For some it’s drugs, booze, or gambling, for others it’s the rush of adrenaline. For the chaste, it’s religion, or a triple decker, three cheese, bacon-wrapped grease-meat with a side of stained paper bag.
Fly tier’s eschew such quaint mood-altering luxuries. We’ve pissed away the “milk n’ egg” money, and when we squealed out of the driveway it was with the vision of pleading wife clutching half dressed waifs, dry eyed as they watched Poppa in wonderment.
We’re the Lurkers, the Night People – the frantic males dashing for the door; 17 minutes before closing – intent on bead encrusted, yarn draped, mayhem – the bane of disinterested teenie-boppers milling absently behind the register, counting seconds to the closing klaxon.
“You got any acid dye?
“Huh? … Betty, we got any “acid dye?”
Each clerk swivels expertly like Rockettes, looking expectantly at their neighbor until the grizzled gal with the manager pin heaves her bulk into view, “You see any over in dyes?” She fixes me with them gimlet eyes, intent – waiting for me to make a wrong move.
“Madam Treblinka” is awe inspiring, somehow avoiding censure at Nuremberg – and hired as Michael’s “muscle” – knowledge expert and den mother.
“No, ma’am.”
“Then we ain’t got any.”
I beat a hasty retreat back to the floss aisle, expertly throwing elbows at the obvious noOb’s. The press of fly tying humanity is stifling, so I point to the scrapbook area and let fly, ” Ooo, that’s Jungle Cock!”
It’s a mad scramble as the throng departs, leaving some motherly looking “bluehair” moaning on the floor, her bent walker wedged between glitter canisters.
A quick boot heel to the ribs leaves her gasping, and doubled over she’s no longer blocking the Claret silk, I reach for a handful just as the Two Minute Warning sounds.
Mission Accomplished.
The rest is merely a mop up – a police action, sifting through their dumpster for a stray fragment of gaily colored ribbon, or bent pipe cleaner.
Michael’s, a SuperStore that I don’t have to protest – except when I see my bill. It’s a fly shop without silly tackle in the way, it’s a freshly downed Wildebeest with us carrion-birds lurking in every aisle.
Driving by twice a day, it’s the Sirens calling to Odysseus – and I’m thinking Nurse “Treblinka” wasn’t sporting no ring …
oddly enough the michaels up here don’t seem to stock as much as joanns.
The Hobby Lobby is where it’s at. blows all the other craft stores away.
I’ve never seen a Hobby Lobby, but Michael’s just opened their doors here in town, so I’m doing a happy dance..
I hate to say it, but the Michael’s right next to my house sucks. Joann’s blows it away – Joann’s has a better selection of beads, yarns, and other odd ball stuff. Michael’s has become too much of the plastic plants, kids toys, framing store, wicker baskets, scented candles – I want crafts!
I have never tried Hobby Lobby (it is a little ways away) – but will soon.
The part I hate about Michael’s is you have to walk around the whole store, avoiding those high school girls who work there – they don’t have any idea where pinkie scissors are. You have to stalk the store and find that grizzled old lady who is mumbling to herself and never looks up at anyone. When you find her you need to slap a GPS tag on her – because she is priceless and you will need her again! The lady in my Michaels is named Doris (I think) and I need to find out when she works again….I love Doris!
I’ve got about 1/8 of the store as bead selection – and more importantly, bead storage … little containers of all shapes and sizes, that could double as fly boxes.
I slammed down 65 bucks on containers – and I’m only half way up that aisle.
I’ll show the “good stuff” shortly, I’m still evaluating them all.
Ok, I hit Hobby Lobby at lunch – hey, it was right next to Wingin’ It. The place looks exactly the same as Michael’s except without nice signs indicating what is in each isle. My vote is for Joann’s. But who is counting.
it must be a regional thing. the Joann’s up here blow, and the Michaels have an even smaller selection. the Hobby Lobby rules the roost and their store’s square footage dwarfs both of the other stores combined.
I also find it interesting that you like the old ladies. Around here, the old ladies are the ones to avoid, as they just get in your way and give you a hard time for being on their turf.
Maybe it’s a cosmic coincidence that I just pontificated on the fervor of crafters, such as you might find in the isles of Michael’s, JoAnne’s or the Hobby Lobby.
My question to the brownliners is: what use could you find for a gourd? (No fair peeking at what the mountain men of West Papua are sporting.)
http://sanddollaradventures.wordpress.com/2009/05/06/is-that-a-gourd-in-your-ahpants-or-are-you-just-happy-to-see-me/
@roughfisher – “I also find it interesting that you like the old ladies” – that smacks of fly girl PURISM, you snooty SOB…
How many hard-bodied 20 year olds own trout/carp streams? Hmmm?
Aside from the fact that you guys sound like a bunch of high school girls discussing mall clothing stores, is anyone else shocked by Singlebarbed’s simultaneous embrace (nurse Treblinka) and shocking treatment of the elderly?
I’m calling the AARP.
Some plaintive bleat from the “I narrowly beat a Morals beef,” Underground?
Seems to me I’m the only fellow suggesting women have value past the age of 22.
>>Some plaintive bleat from the “I narrowly beat a Morals beef,” Underground?<<
Hey, they never convicted me of anything, and the vat of mayonnaise was just something I was storing for a friend.