★★★★★ I AM VERY HAPPY WITH MY PURCHASE
By PAT on July 31, 2016
Verified Purchase
Color: Lime Glitter
I AM VERY HAPPY WITH MY PURCHASE. I WILL PURCHASE FROM THIS SELLER AGAIN IN THE FUTURE. HOWEVER, MY ONLY COMPLAINT IS THAT I WANT TO PURCHASE THE LIME/GOLD/PURPLE ROPE, BUT IT IS ONLY SOLD AT 640 FEET. I WOULD PURCHASE 10, 20, OR 30 FEET OF IT BUT NOT 640 FEET.
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When his dark iPhone screen was illuminated by a notification from Amazon saying that his shipment had arrived, the grey cloud that had been darkening his day had finally lifted. Pat was on his way back from a job fair, one specifically geared towards people looking for careers involving a great number of fibers in close proximity, such as ropery and I suppose carpetry and a few of the less important fiberist fields such as clothingery and blanketry, that consumed roughly half of the local convention center. He left before he could make an impression. Even though Pat’s love of fibers would undoubtedly be considered one of his defining traits just – ask his friends – the loud chatter and perpetual standingness that always comes with a half packed convention center proved to be too much for him.
2016 had been a tough year for Pat, with the loss of his father in a carpet factory fire that only received what little news coverage it did because of the room for headline potential – e.g. “RUG BURN KILLS 12” – and the subsequent loss of his sales job at Barry’s Discount Carpets after the titular Barry was forced to make layoffs following the sharp decline of public trust in rugs due to aforementioned fire. Pat knew the blame actually fell on the poorly maintained factory equipment, not the rugs themselves, but with the size of the factory equipment lobby and the disorganized state of the carpet lobby, Washington would never let the people know the truth. After that whole one-two punch his soon-to-be wife-to-was began the lengthy process of leaving him because of the depressive slide down which Pat had begun ever since the multitude of tragedies and the inaction of those folks in Washington, choosing to slowly peel the band-aid off with a trial separation “for the good of our marriage” instead of just ripping it off with a divorce. All in all he’d had a pretty bad year. That’s what he told his new therapist. In turn his new therapist, who Pat liked a lot better than the old one, told him to look forward to the small stuff.
That was precisely what Pat had chosen to do. With this notification he could now start looking forward to said small stuff - like the gift to himself that will be at his doorstep when he gets home - a length of rope of the highest quality, bright green with a tinge of gold and purple fiber woven throughout its body. Pat believed rope to be the greatest gift in the world, the ultimate in mankind’s achievements, ranking it above the internet, the car muffler, and even the Saturn V rocket in a list of “Top 10 Achievements of Mankind, Number 1 Will Shock You” - admiring it for its unique ability to both hang and pull, along with various combinations and variations of the two. He always had a passion for rope, even as a little boy. In fact long ago, before he was yanked into the world of carpet based commerce by his late father (who admired carpet’s unique ability to both warm an otherwise cold floor and enhance the aesthetic appeal of a room if it’s a good one) he had hoped to maybe start a boutique ropery with his eventual wife-to-be, but life gets the best of us all. So even though it was a simple thing to look forward to, he knew it to be so - after all what more is a rope than a collection of fibers tangled up and working together to make one stronger fiber. It reminded him of a better more hopeful time, a time where he could maybe have a wife-to-be and a boutique ropery, not the looming presence of a wife-to-was and the stench of unemployment, and like his therapist said: simple things. So when Pat finally got home, he had no fiberist career in hand, instead possessing the joy of a child on the day after Christmas when the relatives who couldn’t make it to Christmas come and they give better gifts than the relatives who come on Christmas. These kinds of conventions usually put a damper on his mood, as he always had hope that he could to land a job somewhere in the rope business or at the very least string - string wouldn’t be such a bad gig - but never could given the notorious insular attitude most fiberist carry - usually choosing to hire young blood or from within their respective field, not washed up carpeters.
He ran out of his car to the front porch and tore into the frustrating packaging and there it was. The rope. So much rope. Foot upon foot upon foot of bright green, purple, and gold fibers working together. The rope went on and on, seemingly endless. Pat was confused. While normally extremely precise when placing orders online, but oh how rope makes him so reckless, he had failed to realize 640 feet of the rope was the only length available. He started pulling at the end of the rope, tossing the slack behind him. How could so much rope fit inside such a small container, Pat thought to himself. Such is rope. He kept on pulling and pulling until all 640 feet were lying in a tangled mess on his front steps. For a brief moment he was mortified. What is a man to do with so much rope? This is enough rope to for a member of the unscrupulous factory equipment lobby to hang themselves with over the shame of causing “RUG BURN KILLS 12” several dozen times over. They would only ever need maybe 20 feet depending on the height of the beam or branch they chose, Pat had already done the math. He kept thinking about the difficulty the guilt-ridden lobbyist would have trying to feed hundreds of feet of rope around their branch or beam. Maybe they could tie it to a post and see if walking forward until there’s no slack left will do the trick. His mind kept circling around these thoughts of a suicidal dedication to suicide, finding it easier to consider them than the sheer quantity of rope that has made its way from some ropery to some warehouse to his feet, that is until he laid his hands on it once more. This was five star rope. More than he bargained for but perfection nonetheless. It felt exactly as rope should, down to the trademark scratchy discomfort. He started to rub it on his face, moaning in ecstasy. He stood up, as he often does when he isn’t standing and wishes to, and took a dive into the large pile of rope, swimming in it as a Scrooge McDuck might with its coin. He was very happy with his purchase, very happy indeed. He will definitely purchase from this seller again in the future.
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