The Feet of God

49 - IT WAS AN EXPERIENCE

I thanked the gals for giving me a ride, and as the Escort drove away I waved them good-by with my two thumbs straight up.

I was dropped off right in front of a Mal-Mart store, that bright and glistening temple to consumer bliss, but truth is, I was feeling a little hesitant to go in.  Not because I was embarrassed for cash, which is the usual reason.  I was loaded.  I wasn’t exactly sure how the local townsfolk might take to my predicament.  I mean, here I was, all decked out in purple stretch pants that was stretched in places where I could not possibly fill them, and snug in places where I’d prefer they wasn’t.  I had on a fake rabbit fur coat reeking of low priced perfume, while underneath I was wearing a snug pink T-shirt, and to complete the ensemble, I was accessorized with matching pink Sketchers.

I figured if I was gonna look like some cross-dressing Nebraska farmer, hell, I was gonna look like that whether I was inside the damn store or not.  So I decided to be a man about it and head on in.  A middle-aged lady in a blue smock didn’t seem fazed one bit by my fashion sense when I entered.  She just greeted me, “Welcome to Mal-Mart.”

I quickly grabbed a cart and headed down endless aisles packed with goods and products heaped on altars of commerce calling the worshipful.  I passed rows and rows of shelves loaded with creams and lotions, home electronics and computer systems, groceries and pet food, when my eyes suddenly caught a large sign:  MENSWEAR.  I made a beeline straightaway for that section of the store.

I filled my cart with two pairs of jeans, two flannel shirts, a pack of underpants, two T-shirts, and a big bag of tube socks.  My eyes zipped over to the poly-blend sweaters, then over to genuine denim jackets and then over to stacks of pants that went up a wall next to other pants hanging from chrome racks on wheels.  And the boots.  There was a huge display of boots and sneakers and dress shoes appropriate for any formal occasion.  I picked out a pair of sturdy-soled hiking boots.

I’d done a good job filling my cart when I remembered I’d need to get a backpack to haul the things I wasn’t gonna wear.  I was looking where backpacks was for sale when my mouth started water’n from the smells coming from the FOOD COURT.  Here was a court I was happy to visit.  I’d practically forgotten how hungry I was.

I went over to the counter and placed an order for two slices of pepperoni pizza, a foot-long chilidog with everything, a hot crisp apple pie and an extra-large Diet Coke.  I loaded my food on top of the cart and headed toward a small unoccupied seat.  I rolled up one slice of pizza and chomped through it in no time, despite the molten hot cheese.  I polished off the second piece of pizza and then ate about half my chilidog, wrapping what was left in napkins for a snack later.  I sipped my drink while sucking on ice cubes to soothe the blisters forming on the roof of my mouth.  I was enjoying a break from all the recent turmoils in my life, and sat back to take in the sights.

I always thought women did most of the shopping in life, but this place was not what I expected.  Whole families was pushing carts loaded with retail merchandise of all kinds.  Huge men and huge women corralled chubby little boys and girls down the aisles as they pulled their piles of purchases.  Several really jumbo-sized folks sped around in sit-down motorized carts.

Although the place was jam-packed, nobody seemed to make contact with anybody else.  They just pushed through the surge of fellow humans with that same crazy look of hunting something down.  As wild as I was dressed, I realized I did not stand out in this crowd at all.  I lost count of the bellies I seen hanging free over the tops of low slung pants, and the men wasn’t any better.  No one seemed particularly modest about exposing acres of flesh in public, and no one seemed to care if anyone was offended or not.  And the colors.  The varied colors combined to dazzle like an acid flashback, only this was a shopping experience.

I managed to polish off the last of the hot apple pie and then eased my cart back out into the flow of humanity.  Somewhere between CAMPING and HARDWARE I located the backpacks.  I knew I didn’t want one of them big ol’ framed things, since I had no plans of scaling any mountaintops.  What I needed was a strong, durable, oversized soft pack.

I did toy with the idea of getting one of them pull things with wheels, but quickly realized that it wasn’t realistic for real travel on the road.  What kind of lazy bastard pulls a backpack behind him, anyhow?  Not me.  I settled on a simple pack with about four or five zipper pockets.

It only seemed logical that I put my extra items of purchase inside to make sure that everything fit before I bought it.  So I rolled up a pair of jeans, one shirt, a bag of socks and a pack of underwear, and I stuffed them all inside the main pocket, keeping the smaller ones available for a toothbrush and toothpaste and other items related to personal hygiene.  I stood pondering toiletries when one of the blue smocks fast approached on an intercept trajectory.

“Are you finding everything satisfactory, sir?”

“Hell, yeah,” I grinned at the pimply faced boy.  “This place is freakin’ amazing.  I can’t remember when I’ve seen so much shit just waitin’ for the takin’.”

Evidently, this was not my best choice in wording.

From above and behind me I heard a deep voice, “Would you mind emptying the backpack, sir?”

The source above and behind me was a very large man who was not wearing a blue smock.  He sported a uniform of authority the likes of which I’ve become accustomed to my entire life.  “You were intending to pay for these purchases.  Right, sir?”

“Oh sure, definitely.  I was just checking to see if everything fit together.  See, I’m traveling across country, and I recently came into some money, and I thought I’d get some new clothes, ‘cause I couldn’t really keep wearing these things, see, ‘cause they’re women’s clothes, so I came here….”

For a natural-born liar, I can’t tell the truth for shit.