WHAT THE HELL?

     Ok. I need to tell the world about the craziness that is the "real world" (if you did not read the quotations as "quote unquote", then please go back and reread it for full affect) known to most as shopping malls. Three what the hells in a matter of an hour. So sit back, sip on some woodchuck and enjoy the isolated hour of my day.

     The first of the three scenes takes place at a dandy of an establishment that goes by the name of T.J. Max. How I ended up in this particular venue is a story for another day, because the girth of the sha-nan-a-gins happened inside not out.

     So. There I am. Minding my own beezewax. When I spot it. A Chiefs T... that just so happens to be coveted by my dear friend Brian Wehner. Its rarity was in its unexplainable low low price. In unforeseen excitement, my eyes quickly scanned the section for the appropriate size. Hot damn. Wouldn't you know, I got the last one on the rack. I nabbed the shirt and at the very moment I am searching my contacts for Wehn-dawgs number... my phone rings. Save your what the's, it was my mom. (She is in Florida and was just checking up on me) But five minutes later, Brian called. I announced heroically, both the find and the impending purchase of the day's holy grail, much to the chagrin (pronounced sha-grin) of my now elated buddy.

Had the story stopped there, the what the hell number one would have been an embarrassment and not worthy to put into a blog. But lucky for you and me, the shopping spree continued. Fast forward ten minutes and one sweet cardigan find. I am now leisurely posted up in the check out line awaiting my turn to exchange my money for their treasures.  "Cashier number 2 may help you" rapped a automated response robot from an undisclosed location. My time had come. I subconsciously took inventory after slyly checking my fly to reassure me of its closed state. "What the hell?!" The Chiefs T was no longer in my possession. I did a slightly dumbfounded and fully confused emergency exit around an elmo display and doubled back to my original position of discovery.

A long 25 minutes short... I proceeded to comb the T.J. Max for signs of witch craft, involuntary drug use on my part (ha-loose-en-a-jins), babes, trolls with infinities for Kansas City athletic teams, clothes-warps and the found-but-now-lost-again Chiefs T. A manager named Stu aided in my frantic search asking me dumb parent-esk questions like "where is the last place you saw it" and "are you sure there was even a shirt".  Stricken by defeat and haunted by demands from Wehner that I refrain from messing with his heart, I tuck my proverbial tail between my legs and exited the obviously haunted T.J. Max dazed and very much confused.

Yes, I agree. "What the hell?"

Due to a prior engagement...the final 2 "what the hells" will be posted at a later date.