Chuck entered the Eddie Bauer store the moment it opened.
“Good morning. Can I help you?” asked the sales clerk.
“I need a flannel shirt. I forgot what day it is,” said Chuck, breathlessly.
“What day is it?”
Chuck looked at the sales clerk in disbelief. “It’s National Flannel Friday. It’s the first Friday of every November.”
“I had no idea.”
“I heard about it on the radio on my way to work.”
The sales clerk frowned. “That’s funny. It’s also National Fountain Pen Day.”
“Yes. My brother’s a pen freak,” explained the clerk.
“No. I mean, can they do that? There should be rules about this sort of thing.”
“I’m not even sure who ‘they’ are,” said the clerk.
Chuck stood in the middle of the Eddie Bauer with his hands on his hips and a disgusted look on his face.
“Is there a problem?” asked the clerk.
“Flannel shirts are one thing. Fountain pens are something else entirely,” exclaimed Chuck.
“What do you mean?”
“How can a guy be relevant if he can’t keep track of the pertinent days of the year?”
The clerk shrugged. “I don’t think most people care.”
“And that’s what’s wrong with the world. People don’t care,” exclaimed Chuck.
The clerk scratched her head. “I’m not sure that’s really what we’re talking about here.”
Chuck’s eyes flared. “I beg your pardon?”
“Who really cares about random days like ‘Flannel Day’? It’s just a made up day, right?”
“Even if it is, are you really willing to give up a sale of a flannel shirt? Think of the marketing possibilities.”
“Good point. Are you still interested buy a shirt?”
“Alrighty then. Let’s hear it for “Flannel Shirt Day’!”
Chuck clapped his hands. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”