NaBloPoMo: March 16, 2010 “Walmart Willies”
March 16, 2010 “Walmart Willies”
I went to Walmart tonight. It was nearly midnight. Walmart at midnight can be daunting for the squeamish or the faint of heart. Going grocery and sundries shopping in a Walmart Super Center any time can be quite an undertaking, what with all the aisles of everything one can imagine, from car tires and oil changes to a gallon of milk or a thong panty. You have banking, Optometrists, photography studios, hair salons and a pharmacy, the list goes on and on. Wow! What a world we live in; almost anything we need in one place under one roof. A place where everyone goes, so there is a good chance you’ll run into some friends there and if you wish you can go to one of the in-house restaurants to catch up. This is just the best. But, at night, in the wee hours, the store changes. It transforms into a macabre menagerie of maniacal misfits…the younger generation. They emerge late at night after they did god knows what all day to stalk through the Walmart in their strange black clothes sporting all their piercings and tattoos and their unusual hair. There’s lots more room in the store late at night because the crowds of normal people are all safe in their homes. Thank heavens for it, it affords more room to avoid these Zombie shoppers. I go in there late at night like this because I have to, it’s the only time that’s practical for me to shop, but it scares me sometimes. It’s spooky standing in line with all the young girls in the skin tight black jeans with a pink thong riding up and obscuring part of the lower back/upper ass tattoo just below the ample muffin-top belly roll, with one kid on her hip and a gaggle of them in the cart, while daddy, peering out from under his oversized hoodie, is holding, with one hand, a pack of Marlboros and with the other, his baggy pants so they are, at least, covering half of his bony little arse. And I’m in line behind this 21st century family unit with all the little nightlings staring at me, thinking who is this old, fat guy? They all smile at me because, I believe, they might think I’m Santa Claus or a parole officer….I don’t know, but I rise above my fear of the undead, for you can’t help but smile back at little kids, even if their parents are Zombies.