Shopping at GNC makes me feel like a big dumb stupid idiot

Sometimes I do things that make me feel dumb and this is me writing about how dumb I feel when I do them.

“I’m here for the powder that gives me power!” I declare as I push through the door into the GNC. All eyes are on me as I confidently stroll to the Big Tubs O’Stuff section to make the most important decision of my whole entire month. Do I feel like chocolate power powder or vanilla? Oh, look, this new one is supposed to taste like cereal. I like cereal. It reminds me of breakfast.

Two of the eyes that have been watching me, along with the head those eyes float in, and the body that the head is attached to make their way toward me in the back corner of the store. “Can I help you with anything?” the mouth that’s under the nose that’s under those eyes says to me.

“Just here for the protein,” I reply.

“Good stuff,” the mouth says back.

“The best,” I say, correcting him for being dumb and wrong. “This guy wants to help me but he needs to help himself if he believes protein is just ‘good stuff,’ and not the best stuff,” I say, not out loud to him but to myself inside of my own head. Some people call this thinking but I call it “saying stuff to myself in my own head.” I say stuff to myself in my own head all the time. I’m doing it right now.

I grab the biggest tub of chocolate in the store and make my way to the register. When I get there, I’m greeted with a “that stuff is the best” from the dumb guy’s coworker, who is clearly the more knowledgeable of the two.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” he asks, pausing before he shoots my enormous tub of muscle fuel with his little magic laser gun that tells me how much I will have to pay. They don’t know it but I’d pay anything for my chocolate power powder. He could shoot that tub with his laser gun and the price ring up “your rights” and I’d gladly pay the price of my rights. Who needs rights when you have muscles.

“You just did” I don’t say, even though I want to. I want to say it so bad my body shakes and sweat begins to bead on my brow. I turn beet red from the strain it takes to refrain from replying to his question about if he could ask me a question by telling him he already asked me a question.

“Shoot,” I’m able to force past my lips through my clenched jaw. My head thumps and pounds as the blood pumps through it. My eyes go dark for a moment. I see nothing. Then I see my grandfather, who died before I was even born. His face is black from working the coal mines. Wait, no, he’s tap dancing. That’s not coal dirt, he’s performing in some kind of minstrel show. What the fuck, this is nuts, Grandpa. I shake my head in disapproval. How is this the same man that raised my very own sweet mother? I remember to breathe again.

“How do you feel about vegetables?” the Smart GNC Man asks me. I shouldn’t have to answer this question. It should be obvious how I feel about vegetables, I am in a GNC. I know that vegetables are good for me but I don’t want to eat them, so I buy little pills that tell me they have the same good stuff in them as vegetables. Scientists say these don’t work as well as eating vegetables but if that is so true why is my pee so bright after I eat the vegetable replacement pills? My pee is never that bright when I eat vegetables. Something must be working if it makes my pee so bright.

“I come to GNC to create a perfect diet of milkshakes and candy bars. I don’t come here because I want to eat vegetables.” I reply.

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” the Intelligent GNC Dude tells me, revealing his power to see inside of my soul, “you should check this out.”

He holds in front of me a small green container. While a small container is sometimes bad because it is small and not big, it could also mean that the contents of the container are extra super concentrated. That means you only need a little bit. It’s a delicate balance with big and small containers and knowing when to go big and when to go small. With green, small is usually good. On this green container is the word “GREEN” in a shade of green that is slightly darker than the shade of green of the green container. I’d describe the font green as Forest Green and the container green as Kermit the Frog Green. One thing I know is that when it comes to healthy stuff, the color green is probably one of the best colors.

“How much does it cost?” I ask.

“Wrong question,” GNC Genius says, with a look on his face that tells me I am talking to somebody who truly knows the power of what he’s about to say. This is a look reserved for only the most knowledgable of men. I’m talking about guys who define themselves as independent journalists and modern-day philosophers, and podcast hosts.

“You should be asking what it is worth.”

I can’t even talk because I am so impressed. In fact, I can’t even say stuff to myself in my own head. I just stand there looking at him, empty-headed. If I had to describe what was going through my head at that time it would be like snow falling on more snow, except the snow isn’t snow it’s protein powder. Shoot, do I actually want vanilla?

“I’ll tell you the best part about this green stuff,” he continues, knowing that I’m too stunned to reply. “When you take this stuff, and you go to the bathroom…it all comes out.”

“There’s no way it all comes out.”

“It all comes out.”

“It all comes out?”

“It all comes out.”

“How does it all come out?”

“Because of the green.”

Duh. Of course it is because of the green. How could I be so blind. The green makes it all come out.

“I’ll take one of the green,” I say.

“We have a special. It’s buy one get a second one for one percent off. Do you want two?”

“Of course I do,” I say to myself inside my own head.

“Of course I do,” I say out loud to My Teacher, My Inspiration, My King.

“Of course you do.”