THE STAPLES TWISTER GAME

I am in Staples (not because I want to be; I need ink since I am now working from home).  I go to Staples at an hour when few people will be there, I wait until it's boiling hot midday to cut down on even more of a crowd, and I park way the hell out in East Bumfuck to keep away from people.  I even secure my mask before getting out of my car because, hey, I'm trying to be mindful here.

Then I enter the store.

I will say this: My local Staples really knows how to tape down arrows.  The arrows on the carpeted floor are colorful, symmetrical, and obvious.  Great, I tell myself, this is going to be easy as pie.  (I honestly don't know why people say this because, quite frankly, making pie from scratch is complete and utter bullshit difficult.)

I just need to go straight up the aisle and to the left.  That's where all of the ink is.

But, wait.  The arrows are on the wrong sides of the displays in the aisles.  That's right.  To go straight ahead, instead of keeping to the right, I have become British and must swerve into the left lane to go straight.  The left lane is inbound, and the right is outbound, despite the fact that the right side of the aisle leads directly to the "in" door and away from the cash registers.

Okay, I get into the British lane then try to turn left to get to the ink.  But wait -- all lanes are outbound, not inbound.  I circle the cell phone aisles, then the scanner aisles, but still, all lanes go right and backward; none go left and forward.

I am essentially screwed.

There are people in the store, so I tap into my inner Bond.  James Bond.  Suavely I maneuver to the left, do a standing barrel roll, pivot to make it appear that I am actually going to the right, side-step, back-up (without making a beeping noise to divulge my location), and finally come out along the ink wall.

Excellent!

Wait.  No.  Damnit!  I am in front of Epsom ink, but I need Canon ink.

I look to my right.  Yes!  I see it!  I see it all! An entire wall of Canon ink!  Except . . . except . . . except that the ink is to my right and inbound, and the arrows on the floor are pointing to the left and outbound.

At this point I become George Carlin in my brain and start mumbling the seven words you cannot say on television, all while stealthily inching toward Canon country.  By the time I reach motherfucker, I am standing by the ink that I need, and no one is the wiser.

I have to circle the paper and the printers in order to get away from the ink, and at one point I am going around displays over and over again like some kind of sick carousel ride of idiocy.  Finally I simply say, "The hell with it," (out loud and without caring who hears me) and walk on the wrong arrows in the wrong direction toward the cashiers.

I leave with my ink, but I leave my dignity back in the store.  I have always sucked at Twister, and these colored arrows reek to high heaven of contorted movements that are probably for the entertainment of the Staples staff.

The final kicker is that when I walk way back, way out yonder to my car, some moron pulls out of the parking area as if Corona is chasing him.  He nearly runs me and my ink over right in the lot.

Come on, people.  I am wearing the damn mask.  The least thing you can do is trust me to walk on the right (like a normal American would) and not make me play a giant game of Where's Waldo's Exit Strategy just to make a quick trip to a store.