It was grandiose. One of the largest arenas I had ever seen in person. At first glance it looked as if it was glowing, as if the sun was beaming from its memorable blue marquee. The people scattered like ants to a picnic, there was no stopping them. I had to be a part of the rush; I had to feel the adrenaline as they did. I grabbed a cart and hustled into Wal-Mart.
Upon entering, it looked like beautiful chaos but at closer observation, it was an intricate art form. The patrons weaved in and out of aisles, cleverly avoiding oncoming traffic, innocent bystanders and neglectful parents’ wandering children with the steadiness of a thousand surgeons.
I inched around the aisles with caution, careful not to disrupt the shopping cart escapades. I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for, what my greater goal was. I thought about what I needed. I thought perusing aisles would be helpful. I quickly realized, in Wal-Mart, there was no such thing as perusing. Walking aimlessly only led to collisions and dangerous glares. I had to pull over, I had to gather my thoughts; I had to develop a strategy.
My strategy was to act natural. I tried to stay under their line of sight by keeping off to the side of the aisle moving slow and steady. I remained subtle from section to section. I inspected my surroundings with the peripherals of my eyes, as turning my head to look around would make possible eye contact and be far too dangerous. I wasn’t getting far without being bumped and people passing me on the left. I can hear hisses from behind me but I stayed strong, I stayed on course.
I reached the cereal aisle. It was a basic debate every time I came to this aisle in a normal grocery store, but Wal-Mart was no ordinary store. I’d normally be standing at an appropriate distance from the display shelf contemplating what my week’s palate would be – either sweet and crunchy or healthy and hearty. Wal-Mart forced me to adapt to its own environment. I couldn’t foresee my future flavors; I couldn’t predict which cereal character I wanted to share my mornings with; all I could see was a quickly emptying shelf and I had to grab whatever I could. I grabbed the first, bright box I saw: America’s Best Bran Flake Crunch.
I resentfully tossed the box into the cart. I was dooped by the box’s aqua glow. Now I’d be stuck with a weeklong laxative. I’d be at work battling my bowels for a spare 25 minutes to excuse myself to the bathroom. I’d be stuck shoveling a spoon in my mouth every morning until the box was empty, eating store brand cardboard crunch.
As I coasted through each aisle, I extended my arm and grabbed items off the shelves, never averting my eyes from focus. I maneuvered between children begging for toys and the handicapped. Nothing could stop me. I was losing patience and gaining ground, and fast.
That’s when it happened. Something inside me flipped. Something deep inside had changed me. I could feel it warping my organs, turning my stomach, filling my chest with a pit the size of the Dickie Brand overalls I was standing beside. My eyes narrowed, my jaw clenched, my knuckles whitened around the plastic cart handle. I could feel the adrenaline flowing down to my feet, gripping them to the linoleum floor. Now I would walk amongst them. I would whip and wind just as I had admired moments earlier. I transformed into one of them…a Wal-Mart Warrior.
I had made it through the entire arena. I hand-plucked each item without distraction. I avoided some elderly, just a few foreign and spared no feeble-hearted. I could not be bothered with detouring around novice patrons.
And then I arrived. I found my beloved rice aisle. There I stood, standing amongst option after delectable option of boil-in-a-bag, Rice-a-Roni and other various hyphenated starch products. I stood perplexed. Traffic congregated around me. I was inundated with inventive seasonings, sodium, San Francisco treats and curse words. I grabbed as many sacks of rice as I could. At the bargain of a dollar per bag, my possibilities were endless, well, up until about $6 or $7 worth….
The rice bags poured into my cart like an ancient Amazonian waterfall exposed to the new world for the first time. Other warriors gasped, some were inspired to do the same as I. Others sensed my fresh blood and were ready to pounce on a young urban fawn that had infiltrated their natural habitat. Just as the crowd began to swarm, I ducked out of the line of fire. I couldn’t risk compromising my product – or my life. I swerved around the next corner and swiped an air-pressed can of Pillsbury Crescent rolls. I held it in my grip until I got to the register.
The end was approaching but there was still so far to go. Through the Kitchen and Bath, the dreaded Electronics and choosing the right path out of this place – the register pantheon.
It was Cashier #5. I could smell her and her silvery moss of hair. I could smell the dust spiraling off the decade-old fan clipped above her station. I could smell something else, but I refused to believe she was one to be forced to wear Depends as per company policy. She was short, yet elegant and her teeth reminded me of the sun: bright and golden. She welcomed me into her aisle; she made me feel at home. I sailed into her station and passed the Crescent Rolls like a baton. She could feel the transfer of power. It was as if I could feel the mighty force of fallen warriors before me rush through us as one.
I succeeded, I survived, and I conquered my Quest of the Wal-Mart Warrior, The Battle at the Wal-Mart Arena.
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I hate WalMart, but this… this was awesome!