Excerpt of an actual exchange with a very cute employee (name changed) of Dick’s Sporting Goods yesterday, with whom I’d had an interesting and slightly flirty conversation over the past fifteen minutes concerning pronation-correction in athletic shoes:
Me: I think I’ll try these. Do you have them in 12 regular?
Cassie: Let me check. (leaves/returns) I’m really sorry. No.
Me: That’s okay.
Cassie: But ours is a pretty small Dick’s.
Me: (smiling) Well, don’t feel bad.
Cassie: Let me check around. There’s a lot of larger Dick’s I can call that probably have more in stock.
Me: (realizing she’s not listening to herself, now trying not to smile) Don’t put yourself out. But I will be near the one in Schaumburg this weekend.
Cassie: Oh, great. That’s a really big…(growing look of horror)…Dick’s…um, I, uh, I’lljustgointhebackandcallaboutyourshoes.
Me: (trying not to grin, failing) Don’t worry about it, Cassie.
Cassie: I’llberightbackjustwaithereandI’llcheckonyourshoesthanksholdon.
* * * * *
I would love to hear how she tells this story.
If she even tells it at all…
I once had a fifteen minute long conversation about the various merits of beaver fur with zero entendre until someone pointed it out to me.
You get any pics? Topless pics?
Christ, you and the topless pics. {shaking head, rolling eyes}
Yeah. I have a hard time saying I’m going to a Dick’s at all.
It’s the teenager in me.
A hard time.
Egad.