Shopping at Wal-Mart

By Richard Davidson

The fat, muscular woman had the coat in a death-grip. Two sailors were trying to help the short 87 year old wrestle the coat away, but they just couldn't get the leverage as the maddened throng closed in, cutting off the oxygen they had gotten so used to by now.

I realized this could be my death, and I leapt to the top of some shelves, sending little ornaments cascading down into the crowd. Several of the children were crying, and one six year old was cursing, inventing new ways of stringing dirty words together in such a way as to make a 27 year old Mexican Biker break down in tears.

I clung to my safe perch, like a Koala Bear to a Kiwi Tree, gnawing on some insects just for luck. Everything grew fuzzy, and out of focus, but for some reason I could hone my vision on a three year old bludgeoning a teenaged stock clerk with Barbie's Little Claw Hammer, as cashiers scurried for safety, leaving their registers forever, many of them flying abroad to start new lives.

I saw my chance, and I picked up a giant candy cane, swinging it in all directions like a drunken leprechaun.

Bam! I knocked out the store manager, sending him sprawling into box upon box of chocolate covered cherries.

Boom! My elbow stopped the heavy lady with the jacket in mid stride.

"Today I strike a blow for the elderly!" I screamed, foaming at the mouth just a little, and handed the almost dead woman the coat. I put her on my back, piggy back style, and gave her a golf club.

That was a mistake, I later decided, after witnessing the carnage in our wake. There were teeth, eyeglasses and little American Flag pins scattered in all directions, and I had never guessed those 87 year old arms could move that fast.

It was the day after Thanksgiving, and I had, after all, gone into the whole thing with my eyes open.

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