Judgemental People Are The Worst

Picture this: I’m at the Kanabec County Fair last summer, minding my own business with a corn dog the size of a baseball bat, when I overhear a guy in a camouflage hat mutter, “Who wears flip-flops to a fair?” I glance down at my own flip-flops, caked in dust and a questionable smear of what I hope is ketchup, and think, Buddy, you’re preaching to the choir, but keep your opinions to your beer cooler. Judgmental people are the worst. They’re out there, side-eyeing your life choices like they’ve got a PhD in Perfect. At Sherman Pole Buildings, we’d rather build you a barndominium to escape those nosy glares than waste time pointing fingers—unless it’s to aim at a cold one in the fridge.

Now, don’t get me wrong. We’ve all been a little judgy. Like when I saw my neighbor try to mow his lawn with a weed whacker. I thought, Man, that’s a bold strategy. But here’s the kicker: the ancient Greeks, like Plato and Aristotle, had this thing called Superiority Theory. They said humor comes from laughing at someone else’s screw-ups because it makes you feel better about your own. So maybe I chuckled at Weed Whacker Guy, but I also tripped over my own hose last week, so who’s the real genius here? Nobody. That’s why at Sherman, we’re too busy slinging hammers and raising barns to care if your pole barn’s for a hot rod collection or a llama yoga studio. You do you, and we’ll build it tough enough to outlast the gossip at the diner.

Judgmental folks, though? They’re like that one aunt who tuts when you grab a second slice of pie. They’re out here thinking their way’s the only way, like there’s a rulebook for life and they’re the refs. Spoiler: there ain’t. Back in the ‘70s, linguists came up with Incongruity Theory, saying we laugh when stuff doesn’t match up—like expecting a fancy mansion but getting a pole barn that’s secretly a palace inside. That’s what we do in Sherman Country: surprise the skeptics with buildings that shut ‘em up. Ever had someone scoff at your dream of a barndominium? “A barn? For living?” they say, eyebrows higher than a bad mullet. Invite ‘em over once we’re done. Show ‘em the open floor plan, the steel siding that laughs at hailstorms, and the man cave where you can crank Skynyrd without a single “turn it down” from the neighbors. They’ll eat their words faster than I ate that corn dog.

Here’s the deal: being judgy’s a trap. We’ve all got flaws. I once bet a buddy I could back a trailer into a tight spot at a job site. Ended up jackknifed, blocking the road, with a crowd of farmers watching like it was the Super Bowl. Did they judge? Sure. Did I laugh it off and buy ‘em coffee at the gas station? You bet. That’s sherman Country—where we own our mistakes, build barns stronger than our egos, and keep the “that’s what she shed” jokes rolling. (Yeah, we’re still proud of that one. No apologies.) Life’s too short to nitpick, and time’s too precious to waste on flimsy sheds or petty grudges. Like we said in ‘82, when we were just a couple of guys with hammers and a dream: build it right, laugh it off, and never skimp on the coffee.

So, if you’re dodging judgmental looks from folks who don’t get your vibe, come talk to us. We’ve been crafting pole barns, garages, and barndominiums since bell-bottoms were cool, and we don’t care if your she shed’s for knitting or your barn’s for a secret Elvis impersonator practice space. Our post-frame buildings are custom, tough as a Minnesota blizzard, and cheaper than therapy for dealing with busybodies. Plus, they’re built to last, unlike those snap judgments from the guy in the camo hat. Want a place to store your toys, live your dreams, or just hide from the world’s opinions? Call us. We’ll raise you a “quality erection” that’ll make the haters jealous—and maybe even crack a smile.