You’d better watch out! One day you could wake up running an errand of death!
It’s 100 degrees outside today. I’ve been on crutches for weeks because of a strained knee muscle, so I went to Walmart for the first time today – alone – because I’m also in the midst of a break-up after a 5-year relationship. The outing looked pleasing enough.
Once at the store, I realized I forgot to wear the compression brace for the healing knee, so I hobbled into the box store and leaned on a cart while I removed “the list” from my purse. Why did everything have to be at separate ends of the store? I needed nothing in the middle, either.
I saw a woman worker whom I recognized as an old “friend” from a cultist (not really but almost) church I once attended – back when I believed the notion that a woman was second to a man. Whatever – This woman worker in the blue Walmart vest looked up and saw me but didn’t speak. Beeotch! Real Christian of you, Phyllis . . . oops . . . I mean, worker.
Anyway, if the 100 degree humid, heat weren’t enough, I was having hot flashes in the Beauty aisle while watching a couple of 30-year-old women discuss nail polish. GAWD! Get the hell outta my way. I need cat litter!
The ankle on the same side as the recently injured knee sent a few pains into my calf. I limped to avoid putting too much weight on the leg. I wish I’d remembered the compression brace for that knee.
I went up an down aisles – throwing items into my ginormous gray cart. I hate when I buy too many canned goods because they’re difficult to handle and are heavy. I wound up with 4 bags full of canned goods and glass jars. Figures.
After a too-long trek, I stood in line behind an elderly woman in an electric wheelchair. I didn’t want to walk the extra 25 feet to the other check-out lane that may have been an easier and quicker wait. Why do we end up with all of the heavy stuff like canned goods in the bottom of the cart and the bread, chips, and eggs on top? When it’s time to check out, we have to either move it ALL around to reach the heavy stuff again (that stuff needs to be in the bottom of the new cart, right? Not sitting on our bread) or just say, “Crap on it!” and stack the thin plastic bags as best we can . . . for the THIRD TIME?!
The check-out girl was extremely nice and dressed kind of Goth. I loved it. I pushed past the hot flash that drenched me in sweat, and I exited the building into the sauna that was the outdoors.
Once home (finally, this errand from hell was almost over), I put several bags of “cold stuff” on my arm and let myself inside. It was sort of hot in the house, too. I had left the temp on the A/C a bit high to save some money. My cat, Rigby, laid right in the middle of where I was walking into the kitchen. I stepped over him and popped the A/C back to 60-something.
I made two more trips from car to kitchen, each time stepping over Rigby’s fat butt. Evil little animal. I saw my future of shopping alone, putting it away alone, and eating alone. Break-ups suck.
The final trip was with canned goods and jars. Heavy but at least it was the last trip in the scorching heat. The under wire in my bra dug into my sweaty skin. The 22-year-old neighbor guy was across the street, getting into his truck, when I turned and then heard a loud SMASH! The huge jar of picante sauce had torn through the recycled Walmart bag and committed suicide at my feet – while a lone can of black beans rolled and rolled down my driveway and into the street. I left it.
I left it and went inside. I will deal with it later. I will not lose my cool. Head held high, I walked over Rigby, who stretched out to touch my foot as I passed, and laid the remaining cans on the table.
I had done it. I had stayed the course, dodged the bullets and had come out alive. Yes, I lost some things. We’ll call them casualties of war – but I saved the rest. I did my job. The perishables were in the fridge and the light bulbs in the cabinet. This errand was done – for now.