Most days I just want to do the right thing. I can't remember the last time I did anything for the sick thrill of it. Maybe it was my devious doppelganger, who works at Bartell Drugs, although I was told he was a nice guy. My face may not be the best face in the world, but I don't want the bad guy, running around wearing it, under his black hat.
This past Saturday, after weeks of saying "yes I will," I finally took my son out to buy a basketball hoop. Since I'm just a poor bookseller, I was looking to buy just the hoop, and not the fancy bulletproof backboard, or the tungsten pole with GPS. I had checked online, and I expected to spend about twenty-five dollars.
Our first stop was Fred Meyer, just north on Lake City Way. No hoops; just plastic mini-hoops. Next stop was Ace Hardware, just on the off chance. The young dude with the red vest told me that they had the balls, but not the hoops. I wasn't about to check to see if he had any balls. Instead we drove down the hill and went to Target. I was putting good money on Target, but struck out once again. It was time for the Sports Authority.
I walked into the Sports Authority, with my son at my side. He was ogling every Nike armband, and swoosh emblazoned article of clothing in the place. He saw the hoops and backboards towards the back, and started prancing down the aisle, urging his doddering dad to hurry up. Among the menagerie of fanciful basketball equipment, I found one lone authentic hoop. It was in a dinged up box, taped up by whatever customer had returned it to the store.
This shopping fiasco seems to be the story of my life. My desires are never on sale, and when I finally find them, they've been returned and are in slightly used condition. Slightly used desires are not very desirable to me, but I settle. I don't order the new hoop, or ask for a discount, because it's obviously been opened and returned. The basketball hoop now sits in my office, with all kinds of promises
attached to it, although I need some tools to install it with.