Hello Sir can I ask you a quick question?

I saw a girl walking down the street the other day and she was wearing a tan twill pea coat with plaid markings on it. She was also wearing a hat of similar color with ear flaps that were tied to the top. It was around 70 degrees out, so it was odd to see someone wearing a coat at all. I said, out loud, "Huh. she must be off to solve some mysteries." I was in the car alone. So sure, she is dressed like a female Sherlock Holmes, but I am the one driving down the road talking to myself. So I guess we are both weird. I don't want to stereotype here, but she seemed like the type of girl who colors her hair blue and has a pet reptile whom she has named a real persons name such as George or Keith. I'm just grasping at straws here, but I'm guessing she probably also watches anime. Again, not trying to typecast, it's just what I would guess that someone wearing that outfit might do in their free time. 

Have you ever wondered what people might say about you when you are walking down the street? Not that I walk down the street anymore, that's why God invented dinosaurs that turned into oil that power cars that I drive so I don't have to walk like some sorry person. But maybe what someone would say about you if they saw you at the store?

See, this poses an interesting question. Because I will only consign myself to go to the store, more particularly the Wal-marts, after work. The reasoning for that is because morale is at an all time low after work. So there is literally nothing that the friendly staff and shoppers of the Wal-marts could do to me that could make things worse. Because of this, I am dressed very peculiarly. See, I wear my coveralls at work, so I wear trash clothes to work because my coveralls will cover-all (buh-dum-tiss) of my shame I show up in. So if someone were to see me at the Wal-marts after work I would be wearing a disgusting hat that is marred black by grease and hydraulic fluid. I would be wearing an old t-shirt that doesn't fit exactly right anymore, but I have held onto for many *reasons. I am always wearing old basketball shorts I bought 5 years ago. I am wearing my steel toes work shoes that are falling apart and make an odd flapping noise when I walk. Lastly my tall black socks will be rolled down to my ankles, but you can see the red marks where they were pulled up because my calves are so fat, it looks like I tried to stuff a sausage but gave up. So seeing me going around the Wal-marts, looking at my phone and cursing at my grocery list, and having a cart full of poor people food (My wife likes those Totino Party Pizzas that are one dollar and they, in my professional opinion, are pig slop. What you would leave out for stray dogs to fight over. Swill. Rubbish. Waste. But yeah, I've got those in my cart and like, raviolis and stuff to make PB&J's and canned meat.) You might think to yourself; huh. This fat, angry man looks like the rest of this lot. A sorry person. An imbecile. A fool! An absolute clod! He belongs here!

And to be fair, I wouldn't disagree. But that's part of my survival method. If you want to go to the Wal-marts and not be hassled by the XFinity salesmen waiting like snakes in short grass near the entertainment section, it's helpful to look like you are there to meet a drug dealer, or buy ingredients to make bombs. They whisper amongst themselves "I doubt this person even has a TV, much less Internet and Cable. Let him walk by without impedance." Which is great for me, because honestly, I would rather jump out of my own moving car and run myself over than talk to them.

One time I was at the Wal-marts and I was showered and dressed like a normal functioning adult, and I got trapped by one of those salespeople. She was like "What brings you to the store today?" and I wanted to say: "Well, I was hoping to trade stocks and/or race go-carts, but you guys don't do that." Like, why else would I be here? I hate myself and I need groceries for cheap. I am not on some secret treasure hunt. What I actually said was "Getting stuff for dinner." Like some half brained idiot. And she goes "What are you making?" and i said "Not sure yet." thinking that would ward her off, but ohhhhh no. She goes "Well, my grandma has this great recipe for chicken noodle soup and its great in the fall time its just..." and she proceeded, for the next 18 years, to tell me this recipe. When the truth was, I wasn't there to even get anything for dinner. I needed milk and toilet paper, and there I was, getting told some secret recipe for a soup I wasn't even going to make. I had already eaten dinner. I appreciate her being nice, but I really hate talking to people. In fact, I'm not even convinced that I actually got away from that. There is still a small chance that I am where I am in spirit, and my real body is still there, getting told how to make meema's chicken noodle soup.

I also really hate when I am at Sephora or Ulta with my wife while she is buying makeup, and I am standing there like a dunce staring at something I don't know, or care anything about. Then a worker comes up to me and says: "are you finding everything okay?" Like yeah, some husky man wearing a baseball hat and a black heavy metal t-shirt and shorts is a little lost on which highlighter to use. I am not some fashion forward metro sexual looking fellow who is here to browse. I look like a truck driver who came here on accident. I am not shopping here, I am just here to swipe my debit card when it's all finally, after many hours, over. That is my only purpose, the beginning and end. Notice how there aren't any chairs in those makeup hellscapes? BS if you ask me. 

I guess I shouldn't be so harsh, Those people are just doing their job. But the could use a little help reading the room, in my honest opinion. Or maybe I could stand to lighten up, and be friendlier?

No. It's definitely the first.

There isn't anything wrong with me. It's them.

It's always them. They are out to get me, the general public. They hate me and despise me and want to make my life miserable.

Yes.

That's it. You are all the problem.

*The reason I have all these old horrible shirts is because I literally cannot keep anything nice. So my wife will get me a new shirt, and ask me to keep it in presentable condition. And I usually don't, So If I am caught wearing a nice shirt to work, it would be the end of me. You would drive past our complex and read my tombstone that says "Here lies Jake, he ruined every t-shirt, perhaps on purpose. I couldn't afford to keep buying t-shirts for this moron. I just wish he could wear something nice out." And there would be a flip-book of all the many shirts I have ruined (Like a dictionary size. I keep staining them, what do you want from me? To eat like I am NOT starving to death? Maybe they should make food that doesn't ruin shirts. Again, I am not the issue here.

P.S. Sorry for saying 'The Wal-marts' so much, I have this problem where when I think something is funny, I will say it until it becomes a problem and everyone hates me for it. Just who I am as a person.