I absolutely despise going to Bass Pro in Clarksville. It's just not my kind of store. You can never park close to the entrance because of the whole ambiance of the place, the boats parked out front, yada, yada, yada. Then once you trek to the overdone, oversized entrance, you have to squeeze through a turntable to get even further inside then you have to trek to the back of the store to get to the fishing and tackle area. Now that my friend is exciting stuff. Fishing rods, tackle boxes, and fake bait. Wow.
And I go through the same thing every time when I'm there on my hunt for the Plano Stowaway tackle box. They never have it on the floor, they are out of them or they have moved them. Which was the case tonight. They had moved them. I carry the style number with me in my wallet if you can believe that because of this repeated scenario. We look it up in the catalog, the very unknowledgable kid/employee plugs the number into this handheld thing and discovers they have 11 to sell. Nobody knows where they are hiding these 11 but they have do them this time.
He finally is directed to a top shelf now in the middle area of the fishing area and finds two for me. Then I lug them to the front and check out and the girl asks me if there's anything else I need/if I found everything ok, blah, blah, blah. Uh, no thanks. I'm done.
Why do I do this you ask? Well, a scrapbooker has to do what a scrapbooker has to do. It's chipboard letters. I am now the proud owner of 12 of these boxes and this is it, I'm outta room. Does that mean no more chipboard letters or what? I'm afraid to think about it. But for now, I have room with just minor shifting to be done and I can put away my new Doodlebug sugar coated chipboard alphas.
And I survived yet another trip to Bass Pro. I even get the catalog in the mail I'm such a good customer. Scary.
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