Benched

Posted on May 22, 2013 under Storytelling with one comment

Many of us have played team sports.  Most of us never rose above the level of mediocrity but it was a part of growing up.  It was learning about teamwork, mutual respect and taking directions from a coach. Occasionally, when you were out of line through bad attitude or bad performance, you were relegated to being a spectator.  You were “benched”.  It was a time to cool your heels and review the errors of your ways.  You were “riding the pines”.

These thoughts occurred to me on a recent trip to Halifax to visit our new granddaughter.  It was a Sunday and as a part of my penance for observing the Sabbath, I was “asked” to escort my wife to the Sears Bargain Basement. I will come clean and admit that I actually did a bit of shopping myself at an adjacent men’s wear store.

Why do women insist on taking men shopping?  Do they take some perverse pleasure in seeing their partner suffer?  Most men would rather clean a five day old cat litter box than go shopping with their wives or partners.  Shopping is not a team sport unless undertaken by more than one woman.

People love animals, especially dogs.  And dogs need to be walked to maintain good health.  You can tell when  dogs have had enough.  They start to pant and may even drool.  Or worse.  If you push them too hard, they may protest and you might be bringing out the pooper scooper in places you’d rather not.

Watching men trail their wives on a shopping trip isn’t  a whole lot different other than the fact that dogs like to go walking with their master.  Have you ever noticed at a Farmer’s Market that while the women are shopping, the men are pacing around the perimeter.  It looks like the recreation area in a prison yard where the inmates walk slowly and endlessly around the edges of the property.  Occasionally, a man will throw a curve ball and walk in the opposite direction which is definitely a “no no” at the market.. You always walk in a counter clockwise direction.  Luckily, most markets have an eating area which is usually occupied by off-leash men and some starving musician with his guitar case open, scratching out “ Purple Haze”.

Back at the shopping centre, I receive my orders and am told that the shopping is over.  I go through the large doors at the entrance to the building and in a dimly lit area behind the checkout counters is a solitary bench.  Sitting there, like inmates on death row, is a cadre of sullen looking men.  Their heads are down.  It is joylessness personified.  There is no music and there is no reading material.  Occasionally they raise their heads to see if their beloved is coming through the checkout.  Near the tills are the shopping carts adorned with long antennae topped with tennis balls – a herd of cyclops  observing the misery.

May I humbly suggest that all retail outlets place a couple of comfortable chairs with some reading material nearby, for the forlorn men who would otherwise get benched.  It’s easier to pick fabric out of your arse than splinters.

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