Tonight, I left work with a mission: gear store. I had a list, it contained one item. Dry top. And, within fifteen seconds of entering the store, I was wriggling past a dreadlocked blonde chatting with one of the store lackeys, casually leaned up against the rack of drytops. While the dreadlocked blonde who was at least 12 years younger than I am chatted with the store clerk who was a good decade my junior, I excused-me'd my way to pawing the racks. The blonde graciously moved about half an inch, allowing me access to one more item than before.
I can't really blame her: you see, she was gathering information. From what I heard - which was the entire conversation, seeing as, once again, they did not move out of the way - she was about to embark on a treeplanting adventure. The slightly older store clerk had done so in the past, and was enthusiastically giving older-and-wiser advice to her protege, all the while ignoring the customer who was fingering $450 items. Because nothing says customer service like ignoring people who are shopping.
They continued, as did I. Drytops have latex seals. I am terrified of latex seals. The ones at the wrists I find difficult to negotiate, the ones at the neck I think will strangle me before I can squeeze out a mangled "help!". And, normally, I want the obsequious store clerks who are intent on telling you something looks good on you to go away, but not when dealing with the wrath of latex. I struggled and cussed and wanted to ask questions - but didn't want to be impolite and interrupt (I'd so much rather bitch about it on the web later, you know). Thing is, though, the store was dead, and there were all sorts of lackeys, and none of them were particularly interested in the torso that extended beyond where a head should be, looking much like I normally do when I am putting the duvet cover on the duvet and it's not perfectly straight and thus I feel the need to stick my whole body in and investigate and get tangled up.
At one point, I was close to panicking, and I navigated to the treeplanting conversation by sound, and squeaked an oh so polite, excuse me, do you work here, can you help me, I'm stuck. A swift and friendly yank, I was free again - and the discussion pontification of how much more comfortable you will be with a fleece blanket as well as a sleeping bag and how the food isn't really all that good in the camp continued. And I continued shopping, even more terrified of the latex. And I wouldn't try on any more items. By now, the treeplanting conversation had ended, and lackey girl swanned off to chat with lackey boy over in shoes or something. I figured I would not be able to make my way to help if I got stuck again.
I suspect my fear of latex is not as uncommon as I thought: there was an entire line of semi-drytops. They were "semi" dry because the neck gasket had been replaced with a wide, snug neoprene turtleneck. I thought about it, and concluded acceptable compromise: the trickle of water getting past my neck seal is not going to be significantly more than accumulated perspiration (breathable shmeathable, you sweat in all paddling jackets as far as I'm concerned), and when I dump, my head - buoyed by my PFD - pops right out anyway. The important seals are at the waist (a long snug stretch neoprene inner tunnel, and an outer tunnel that velcroes nice and tight - meaning I have neoprene going down inside my paddling pants, I can cinch the neoprene waist seal, and then put the outer tunnel over top. Putting it outside my sprayskirt wouldn't be nearly as effective, so I won't) and of course the latext wrist and ankle torture. I'll be fine.
And on Saturday, I'll be paddling for a few hours. Hurrah.
Oh, and the treeplanting expert girl was all smiles and approval when she saw the fleece that had leapt* at me and demanded to be taken home: that she thought was a good product, and she extolled its virtues (I liked that it's fuzzy and pink...). Which makes me think her oh-so-helpful salesmanship in the paddling section was perhaps because she doesn't know a drytop from a raincoat... (or she's rude. Take your pick.)
(Some people enjoy the whole shopping thing. Imagine that.)
*you have no idea how much I struggled with the past perfect of "to leap". Lept? Leaped? Leapt? Wictionary claims both of the latter two are acceptable.
Posted by Johanna at April 6, 2006 07:40 PM