Today must have been Crazies Day at WalMart. Two unshaven men with backpacks ran and shouted through the store. “I’m getting me some soup. Oh HERE it is. Yeah, it’s on this row.” My row. Okay. I make a little room and begin to mentally review my Thanksgiving menu with a few added things and strike out on every count. Marie Callendar pumpkin pie—no. Amy’s cheese enchiladas—no. Green onions—yes, but wilted and 99 cents a pack. I need six. Good grief. They were on sale at Kroger.
I smiled and made silly comments like “Oh, sorry. Traffic jam.” And “Do you see the coconut anywhere?” Note to self: Don’t talk with the patrons. It obviously is an invasion of privacy. Since shopping wasn’t going so well, I decided to forgo the mental list to start a statistical count. A good 30 percent were talking to themselves and only a few had cell phones nearby. Maybe 10 percent looked “normal.” Some looked like they needed their next fix more than they did the bread in their basket. Others just looked a little rattled.
“Ma’am.” “Ma’am!” I turned and looked. He was talking to me. “MA’AM. You got my buggy.” I had to laugh. He was right. I had stolen his cart. I realized maybe I did belong.