Today's villain is the old man at Paragon who tries to sell you the baseball gloves. My friend Dinny recently had to go there in search of a new softball glove. I think Dinny managed to avoid the prick. The guy is such a pushy creep I want to run and hide when he approaches me. He tried to sell me one of those lobster-style Rawlings gloves a few months ago. I think it was called "the vise." It was a piece of shit, and he forced me to put it on and have a catch with him. That's what he does. He tosses you little lob throws from nine feet away. When you catch the ball, he nods as if to say, "Some glove, huh?" The throws are so soft I could catch them with a Freezy Freaky or some crumpled-up paper towels. But to him, the fact that you are able to catch the ball is irrefutable proof that the glove has been blessed with magic. You'd have to be a fool not to take it. He also badgers you and insults you, maneuvers he must have learned at some sales seminar in 1957. He'll be like, "You could get that other glove, but that would be stupid. This glove is just way better, anyone can see that. It was featured on The Today Show." I don't think I've ever seen the old bastard make a sale. Maybe he's a millionaire and he just comes to work as part of some sociological experiment. Either way, he's trouble. Stay away from him.
Dinny's Experience with the horrible old bastard at Paragon:
I actually didn't avoid him the other day. However, I
kind of "defeated" him in a way:
I walked over to the gloves and he immediately
accosted me with that abrasive "What are you looking
for" nonsense.
I told him I was "just looking" although I was clearly
trying on several mitts.
He actually left me alone, and proceeded to go over to
the bat section and yell at a teenage girl and her
father for cheaping out on a new softball bat, causing
the girl to start arguing with her father and brother.
I felt bad for the girl, but delighted to be free to
try on whatever mitt I wanted without ridicule.
However, after the girl and brother and father left in
disgust (at each other! that guy has a way of turning
people on their own), he came back to me and asked
what I was looking for. I had a Nike mitt in my hands
that I kind of liked. It was pre-broken-in and looked
kind of cool. I don't think I would have purchased it
in the end because I don't like Nike's desire to rule
the world, but the guy snatched it from me anyway upon
learning that I was looking for a softball mitt. Then
he turns me around and tells me "this is where you
should be looking" and gives me an enormous Wilson
mitt that feels like it is made of cement.
Then a guy in a coach's outfit came over and said "hey
Steve, how's it going." And the old man responded and
said "it's been a long time." The old guy's name is
STEVE!
Old Steve proceeded to tell the coach guy that Merrill
had better stop firing people or there would be no one
left there to do the work. WTF?! The coach guy
didn't say anything. then they walked over and looked
at the bats. That's when I noticed that coach/merrill
guy was accompanied by a little girl. No doubt Old
Steve was all primed to yell at her. But then that
bat phone in the baseball section rang and Old steve
had to answer it.
Delighted once again, I put back the cement glove and
found a Mizuno one that I liked. At that moment, a
nice young guy appeared and asked me if I needed
any help with the mitts. I thanked him and said no.
And he said to just ask if I had any questions. I
asked him if he could find the Mizuno I had but more
broken in. And he did! Finally, I ended up getting
the Mizuno that I liked. The nice guy asked if he
could just place his sticker on the price tag so he
could get his commission. I said sure. i have no
problem with that, the guy helped me, he's entitled to
his commission if that's how it works.
So then I go to the checkout line (you know, the one
downstairs where nobody knows where the fuck the line
starts), and I wait while some chick gets some special
manager's signature for her new roller blades. As I
am waiting to pay, I feel a tugging at the mitt
(actually the price tag) and there's Old Steve
muttering something about how he just has to put a tag
on the mitt. I say, "oh, ok" feigning ignorance.
He's fiddling with the tag for about 10 seconds (which
is actually a long time if you think about it), and
finally he asks, "Did someone else already help you
with this?" And I said "oh yeah, someone else put a
sticker on it, but I don't know what it was." Old
Steve stormed off, back to his baseball dungeon. The
nice guy was nowhere to be seen.
If Old Steve had actually helped me and hadn't yelled
at that girl, I might feel a twinge of guilt. But I
don't.
Old Steve is a bad man. and stupid, too.
Number of customers who Old Steve has insulted this week: