Jo Ann Fabrics: The Bane of My Existence

Jo-Ann's. A haven for fat, crafty, middle aged women. The place is frigidly cold, probably because every old-hag working there is going through menopause. There is no music, who needs that distraction while one is trying to count yards? However, what Jo-Ann's is not lacking in is depression and frustration. I swear to god every woman working there is bitter, jaded, and pissed at the world, and as a result, SLOW AS HELL. My theory is, they move at a snail's pace because the longer a customer has to wait, the more important they feel. Instead of being just a fabric cutter they are now in control of someone's schedule. They stand idly by watching the toes tap on the linoleum floor, eyes rolling from the wrist to the ceiling, impatient sighs escaping from shellacked lips, and incessant fidgeting. These actions fill them with the knowledge of their power. The power to make someone wait 30 GODDAMN MINUTES FOR 4 FUCKING YARDS OF WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS THEY NEED!

I shit you not I stood in a line of 3 PEOPLE, 3, for a half an hour. The woman in front of me only needed a foot of two different kinds of fabric, but (the inevitable but) there was this other bitch (the inevitable other bitch) who needed yards upon yards of linen. Apparently she was already being helped earlier, but had to leave the counter for one reason or another, and just happened to come back right before it was my turn. The sole fabric cutter, a portly, permed, post-menopausal lass, decided it would only be fair to cut her fabric first because she had been "waiting so long"... I watched as she cut six separate two yard segments, all the while chatting away, pausing, finding new spindles of linen because they kept running out, and tapping away on the bar-code scanner. Her loyal customer leaned against the counter occasionally fluffing her trashy femullet and inquiring about her niece's state of famine (which mind you, seemed to be quite the contrary) and if they should run over to "MAC"Donalds. By the time it was my turn I was ready to strangle both of the broads with the lengths of belt material I was about to buy.

Ahh, the joys of crafting.

Sorry, I needed to get that off my chest.