Red Cross + K-Mart = More Math Symbols /

This post will include two rants.  The first will be my condemnation against the commercial men’s fashion industry.  The second will be more of a social commentary.  So please be forewarned that this post will go in multiple directions.  Keep your arms in the tram, and do not pet the fat people.

Why is it so god damned hard for me to find decent clothes in a 2XL?  Everything in my size seems to have palm trees on them.  I have pretty simple tastes.  I like a thick black leather belt, I like plain, comfortable blue jeans, and I like short sleeve, button down shirts, polos and plain t-shirts.  That’s all I’m looking for.  I don’t want to look like a freaking mafia hitman circa 1985.

And try to find a pair of jeans in a store for anything bigger than a 38″ waist.  Sorry, I likes me some Wendy’s every once in a while.  I’m a little bigger than the average man – and yes, I mean that in more ways than one.  But why are you making the fat guys bend over to reach for the 44/30’s and 50/32’s off the BOTTOM SHELF?  That’s just damn mean if you ask me. SRSLY.

And I’m not really that big.  I have a 44″ waist.  I’m not a waif like these emo kids that are oh so fucking popular anymore.  Real men have curves, bitches.

Not a good look, man.

Now that I’ve got that out of my system.  The entire K-Mart thing today was a little bit of an exercise in humility.  I had a voucher from the Red Cross for clothes that was only good at K-Mart.  So I took the voucher to the customer service desk hoping that I’d get…I don’t know, maybe a gift card to give to the cashier.  Instead the girl at the counter said, “Just give it to the cashier when you’re ringing up.”

Then there was the entirely emasculating “fat guys don’t get cool shirts” and “bend over to get your pants, fatty” experience when I was trying to find clothes.  But the real mind fuck came when I was ringing out.  A young girl was talking about going to prom with another cashier when I handed her the 2-part voucher with “Red Cross” on it.  She didn’t know how to ring it out, so the line behind me was starting to stack up while she got instructions.

It was tough to stand there without saying, “My apartment burned down.”  I couldn’t help but think that as a strong and healthy, able bodied thirty year old man that I should be able to stand up on my own two feet.  I shouldn’t need a hand out from a relief agency.

But that small indignity is over.  I survived, I am one step closer to putting the apartment fire completely behind me and I can now say that I have first hand experience with the excellent work the Red Cross of America does.

Once I find a new place to rest my head I will have overcome this whole thing.

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