The Respect of the Blow Up Santy

I love home improvement stores.

I think it’s because they remind me of my Dad.

He was a finishing cabinet maker and wood was his business.

A childhood memory of walking into his workplace surrounded by piles of pine boards, sawdust on the floor and the fresh smell of cut lumber.

He was my hero.

After his passing in 1993, I couldn't go into a Home Depot without tears welling up in my eyes.

Now, 20 years later, it is my place of homage to my Pop.

I love wandering the endless aisles of stuff marveling at the incredible ingenuity in the land of repair.

What the heck is that?

I didn't know they made stuff to fix a leak under water?!

Seems kind of redundant to me.

Anyway, so one Saturday morning I went into the church of color chips and began to meander my way toward my favorite area of the store which is usually the garden shop or anything to do with candles.

I passed by the paint department and heard before I saw, Jacob.

Don’t know how they decided on his name cuz there was nothing biblical about this lad.

Except maybe a Beelzebub reference.

Bout 3 feet tall, spiky dishwater blond bed head, grubby t-shirt, scruffy jeans, untied shoelaces.

Face down on the dusty platform on one of those big, orange flat wood hauling carts with the goal post handles.

Toes barely scraping the floor, spinning the cart in a full circle in the middle of the aisle,.all the while screeching, 

“I WANT TO GO HOME!”

I thought that was an excellent idea.

At this exact moment I again heard, before I saw,

“Grandma.”

“JACOB, STOP THAT!”

I forgot to mention that Grandma was apparently in the midst of some serious repair projects cuz the cart was laden with small hardware bags, cans of paint and the best thing of all, various sizes and lengths of white PVC pipe.

Due to the velocity of Jacobs cart spinning these had now been transformed into spears of Don Quixote-esque magnitude and were zipping in all directions threatening to impale the other shoppers.

I was hiding on the end display, peeking around the corner to avoid being a friendly fire pipe victim.

Immediately sliding into view, in all her glory, “Grandma” now appeared.

A mountainesque, lumbering, no nonsense Granny with Birkenstocks on her feet and piles of spidery, gray hair held in place by some type of bun holder.

If any of you have ever watched “Peewees’ Big Adventure” just picture “Large Marge”

“JACOB!”

“IF I HAVE TO TELL YOU ONE MORE TIME TO STOP SPINNING THAT CART AROUND, I AM GOING TO POUND YOU!”

Again, I thought this was an excellent idea.

If I hadn't been afraid of incurring the wrath of the great Grandma, I would have pulled up an empty orange bucket to sit on and watch this spectacle.

As it was, I hid cowardly behind a display of ornamental Christmas pigs and peered through the twinkly lights.

Whirly, whirly, whirly.

Screech, screech, screech.

 The orange metal cart was now in full Tilt-A-Whirl form with everything on it flying in all directions.

PVC pipes flinging wildly onto the floor, sliding under the counters and zooming into the paint mixing area.

Nimble shoppers jump-roped their way over the white tubes of terror.

Paint cans toppled over as Jacob clawed his scrawny frame farther onto the cart so as not to become a victim of centrifugal force.

He now resembled a raggedy tike splayed onto a medieval torture table.

This was spectacular!

And just think, I had planned on going to the movies for my mornings entertainment!

This was waaaayyy better!

“JAAACOOOOOOBBBBB!!!”

It was apparent that Jacob had no intention of stopping.

He was just coming into the “breaking the sound barrier” phase of cart spinning and he was not looking back.

Guess he figured if he was destined for a whuppin’ anyway, he may as well get his monies worth.

Whirly, whirly, whirly…

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

A crowd had now gathered to view the spectacle of the PVC pandemonium.

Orange apron-clad employees ran to try and diffuse the damage from the Jacobmeister as he whirled his way to Home Depot fame.

I imagine the call went something like this.

“Brat Brigade to aisle three!”

“P.S, bring  a nail gun!”

“MA’AM!” 

“LADY!”

“HE CAN’T RIDE ON THE FLATBED CARTS!” (Uh, too late.)

“MA.AM!”  “MA’AM!”

 “MA’AAAAAMMMMMM!”

Whirly, whirly, whirly,

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

Precisely at this moment Grandma decided she would try to reach in and grab one of the metal goal post bars on the car.

Let me just go on record and say that I thought this was a horrible idea.

Like trying to fish a floating candy bar.

Out of a pool of piranhas.

With your fingertips.

While it's spinning.

“JA---COB----STOP----SPINNING----THE----CART!!!” 

(I had wished I had a bucket of popcorn to munch)

She reached in.

Smack!

She missed the handle and it thwacked into her fleshy fingers.

Smack!

“JACOOOOOBBBBBB!”

She tried it again.

Hey, this lady is tough.

After all, Jacob is her grandson!

Meanwhile the cart is now almost entirely empty, except for Jacob and a package of roller covers which Jacob was using for his face rest. (those metal carts can get chilly on the cheeks)

Now Grandma is getting mad.  

(WHAT??) (NOW YOU ARE GETTING MAD?!) (SERIOUSLY?!)

Stomping to the paint counter, she begins to throw all of her stuff down and hoists up her paint stained sweat pants.

“THAT’S IT!”

“NO BURGER KING FOR YOU!”

“I SAID, STOP SPINNING!’

She now proceeds to do something which catapults her up a billion notches on my respect meter.

Running to the paint aisle she grabs an empty paint roller cage and lumbers toward the spinning cart of death.

The next revolution, she plunges her fleshy arm forward, hooks the roller over the metal handle and digs in her heels.

SCREEEEEEEECHHHHHHHH!

The cart shudders to a screeching halt, Jacob takes flight and soars skyward toward the blow up “Santa In The Airplane” display. 

He smacks soundly into the mid-section of Old Saint Nick, which pops loudly and promptly deflates.

“OOOOOWWWWWWWW!”

“GRANDMA, YOU HURT ME!”

He turns to see Granny marching full speed towards him and darts toward the closest exit.

“GET HIM!”

It was like the scene from Shrek when the villagers are grabbing their pitchforks and torches!

Half the employees converged on the little beast and corralled him into a corner till the Grandma could get there and administer her Granny justice.

They didn’t want to touch him in case he was a biter.

The other half of the folks gathered up Grannys’ junk so that they could help her check out as fast as humanly possible.

I was still hiding behind the twinkly pigs.

“THIS IS THE LAST TIME YOU WILL EVER GO TO THE STORE WITH ME!”

“AND YOU PROMISED ME IF I TOOK YOU OFF OF THE LEASH YOU WOULD BEHAVE!’

(I really am not making this up)

“NOW LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE!”

“YOU POPPED THE SANTY!”

“I AM GOING TO HAVE TO PAY FOR THAT!”

At this precise moment the head honcho emerged from the crowd and smiled,

“No Ma’am, it‘s perfectly fine. Accidents happen.”

“Just let me ring your purchases up for you.”

(Translation. GET OUT OF MY STORE RIGHT NOW, BEFORE I KILL YOUR GRANDKID!)

She now had an entourage of Home Depot helpers, arms full of merchandise, accompanying her to the check-out.

She was dragging Beelze-Jacob toward the exit by the earlobe and not a soul was complaining that it was child abuse.

I actually think I heard one elderly gentlemen offer to grab the other side.

Jacob, “BUT I WANT BURGER KING!”, “I NEED A CROWN!" ,“BUT YOU PROMISED!!!!!!”

Granny , “THAT’S IT!”, “NEVER AGAIN!”

“NO ONE WHO POPS A SANTY EVER GETS A CROWN!”

“EVER!”

No truer statement was ever spoken….

She certainly gets props from me.

That’s for sure.

A gray haired week-end warrior who still does her own repair work and is brave enough to take Jacob out of his kennel even for a few hours.

And still understands the respect a blow up Santy deserves.

Ya gotta love her.

I’m just sayin’………