Baffled in the Hardware Store

I've never liked hardware stores. First of all, I know nothing about tools. I leave that to my wife. Second, they carry that very unpleasant aroma that's a mix between lawn chemicals, oil, and man-sweat (whereas, women don't sweat, they *glisten*.). 

In fact, hardware stores are my third least favorite kind of store, right behind tire vendors (with the always present smell of rubber, anti-sterile appearance, and coffee that'll send you hurtling to the bathroom), and fabric stores. (Why fabric stores? My mom used to drag my brother and I to those when we were kids. For hours! Nothing to do in there but hide behind the multiple rolls of fabric until the crotchety ol' lady assistant manager would yell at us to get out.).

So, it was to my surprise, when my wife told me, "While you're out, I need you to go to the hardware store."

I looked around to see if anyone else was in the room. "You're kidding, right? Remember, I'm the guy who spent 45 minutes wandering around one of those super hardware stores looking for ant bait."

"That's because you won't ask for help."

"Well...yeah, but..." My argument trailed off, simply because I didn't have one. Since the days of cavemen, guys don't ask for assistance. I don't make the stupid rules, it just is.

"Get over it," she said. "And go get a baffle."

"A baffle? What the hell's a baffle?"

"It's that round, rubbery thing that fits into the garbage disposal hole." She dragged me to the sink and pointed it out. 

"But...but, why is it called a 'baffle'?"

"I dunno. I thought it was weird, too, but that's what it's called when I looked it up."

Fully (un)armed with knowledge, I set out on my "baffle" quest.

First stop was the local Mom 'n Pop hardware store (I always try to support the small, non-chain places whenever possible). I'd been in there before and it's usually well-kept. But this time it was in total disarray. The pegboard shelving units were near barren, pointless, and pushed out of the way. In their place sat an army of at least one hundred battered lawnmowers covering the floor. There was no room to walk beyond the door.

I saw no one and waited. Finally, this Stephen King-looking, hunched over, very tall guy ambled toward me, deftly maneuvering through the obstacle course despite horrible posture. And maskless. Immediately I wanted out of there.

"Help you?" He wiped his hands with a filthy red rag, just like in the horror movies.

I knew he wouldn't have what I was looking for, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Do you work on mowers?" Stupid, I know, but I had to say something.

He nodded.

"Well, my mower, ah, it's acting funny."

"Does it mow?" he asked.

"Kinda."

"Then I'd go home and mow. Cain't get no parts in nowadays. Could be a good minute."

I fled outta there straight to the mazes and endless aisles of Super-Store Lowe's.

After wandering in a helpless stupor--every part, gizmo, what's-it, tool, and frick-n-frack began to insidiously meld together--I finally bit the bullet.

I stood next to a red-vested kid for minutes until forced to clear my throat. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah," he said, barely acknowledging my existence.

"I, um, I need a baffle for my garbage disposal."

Finally, he looked up and gave me one of those looks like I had toilet paper trailing on my shoe-heel. "A what?"

"A baffle for the garbage disposal."

He shook his head, face scrunched up quizzically.

Then I remembered my wife's description. "It's that round, rubbery thing that fits into the garbage disposal hole."

Light bulbs lit up above this dim-bulb kid's stylish hair-style. "Ah! They're over here..."

That's when it hit me. The true meaning of why a "baffle" is thusly named: because it baffles the hell outta everyone.

Hey! For a truly mystifying, mysterious, spooky, and, yes, baffling ghost story, come visit beautiful Gannaway, Kansas. Just not at night, if you know what I mean, and I think you do. That would be Ghosts of Gannaway, available at Amazon and other fine website establishments everywhere.