Losing it at Home Depot

I was in Home Depot looking for some self-adhesive film for the bathroom window at our cottage. After receiving instructions from one helpful employee at the Fenetres section, I made my way to a kiosk near the centre of the store.

After examining the wares offered at the kiosk, I realized there were three different models of self-adhesive film to choose from, but only two types were stocked in the designated bins. There were, however, four unopened boxes sitting next to the kiosk. Might they contain the missing -- and perhaps most desireable -- of my possible choices?

I looked around for another employee who might be willing to open the boxes for me and saw a young man seated at a desk nearby. As I approached, I could see he was a pleasant-looking fellow with curly hair and glasses sporting the de riguer orange Home Depot apron.

"Excusez-moi?" I said.
No response.
He seemed to be regarding the computer beside him with intense concentration so I assumed he was so busy he didn't hear me. I got closer.
"Pardon me?" I said, just in case it was a language issue.
Again, no response. He picked up some papers and began scrutinizing the columns of numbers and letters on them as though making some crucial decision based on their alignment.
I was incredulous. What was the deal? I thought. Was this bugger just ignoring me? Not content to let it lie, I went up and practically put my face in front of his and said, once again, "Excusez-moi?"

He swung around and stared at his computer screen without giving me as much as a passing glance. As I noted the name on his badge I felt a kind of prickly sensation pass through my body, like every hair on it was standing on end. What the f...? I thought.

I headed back to the kiosk and miraculously located not one but two box cutters lying on a table nearby. Taking matters into my own hands, I slit open the boxes and started examining the contents. I had just made my final selection when a young woman paused a few feet away.

"Excusez-moi?" I said. What relief I felt when she acknowledged me! I wasn't invisible after all! I then pointed to the mute employee and explained to her what had happened and asked if she would kindly attempt to engage him in conversation so I could ascertain if it was only me he was snubbing. She agreed and moments later looked over at me from where she was being similarly shut out and shrugged. I thanked her for playing along and then headed for customer service. Someone had to know about this.

After a frustrating few minutes while I waited for someone to call the store manager, I asked to see the customer service manager. This was a customer service issue after all, was it not? The baseball-capped baron of this department appeared a moment later.

"Can I help you?" he asked.
I requested that he accompany me, explaining there was something I wanted to show him. My plan was to have him address the non-responsive employee in my presence so I could have the satisfaction of seeing the young punk snap to servile attention.

When we arrived at the centre desk, however, the punk was not alone. Another man was standing over him. Assuming the newcomer to be a frustrated fellow shopper, I asked him if he'd gotten any response from the kid.

"No, he's incoherent. But it's all right. I've called Human Resources."

There was a radical shift in my psychic landscape at that point. I realized I was speaking with the store manager and that something was seriously amiss with the curly-headed boy. I nodded and quickly turned away. The customer service manager said he would stay around to help if need be and thanked me for bringing the situation to his attention. I went to the check-out, paid for my roll of film and left the store.

But of course, I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd just seen. This young man had evidently gotten out of bed that morning, gotten himself to work by whatever means at his disposal, had donned his tacky apron, taken up his post and then sometime between punch-in and the moment I encountered him he'd had a meltdown.

I wondered how they would extricate him from the store. Would he go kicking and screaming? Would they have to call an ambulance and put him in a strait jacket? Would they have to call his parents or his girlfriend to come and help get him out of there peacefully?

It was all so scary. I felt as though I had come into close contact with someone with SARS or the plague. Of course I know mental disease isn't infectious, but maybe, if you're just susceptible enough, it is. And maybe, in this crazy world, it wouldn't be surprising.