BoomerGirl Diary

I hate to cry. And I really hate to cry in public. But today I cried right in the middle of that big home improvement store.

I admit that I know nothing about home improvement. That’s why I go to that big national chain store. They are great at identifying my problem and helping me to solve it. They normally tell me what I need to buy and how to use it.

Today I needed a pump for the big old honkin’ swamp cooler on top of my mother’s mobile home. The pump broke and my mommy was sweltering in the Colorado heat. We are higher in altitude and therefore, closer to the sun. It gets miserable hot in July and August. So I put on my brave face and drove to the store. I am willing to ask for help to help my mommy.

I found an associate (we don’t call them clerks or salespeople anymore) and I explained my problem to her. I knew I needed a pump, but which one? There were eight on the shelf, ranging in price from $13 to $57. All of them were different sizes and different voltages and from different manufacturers. I had read the information on the boxes and there was no practical advice about what to buy for that particular size cooler. And I needed to know what accessories I needed to purchase to make the pump work properly. I knew I needed a hose, but did not see any on the shelf with the pumps. Did I need anything else? I showed her the booklet that was on the shelf, but it didn’t really address the basic questions that I had.

Tina cheerfully told me that she knew nothing about swamp coolers, but she would call an associate who could help me. Soon a man about my age, named Jim, showed up at the swamp cooler section. (Yes, there is an entire section devoted to coolers and air conditioners.)

Jim barked at me about how he was busy and didn’t want to be bothered with dumb questions. I said that I understood and would keep it short. I asked which pump was best for my needs and he responded that there was a whole shelf full and I should buy whichever one I wanted to buy. Then I asked about the hose and other accessories and he yelled that he did not have time to answer stupid questions; everything was on the shelf and it was all self-explanatory. Then he started yelling at me about how he had work to do and couldn’t be wasting time with me.

I looked at him and said in a calm voice, “I am sorry to have bothered you. I will find someone else to help me.”

I walked back to Tina and before I could say anything more I burst into tears.

I hate crying. I hate breaking, but I broke. The little girl in me had just been beat up by the bully on the playground. And it hurt. And I was angry to be treated so badly by another human being. I don’t treat people like that and I expect to be treated with the same respect with which I treat others.

‘It was raining from the first

And I was dying there of thirst

So I came in here

And your long-time curse hurts

But what's worse

Is this pain in here

I can't stay in here...

I needed something. I went in asking for help and was cursed. And I am sick of being treated badly because I am a woman. And I can no longer abide being ignored or being hurt by people. I do notice that the male associates in stores have no problem helping the sweet young things in short skirts. I am not one of those young women. Is that the reason that men my age treat me so badly?

It doesn’t happen often, but it happens too often for my comfort.

Is there something I need to change to be accepted and treated with respect? I really think not. I think that I need to stand up to the playground bullies.

I filed a complaint about the way that Jim treated me.

And the store manager, a gentleman about fifteen years younger than me, graciously assisted me in finding the right pump, the hose and the clamps that were needed to do the job. It took him two minutes.