Huh?

In an attempt to kill time while my sainted wife did her outright best to rejuvenate the sagging economy, I visited a “sporting goods” store in our local shopping mall.

I’m not referring to those sporting goods stores that sell only over-priced sneakers, expensive winter parkas, and skiing gear.  No, I’m talking about sporting goods stores that actually sell sporting goods for the average guy.

 

Of course my sort of store sells shirts and britches and hats, but also guy stuff for guys.  In that group of stuff I include hunting, shooting, and fishing equipment.

 

It seems somewhere along the way these stores felt compelled to cater to those that are easily offended.  And those folks usually live in urban areas.

 

Such items that are used for hunting, shooting, and fishing, are considered too dangerous for the weak-minded city dweller

 

Rural areas, on the other hand, serve as home to people who enjoy finding and bringing home fish and game, or simply enjoy a few hours target shooting at cans, paper, and clay pigeons.

 

Urbanites find these last activities distasteful because they involve killing or the preparation of killing.  And, those illuminati are way above those Neanderthal activities and proud if it.  If we could only save one life…

 

I say, “Let’s ban skiing as it is a very dangerous sport.  Remember Sonny Bono?”

 

Stores that pander to the non-violent, I’m-better-than-you crowd, refuse to carry firearms, ammunition, fishing poles, hooks, bait, or even bobbers.  They do, however, have a plentiful supply of dog training whistles and blaze orange dog collars, likely for city slicker Chihuahuas.  But, I digress.

 

This particular sporting goods store, whose name rhymes with Pander Mountain, and is located in Salisbury, Maryland, actually had guns and ammo in stock.  The bad news is that they used a number system much like a delicatessen where one takes a number and patiently waits while the person in front of you orders ¼ pound each of salami, bologna, ham, roast beef, and two slices of Alpine Swiss cheese.

 

In Pander Mountain’s case, I, along with three other guys was unable to find the number ticket dispenser.  The really bad news was that we were not allowed to speak to the douchebags, er, sales clerks to ask them where the dispenser was located.

 

This seemed too much like one of those hidden camera shows, or a college level psychology experiment-gone-bad.

 

I made my way through the store to examine the fishing equipment when I hear two nearby average-looking guys say, “Look!  It’s the Wunder Boner!”

 

A quick check was surreptitiously performed to see if my zipper was in its upright and locked position.  It was.

 

Now if there are only a handful of phrases that will catch someone’s attention that is certainly one of them.

 

With my curiosity in high gear, I was on a mission to find this Wunder Boner.  Turns out it was a device that de-boned fish, and was pretty effective at doing so.  It sold for $20 and seemed rather novel if only for the name.

 

I left the store disappointed because of the elitism of the store personnel and will not return because of them.  I also left with a smile over a product I would need if only I could catch a fish.