| | Just went toWalmart. I had a random list of things I
needed. Socks, pens, hangers, water, cd slips, etc. I
convinced myself that some things on the list I could do without, like
picture frames. I always, always always want to buy picture
frames. The cool ones are so blame expensive, I can't stand to do
it. I settle for intangible pictures that remain stored away on
my computer.
I realized after a while of pushing my cart around that I hadn't said
one word the whole time I had been in there. I don't think I even
opened my mouth. Literally, it was closed. (I'm not fond of
breathing through my mouth in places crawling with people I don't
know) I was noticing facial expressions of people as I mosied on
by them. Most had the face of a searcher. I guess we all
have that face in Walmart. We've come to hunt down our material
needs. In the picture frame aisle there was an old lady with
exceptionally red arms. She had a nasty swirling cut on her left
red forearm. Maybe she likes to keep her yard up and had a
fight with large shrubbery. I walk over the the check out and a
small blue-shirt boy is on the brink of crying and lagging behind a
young girl. Older sister, maybe. I decided to shun those
blasted self-checkouts and have real human contact. An old man in
one of those motorized baskets is in front of me. He drops his
quarter, I tell him if he scoots up a bit I could get it. He
does, and I do. He had bought a gadget to help him reach things,
in a long box. "How are they gonna know I didn't just take
this?" he asks the check out lady. "Because I gave you a
receit," she says. He fumbles around in his shirt pocket, pulls
it out. "Well can you stick it on there somehow?" he's
waving the box in the air, looking down messing with his pockets.
I grab the box, "Do you have some tape or something?" She
doesn't. I give it back to him. "Well is there a big back
or something." I tell him I think he'll be alright. If they
ask, just pull out the receit. He insists it needs to be
bagged. The check-out lady, Carolyn, probably in her early
60's has shown a great deal of patience, walks around and bags his
gadget. By this time I've already paid for my things. I
gather them up, "Now where's my receit?" I accidetally say out
loud and slap my pants pockets. Carolyn laughs, "Poor guy," she
says. "Yeah." I tell her I like her name, and leave.
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| | Posted 10/16/2006 6:13 PM - 4 comments
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