MAYBE HE'S NOT THE KEY GUY

My friends and I drive invisible cars. 

No, really.  I'm as serious as a heart attack.  Other vehicles are constantly pulling out in front of us, changing lanes into us, and generally driving as if our cars are not remotely traveling in the same dimension as the rest of the universe.  It doesn't matter the sizes, makes, models, or colors of our cars; we are invisible in Traffic Reality. 

Surprisingly, this mind-bender suddenly starts extending to our physical presence, as well. 

My pal Sal and I have a plan to scour Lowe's and Home Depot for counters, backsplashes, and shades.  She is redoing her entire kitchen, and it's a gargantuan undertaking.  Even though she has a contractor, decisions still need to be made, and she is swimming in the deep end of accessories, appliances, and options.

Unlike me, Sal doesn't get distracted easily.  I'm looking at paint and lights and patio furniture and magazines and grills and knobs and pulls and anything and everything that isn't even on the list.  Sal spends the entire time at Home Depot in the kitchen section.  She is there for a long time, and when I join her, she is still full of questions.  However, not a single Home Depot employee, regardless of his or her "I'm sitting on my ass doing nothing but considering adding Kahlua to my coffee" demeanor, speaks to her nor approaches her to see if she needs help.

Imagine if she did not already have a contractor lined up.  Home Depot has a live one milling around the quartz counter options, presumably high-commission business, and every single hourly minion is acting as if Sal is invisible. This Cloak of Invisibility extends to me once I join my friend.  Apparently we have unwittingly entered Harry Potter's Home Depot.  Pretty soon we should probably make our way over to the wood section and pick out our new wands.

Eventually we flag down another employee, one who has very little knowledge of the store and must be either a trainee or simply trying to earn his hourly wage by avoiding customers.  Where are the back splashes, we inquire.  He leads us over to an end-cap display of two dozen possibilities, most of which are more appropriate to bathrooms, but proving that we are not invisible after all. 

As we stand there, touching the different mosaics of tile options, a man wheels an empty pallet cart toward us.  He is going at a good clip and shows neither sign of slowing down nor moving around us.  It is clear that we are, once again, invisible.  Sal and I jump back about two feet to let the man by.  Instead, he stops abruptly, placing the pallet cart between us and the tile back splashes we have just been touching.  The man jerks his head from side to side (perhaps clearing out his ears to better hear the voices in his head), then walks absently away, leaving the pallet cart right there in the middle of the aisle and blocking us from the display.

What.  The.  Freak.  Either we are completely invisible yet again, or this guy is just one big, fat, hairy asshole.

Sal and I decide that we won't be making any headway at Home Depot today because no one can see us except Stock Boy Space Cadet.  Heading toward the exit, she decides she needs a new house key.  The employee at the key kiosk looks at us, sees her picking out a key, waits until she comes to his counter, and ... walks away.  Yup.  He leaves his post and heads into one of the aisles nearby to stock shelves.

Hmmmm. Maybe he's not the key guy. 

Sal waits at the key kiosk, and I go up to Customer Service, where I wait in line behind a woman who has just come from the gym because she is wearing stretch yoga clothing, has sweated through her shirt, and smells a little gamey.  After four minutes of Sal waiting for Key Guy and me waiting to move in the stinky line to ask for Key Guy, Key Guy wanders back to his post, apparently seeing Sal because now she must be visible again. 

She picks out a Darth Vader key, and we are soon on our way to Lowe's, where, other than someone trying to pull into the same spot we are already occupying in the lot (invisible car again), employees actually see us. We must've left the Cloak of Invisibility back at Harry Potter's Home Depot, which is good because Lowe's has many more back splash tiles and patterns, and the sales people actually want to make sales.