Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ova… Oh, Wait… Boobs

My very first glass bead torch has finally arrived! We had scrimped and saved for it, and I no longer have to borrow a friend’s setup. I’m very excited. On the way to said friend’s house for a glass bead jam — she’s still teaching me techniques — I stop at the local mom-and-pop hardware store to pick up MAPP gas, used for its high-flame temperature.

I’m not wearing a bra — synthetic fibers and a torch flame do NOT mix well — but I have an overshirt on to help disguise my “ample assets.” Apparently, that makes no difference to the owner’s grandson, who is running the cash register.

Me: “Hello, just these, please.”

I set the two MAPP canisters on the shelf. The owner’s grandson locks eyes with my boobs.

Owner’s Grandson: “Uh… you know that’s not propane, riiiiight?“

Me: “Yes, I know it’s MAPP gas. That’s what I need.”

He keeps staring at my chest.

Owner’s Grandson: “Uhhhhhhh, you know you need a special torch head to use these, riiiiiight?“

Me: “Yes, I do know. I have an oxygenated torch head back at the house, ready to go.”

Owner’s Grandson: “Uhhhhhh, you know that gets really hot, riiiiight?“

He’s still talking to my chest.

Me: “Yes, up to 1,400 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s what it takes to make glass beads on the torch. Can you ring me up now?”

The guy is still having a rapt conversation with my chest.

Owner’s Grandson: “Uhhhhhhh…”

The owner, his grandfather, shoves the kid out of the way, breaking his eye contact with my “eyes,” rings me up, takes my money, and hands me change.

Owner’s Grandson: “What?!”

I just roll my eyes and giggle out of there.

On a different day, I’m about to do a long session of pewter casting in my kitchen, and I notice that my old protective gloves are not as protective as they used to be.

I hop up to the hardware store for a pair of welder’s gloves, but since I’ve never been in their welding section before, I’m not sure where it is. I step in — wearing a bra this time — and guess who’s on the cash register?

Me: “Hi, where’s your welding section?”

He’s still staring at my chest; I didn’t know it was such a fascinating conversationalist!

Owner’s Grandson: “Uhhhhh, whaddya need?”

Me: “Welding gloves.”

Owner’s Grandson: “To the right, third room, to the left of the door.”

Me: “Thanks!”

I wander off… only to find out that the little pipsqueak led me to the gardening section, with lady’s gardening gloves to the left of the door. These are the thin, plastic-covered ones, great for welding hot melted plastic to one’s skin when pewter casting. I stomp back, fuming.

Me: “That’s not what I need. I asked for welding, so I can get welding gloves!”

Owner’s Grandson: “Uhhhhh…”

The owner again appears out of nowhere and his grandson yelps.

Owner: *Calmly* “To the left, second room on the far right wall.”

It took me thirty seconds to find the size I needed, return, and have the owner ring me up, while the grandson sulked in the corner. As I left, I heard the beginnings of a grand lecture being delivered on customer service!