The New Scene
Around 10:00 p.m. the other night Sweet One informed me we were completely out of kitty litter only after she had dumped the old litter out of the box.
Kudos to her for seeing to her chores, but I was a bit miffed she had not thought to check whether we had enough litter to refill once she dumped, the old litter that is.
Doubting whether Voodoo could go for a while without going, a trip to the Super Wal-Mart in our sleepy little town was in immediate order.
First off, I'm a Target girl. I like Target because it's clean and orderly and not swamped with all manner of humanity. I'm not a big shopper, but when I shop I do like to do so without playing bumper carts with the masses, including underage drivers. I also like to shop quietly so I have some chance of recalling exactly what I need from that rapidly diminishing mental inventory of mine.
As much as I like Target, it is only open twelve hours a day from eight in the morning to eight in the evening. Further, some things just require a trip to the Super Wally World; however, when I generally shop at The Wal-Mart, it is before seven in the morning because I simply do not like crowds. I like to do my thing, get in, get out and go about my way.
The company I keep at those times are other bleary-eyed mothers who have been up for hours waiting for their respective day care centers or schools to open so they can pawn their children off on others for a while and spend a little quality time with a kidless cart and no one pulling at them screaming: "Mommy! Mommy! Moooommmmy!" THIS I understand.
At that hour conversation and eye contact with others similarly situated are avoided, even if we recognize the next-door neighbor. No one speaks to one another. It is, dare I say it, an unspoken rule. Chats are left for shopping excursions performed at other times of the day. Early mornings are sacred.
Back to the other night, there were others in the house and I could safely abandon my sleepy charges and made a dash to Super Wal-Mart for kitty litter and a few other things. Much like the early morning shopping excursions, there were few people milling about; however, it was oddly different. The tone of the store, while brightly lit, was more subdued.
I did not notice it immediately, but instead of the early morning women walking zombie-like up and down the aisles, there were men everywhere. Furthermore, each one appeared to be in dire need of some form of assistance.
The initial stop was to obtain kitty litter. As I hefted not one, but two containers of litter into my cart this okay looking late forty-ish, early fifty-ish man approached and held the cart still as I loaded it. While I would have much preferred for him to load it for me, I guess he thought he was being helpful. I gave him a half-smile with a quick "Thanks" and started to push the cart around him. Before I could escape, he put a hand on my cart, smiled back, and asked: "So, do you have a cat?"
My mother would be appalled, but there are times when I find it very difficult to be nice to people. This was one of those times. Tired and irritated at having to be at Wal-Mart late at night and having to respond to asinine questions, I said: "No, I have two pot-bellied pigs that have learned to use cat litter. I love my pigs, they sleep with me every night."
Stunned for a reply, I was sure, he released my cart and off I went.
During my search for Barbie bubble bath, a particularly unattractive (appearing and smelling) man probably in his early to mid-fifties stepped up to me.
Second Guy: "Excuse me, miss, can you tell me where to find the soap?"
My mind screamed: "If anybody needs it, buddy..." but my voice said: "Ummmm, it appears to be right behind you."
Second Guy: "Oh, thanks. So, are you from around here?"
Me: "Actually no, I'm passing through on my way to Hell. Enjoy your evening."
A few minutes later I ran through the cards because I remembered a birthday coming up when I was greeted by this Anglo gentleman who looked well over sixty and graced me with a gap-toothed grin: "Hi, can you help me, please? I'd like to find a gift for my mother."
Me: "Perdoneme, por favor. No hablo ingles."
I would like to think they were asking me all these questions because I appear to be and comport myself as someone in the know; however, I suspect it had more to do with being one of the only women in the store. Period.
As I was checking out, I spoke to the very friendly female clerk and asked her about all the men lurking the store. She said: "Oh, honey, this is a week night, you should see them on Friday and Saturday nights. It's not safe around here, let me tell ya."
So, there it is, ladies. THE place to be to pick up guys (or be picked up) is your friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart after 10:00 p.m. Unfortunately, there did not appear to be any within ten years (older or younger) of my age group.
And, NO, I am not that desperate, thank you.
Kudos to her for seeing to her chores, but I was a bit miffed she had not thought to check whether we had enough litter to refill once she dumped, the old litter that is.
Doubting whether Voodoo could go for a while without going, a trip to the Super Wal-Mart in our sleepy little town was in immediate order.
First off, I'm a Target girl. I like Target because it's clean and orderly and not swamped with all manner of humanity. I'm not a big shopper, but when I shop I do like to do so without playing bumper carts with the masses, including underage drivers. I also like to shop quietly so I have some chance of recalling exactly what I need from that rapidly diminishing mental inventory of mine.
As much as I like Target, it is only open twelve hours a day from eight in the morning to eight in the evening. Further, some things just require a trip to the Super Wally World; however, when I generally shop at The Wal-Mart, it is before seven in the morning because I simply do not like crowds. I like to do my thing, get in, get out and go about my way.
The company I keep at those times are other bleary-eyed mothers who have been up for hours waiting for their respective day care centers or schools to open so they can pawn their children off on others for a while and spend a little quality time with a kidless cart and no one pulling at them screaming: "Mommy! Mommy! Moooommmmy!" THIS I understand.
At that hour conversation and eye contact with others similarly situated are avoided, even if we recognize the next-door neighbor. No one speaks to one another. It is, dare I say it, an unspoken rule. Chats are left for shopping excursions performed at other times of the day. Early mornings are sacred.
Back to the other night, there were others in the house and I could safely abandon my sleepy charges and made a dash to Super Wal-Mart for kitty litter and a few other things. Much like the early morning shopping excursions, there were few people milling about; however, it was oddly different. The tone of the store, while brightly lit, was more subdued.
I did not notice it immediately, but instead of the early morning women walking zombie-like up and down the aisles, there were men everywhere. Furthermore, each one appeared to be in dire need of some form of assistance.
The initial stop was to obtain kitty litter. As I hefted not one, but two containers of litter into my cart this okay looking late forty-ish, early fifty-ish man approached and held the cart still as I loaded it. While I would have much preferred for him to load it for me, I guess he thought he was being helpful. I gave him a half-smile with a quick "Thanks" and started to push the cart around him. Before I could escape, he put a hand on my cart, smiled back, and asked: "So, do you have a cat?"
My mother would be appalled, but there are times when I find it very difficult to be nice to people. This was one of those times. Tired and irritated at having to be at Wal-Mart late at night and having to respond to asinine questions, I said: "No, I have two pot-bellied pigs that have learned to use cat litter. I love my pigs, they sleep with me every night."
Stunned for a reply, I was sure, he released my cart and off I went.
During my search for Barbie bubble bath, a particularly unattractive (appearing and smelling) man probably in his early to mid-fifties stepped up to me.
Second Guy: "Excuse me, miss, can you tell me where to find the soap?"
My mind screamed: "If anybody needs it, buddy..." but my voice said: "Ummmm, it appears to be right behind you."
Second Guy: "Oh, thanks. So, are you from around here?"
Me: "Actually no, I'm passing through on my way to Hell. Enjoy your evening."
A few minutes later I ran through the cards because I remembered a birthday coming up when I was greeted by this Anglo gentleman who looked well over sixty and graced me with a gap-toothed grin: "Hi, can you help me, please? I'd like to find a gift for my mother."
Me: "Perdoneme, por favor. No hablo ingles."
I would like to think they were asking me all these questions because I appear to be and comport myself as someone in the know; however, I suspect it had more to do with being one of the only women in the store. Period.
As I was checking out, I spoke to the very friendly female clerk and asked her about all the men lurking the store. She said: "Oh, honey, this is a week night, you should see them on Friday and Saturday nights. It's not safe around here, let me tell ya."
So, there it is, ladies. THE place to be to pick up guys (or be picked up) is your friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart after 10:00 p.m. Unfortunately, there did not appear to be any within ten years (older or younger) of my age group.
And, NO, I am not that desperate, thank you.
posted by Feisty at 8:47 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home