Heretofore Believed Impossible...

Ugh. I never thought it could happen but it did: I had a Bad Yarn Store experience. I've recently moved to a small suburb southwest of Boston and haven't been yarn-shopping here yet; usually I visit a store first, just to browse, familairize myself with the options, and--most impotantly--to see if its the kind of place I feel comfortable giving my money too. But I really needed sock yarn for Xmas presents, so I thought "what the hell" and went for it.

My first impression? Small. Small and messy. Now, small is not necessarily a problem--in high-population areas space is at a premium, and I've been to some yarn stores where small=cozy [Halifax, NS]. As for messy, people who live in glass houses should learn to live with stangers looking at their underwear. Or something. So I begin my meander--quick past the novelty yarns I have no interest in, slow past natural fibers (ok, that takes care of two of the three walls)--and soon find myself in front of the sock yarn, negotiating a little for space with a woman, her stroller, and a cute little girl who is obviously not a knitter, and impatient. There is a lot of sock yarn. Good! Half the skeins don't have ball bands. Bad! It's ok, I'm looking for 100g balls of Regia self-striping wool/nylon, which is not too hard to spot.

My first real twinge comes with the huffing of two older women waiting at the register. They're not getting service, not yelling "dude, I need service" (dirty!), and not happy about it. Clearly there needs to be a bell. They eventually tear a woman I assume is the shop-owner away from the knitting group table. Oh? I didn't mention that half the space in the store was filled by a big table and assorted knitters? It was. The ladies make their purchases while I finish comparing colors and grab a set of DPNs (my other set is in some other socks) and get in line behind another customer, who is buying Patons yarn.

I wait. And wait some more because the only thing computerized at the "register" is the credit card swiper (and I'm sure that if Visa would allow it, that would be gone too). The "register" is a calculater and a pad of paper. Still, I am thinking good thoughts because I know it is very hard for old people to get help with the technology. It might have helped if the counter hadn't been buried in miscellaneous papers, books, and lotion displays--at the very least it would have prevented the woman's yarn from rolling onto the floor every five seconds. I make chitchat with the "register" lady and the customer about my sock yarn, which I am making up for my grandmother. Isn't that nice?

Then I discover the power of becoming invisible.

During the ten minutes it has taken for the purchase of four skeins of Patons wool/acrylic, Woman-with-stroller-and-child (WWSAC) has made her decision and come into the line. The "register" lady has asked WWSAC about her sister, and when she finishes sending the Patons into the world, asks WWSAC, "Are you in a hurry?" Why yes, yes she is; the little girl is starting to yell and she has to meet someone... Well then, "register" lady will just ring her up quick.

Neither of them look at me, standing with my Regia and needles. They chat about a difficult pattern WWSAC has been knitting. I want to throw the yarn on the ground and walk off, but I can't--too polite, or too scared.

Suddenly, all those little negatives I noticed before and brushed off come roaring back, ten times their original size. I didn't mind waiting; I had no place to be; I absolutely want to keep small children from having tantrums in small stores--but I was shocked and hurt by the breach of what I consider common courtesy. Acknowledgement is the very least we owe other people; I felt like a non-entity. Later, I tried to decide: Was it because I was a newcomer? The other women had obviously known each other a while. Maybe because my purchase was small: socks are not sweaters. But I think it was because I am young and I said the yarn was a gift. They saw me and didn't hear "gift I am making"--they heard "not a knitter." As everyone knows from the newspaper, young knitters buy novelty yarns to make fashion scarves. Except that I don't have to: my grandmother has knit over 80 of those this year, which frees up my time for knitting lace shawls, cabled sweaters. And socks.

I hope WWSAC calmed her daughter down and made it to her appointment on time--I won't know, though, because I'm never going near that yarn store again.