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18 august 2002

if a tree falls in the forest

Some days, you get a lot more than you're shopping for. Thankfully, you don't have to take it home.

I have this gift, or curse, or something. Depends which school of life you're from: Half Cup Empty (curse), or Half Cup Full (gift). I apparently have a tattoo on my forehead that clearly states, talk to me. Don't know me? That's okay. Talk to me anyway. Now, you guys know that I don't much like shopping. Especially when it's for stuff that I need, like office supplies. Bleck.

There is one exception to this rule, and that's grocery shopping at my local Harris Teeter, where I can ring up my own groceries on the Groc-O-Tronic. Take out the middleman, leave me an automated solution...yeah, I'm not complaining.

Anyway.

So I'm in line with the necessary office supplies and some pop, reading about how Britney Spears is an animatronic can't sing blow-up virgin (right) in this week's issue of Craptastic Weekly News. I'm scanning the impulse aisle to see if I need anything. Battery-powered lollipop that saves your lazy ass valuable twirling energy? Nail clippers? I don't, but the woman in front of me sure could use some, generating a breeze with each wave of her acrylic-clad talons. NASCAR air freshener that doubles as a beer bottle opener? Sure. It's always good to have an extra for the car.

And don't you know, someone has to interrupt me just as I grab for the Curiously Strong Citrus Sours. The woman ahead of me dropped her wallet.

"Well, look there! I done dropped my wallet a-GAIN! I been doing that all day, dropping stuff. You ever have a day where you just drop stuff, just a-dropping, droppety drop drop?"

No.

She looks around her to see who is looking. (Alternatively, who is sucker enough to make eye contact.) I cannot dodge her piercing, kohl-rimmed eyes. Her eyelids look like they've been paved with asphalt.

"You know what I mean? OH MAH GAWASH! [She grabs the deoderant from the front basket of the cart.] I nearly STOLE THIS! [She then reaches under the cart for liquid cleaner.] DANG! I nearly stole this, too! I'm really something today, ain't I?"

Yep. You're something all right.

Now go away.

I don't seem to register indifference very well, because now, I'm terribly intrigued by the mass of hair and tight denim in front of me. She has Religious Television Show hair: long, yellow, and big. She looks like an enormous, hairy Twinkie. "Her" fingernails (and, questionably, her toenails) are bright pink with tattooed flowers on each one. Her lipstick is the same does-not-appear-in-nature color. Like a bridesmaid dress.

Speaking of lipstick, the lips under it are still moving. The cashier has just asked for ID on her check.

"OH! You know, my banker told me last time I got new checks that I shouldn't put ANYthing on them except my name and that's all. I don't know why she told me that, but I sure did listen and don't have nothing on there but my name. No phone number, no social security number, no nothing. I wonder why she did that."

I think she knew that if asked, you'll provide additional information. Just a guess.

The transaction is complete. The exasperated cashier hands Twink her receipt, and I prepare to dump my junk on the conveyer belt.

But wait! There's more! Twink won't go away. Buying is complete, yapping is not.

"Identity theft? Really? Can you imagine, someone wanting to steal who I was? [Ed. note: No.] Isn't that the darndest thing? Things are just crazy these days, crazy. Well, I'm sure glad I listened to that banker of mine, ain't she something. Well, I reckon I'd better go. I can't beLIEVE I nearly stole that deoderant! Okay, I'll see you later. Bye!"

I leave the store, still wondering about this mojo I'm silently working. Sometimes I feel like the unsuspecting forest when that tree falls. I'm here to tell you that, yes, it makes a sound. And yes, I'm surprised at the places in which I get these answers.