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Friday, December 10, 2004

Hard to Write This Christmas Song

A present for Cathy with cash in the store is the only way to go. On line with a credit card she'd find out before I wanted her to. On line research revealed that Wal*Mart has it for less. What a surprise. Christmas shopping in Wal*Mart to save a few bucks could be a bit like taking a short cut over a very bad road. Once when I took my mom there to do some holiday shopping, I witnessed a man attempt to kick his four year old for leaning on a fire door and tripping the alarm. Lucky for the little bugger his Dad was too drunk to connect. How unfortunate that he had to get in a car with him. But I digress.

I drive to Wal*Mart and avoid multiple games of Demolition Derby in the parking lot with fleet of aged Cameros and Mustangs. They have purple lights under, enormous hand painted designs of mythical creatures or flames on them and wings on the trunk. I'm shopping on Death Star. Then I patiently wait in line behind a platoon of octogenarians in Rascals. They each wait for the auto door to close and then open again. Put an old person in an electric cart and they need to play with every other electric device they meet. Don't let them near the remote control gas logs! But I'm still composed and relaxed. Even mildly amused. They're cute, really. They disperse inside like silent random cosmic rays. I never see them again and I worry for a while that they have been swallowed up and recycled into mannequins. I think I recognize one in the support hose section.

In the department for the object I'm searching for, I'm distracted by arrays of other useless stuff and people dressed like hookers. Whole families, three generations, in spray paint. I wonder if a fashion law is being violated or if there are new ones that came to be while I was locked up recording in my rubberized vocal booth for half a year. I'm afraid to even talk to them to say, "Excuse me, you're blocking the aisle." I just want to get away from here. Far away. It occurs to me that they might be undercover cops and will bait me and arrest me for talking to a hooker. How can the word "undercover" even be applied to them?

I try several departments and ask several helpful minimum wage Wal*Mart employees. The item is not in the store. It was once but it escaped to a Sharper Image. I thread my way out. Past still more hooker families. I witness a full grown man throwing a temper tantrum. There is something in sporting goods his wife won't buy him.

I'm back home now, internet shopping. Let's see, how much to three-day that sucker?

posted by Bud @ 6:00 AM

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