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I was crouched down low at the local department store, knees cracking, muscles aching, physically on the floor, leaning on my left side in a near fetal position looking for a pair of jeans, somewhere north of a size 38. These sizes of course are inexplicably placed on the very bottom rack where no man that size can possibly reach them.

Why are the LARGER sized pants physically placed LOWER on the display racks at most major department stores? Take a look if you don’t believe me. Bigger guys need larger sizes so why put them on the bottom rack where they can’t reach them?

Right next to me, I spied a younger guy, quite likely a former gymnast. He calmly pulled a size 28 pair of jeans which were right there in front of him. This guy was looking for a workout and seemed disappointed when he saw me getting aerobic searching for my sized jeans.

But off he went, jeans in hand while I struggled to reach my feet.

But, I wasn’t done yet at the department store. No no no. I needed shoes to match my new jeans. HaHaHaHaHa, JK. I, like most men am NOT a shoe fashionista. I, like most men own as many pairs of shoes as I have fingers on one hand. I just need to send shoe pair #4 to the tennis shoe ranch and pick up a replacement.

My wife, on the other hand, has shoes to match EVERY dress she owns. I even think she has shoes to match a dress she hasn’t even yet purchased, just in case.

Guess what? The shoe section was strategically laid out the same way as the jeans. Men’s sizes 7 and 8 were up on the top shelves of cubby holes that progressively moved LOWER to the bigger sizes. I was searching for a size 12 or 13 and finally found them.

Yep, you guessed it, bottom shelf. Assume the position. Knees cracking once again.

So, I’m thinking it’s snack time after this strenuous workout and what healthier place to find a snack than a department store vending machine.

I approached the vending machine of various victuals and guess what?

There on Level A, the top rack, are the potato chips. Fragile little things that they are, they bravely dangle anxiously awaiting the thrill of a good four foot free fall when selected.

Indeed, some whole chips will survive intact, but many will be crushed on the fall. Nice if you’re coating chicken fingers, not so much if you are looking to dip.

Three feet underneath lies a Snickers bar on Level D, chocked full of nuts and chocolate, solid as a rock. Studies show you could drop a Snickers from the Empire State Building and it would remain whole, undamaged.

But bless the heart that decided to give it a spot on the D row of the vending machine just six inches from its destination, while the chips dangle in peril three feet above. Many a chip could be saved each year if they had the D row. I want to arrange a fund-raiser for them sometimes. Save The Chips.

I wanted chips, but humanely hesitated, fearing their fate on the free fall. In the back of my head I heard the Hydrogenated Oil Band chanting to a rhythmic bass beat, “Save the chips. Save the chips.”

I looked at the price. A buck and a half for a 5 ounce bag, so I decide to save the chips and my wallet.

I moved on, spending no more money, opting instead to invest the cash on a visit to the chiropractor since I needed an adjustment from the jeans and shoe shopping experiences.

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