE GO FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO PESTER.” I mean really. We have since ducked behind displays to avoid her on multiple subsequent trips to your store.

By this point, dear Home Pot, you might be wondering why I am complaining. Essentially, I am complaining because I want you to get rid of her. That’d be rly gr8t.


Annie, esteemed benefactor and Co-President of Team Kyle

PS- Your receipts are waaaay too long. Knock it off, tree killers!

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