Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Legendary blogger, Drew Magary, has a blog called "Father Knows Shit". It's pretty much a diary of all the weird and stupid shit that goes on over the course of fatherhood. So I'm sitting around the other day thinking, "I'm getting married soon, I have no idea what's going on, She-Money keeps dropping all of these monster bills my way, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing." Whenever I see fit, I'm going to do a post about some horrible aspect of the wedding planning process. If you guys take one piece of advice from me, let it be this:
There is nothing wrong with getting married. There is everything wrong with planning a wedding. Everything about it sucks and it is ripe to be blogged/bitched about. I've already ranted and raved about flowers, the DJ, and the groomsmen gifts, but today I need to spew some of that classic Money Shot venom that you all know and love. Up next on "Groom Knows Dick": Bed Bath & Beyond.
So She$ and I have pretty much completed our registry (at least I think that we have). We went to a few department stores before and decided to get something going at BB&B on Friday night. Don't get me wrong, I actually enjoyed the whole process of registering for gifts. You get to use that scanner gun thingy and pray that one of your guests might actually buy you the coffee maker that you want but are too lazy to go out and buy yourself. It's awesome. Well, unless you go to Bed Bath & Beyond...and that's when everything goes to shit.
Like I said, I actually volunteered to get this out of the way eventhough the Miami/Denver college hockey game just started the third period and both Sweet Sixteen games had already begun. Hell, it's only going to take a half hour or so and then we can head to a Mexican restaurant and I can watch the rest of the games while eating 6 baskets of chips before my vegetarian enchiladas show up. Not so fast.
We walk in that dump around 7:15 and immediately get set up with some sort of wedding registry guru that they have on retainer. I figure that we just have to fill out a few forms, get the gun, walk around the store once arguing about if we really need something as stupid as a bagel slicer (yep, it made the list), and we're done. Nope. The "guru" has about twenty stacks of binders that she wants to go over with us. At this point, She$ and I find out that the guru is from Napoleon as well. Now, this is significant because 1.) no one ever admits to being from there and 2.) N-A-P-O-L-E-O-N, Napoleon. Napoleon! NAPOLEON! And don't listen to Gus Johnson, there is only one Naptown and it ain't Indianapolis. What was I talking about again? Oh yeah...
Here comes the book with china patterns. The one soul-crushing conversation for any groom...the talk about plates that you will never, ever use. There's everyday use and fine china and flatware and gravy boats and brass anal beads...IT DOES NOT END. She$ would pick out a few potential patterns and actually look at me to guage my response which was always a twisted combination of rabid snarl, flared nostrils, and homocidal crack eyes.
She$: Well, what do you think of these?
G$: I don't care. Literally, I have no opinion at all. I do not care.
G$'s Head: I DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT THIS SHIT. ALL THAT I NEED ARE PAPER PLATES. CHINET IS THE SHIT. THAT STUFF CAN HOLD ANYTHING. HAVE YOU HEARD ANYONE COMPLAIN ABOUT CHINET? NO, YOU HAVE NOT. AND DO YOU KNOW WHY? BECAUSE IT IS A QUALITY PRODUCT THAT DOESN'T TEAR AND THEN YOU CAN THROW IT AWAY! PLEASE GIVE ME THE GOD DAMN SCANNER GUN SO I CAN SEE IF MAYBE THAT THING SHOOTS BULLETS AND I CAN END THIS HORRIBLE FUCKING TRIP RIGHT NOW!
We talked about this stuff in the guru's office for over an hour (who I do have to admit was a very nice person if only she would not have wasted so much of my time). We finally got this crap done and a calming sense of relief overcomes me as I can now see the light at the end of BB&B. Just give me the scanner and let me speedwalk through this shithole so I can head across the parking lot and start drinking El Vaquero salsa until I puke. Again, not so fast. The guru isn't fucking around. We aren't getting off that easy. My time is not important to the horrible demons that work at Bed Bath & Beyond.
The guru wants to walk us around the store and explain all the stuff that we apparently need! Are you serious, you think we should get some pans. Huh, never thought of that. And you want us to put down the ones that cost $1000 and not one of our idiot guests would ever buy it? That sounds so simple! Instead of giving us the gun and letting us do our own thing, the guru walks us around actually writing down products so that we don't have to scan them ourselves. Sure, it's a nice gesture and all, but you don't know me. You don't realize how crazy that I truly am. Mentally, I'm already carving out your insides like a fucking jack-o-lantern.
But I finally reached my boiling point with the guru (and She$) when the topic of cutlery came up. Look, I would love to have a nice set of knives and all, but I wouldn't use them enough to warrant a really nice set. I should mention that I already registered for some knives at Kohl's (surprisingly awesome kitchen selection). But, when the guru asks us about cutlery, for some strange reason She$ makes it seem like this is something that I really want. So here comes the sales pitch. This has now shifted into some sort of high pressure timeshare presentation on knives. Of course I should get a really nice set that could cut through bone, lady, after all, you and She$ are about ten minutes away from knowing what Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman went through. But I maintained. I just dropped the ever so vague and disinterested, "I don't know" on them. After ten knife questions asked to me with this same response, the guru decided that I was not to be messed with anymore. She made the right decision. I would have rather talked about Jay Cutler.
We end up picking out some dumbass towels and other stupid stuff, FINALLY got the goddamn scanner, and was out there in a robust 2 hours and 15 minutes. By the way, Berger, we used you as a reference so enjoy the $25 gift certificate to Hell. In a little over 3 hours, you can walk out of that cesspool with a stack of ShamWow's.
I can't stress this enough...Bed Bath & Beyond is the worst place ever. Do you remember in Old School when Frank the Tank was talking to those loser kids about going there and they gave him that "you are fucking pathetic" look? Now I know why. It was the worst experience of my life...and I witnessed my Redskins lose to the Bengals in person. At least it's over though. Now I can just sit back and watch my ass get fatter until August. Whew, I needed to get that rant off my chest in the worst way. The only things that I want are a coffee maker and a big ass TV...the rest of the stuff means almost nothing to me.
I'm going to be a great husband...