Midnight at the Monsoon Summer is the one time around here when otherwise normal people decide that shopping in the middle of the night isn’t such a bad idea. It’s hot, a few stores are open 24 hours, and you stand a better chance of getting the ice cream home. But where do the other people who shop at 3:00 a.m.usually hide out? I’ve never seen them before, and if I ever wanted to see them again (which I don’t), I’d have to flush them out of the aisles at Wal-Mart some time before dawn. There’s the guy with the mullet haircut and the tee-shirt that spells out “God Bless the USA” in little kittens waving flags. I think he’s absolutely terrifying, especially if you look into his shopping cart. Five rolls of duct tape and enough safety razors to shave a polar bear. I don’t know what project he’s taking on, and I’m not about to strike up a conversation and ask, “Hey, what are you rendering helpless then denuding?” He’d tell me. Or worse yet – want to show me. There’s also the old lady with the old chihuahua dressed in a sweater. It’s still 110 degrees, but the dog is wearing a sweater. Which sort of makes up for the fact that the old lady is wearing a man’s undershirt and a hat made out of a pizza box. Now at 3:00 p.m. in the full sun, I can sort of imagine putting a pizza box on my head in an emergency if I just had to have some quick shade. But it’s 3:00 a.m., and I’m taking more than my usual look at this specimen of nocturnal shopping. You have to be careful how you look at people, too. You can’t stare. You have to kind of sweep your eyes around like you might be looking for a clock or the sign to the restroom. Then if you get lucky and they aren’t looking back, you can take it all in. But if you’re caught, you either have to smile like you’re saying hi, or act kind of nutty so they look away first. It’s a real crapshoot. And I feel sort of sorry for the staff at the store who works the graveyard shift. There you are, straightening aisles of plastic shoes and toilet bowl cleaner when the rest of the world except for the weirdoes are sleeping, and all of a sudden you get a call from customer service. Will you please report to the front to walk a “guest” to her car? Now up until about an hour ago, this “guest” has been doing a little walking herself – up and down the street in a pre-selected target market part of town. Now she’s stopped in for a couple of boxes of Pop Tarts and some generic mouthwash on her way back to the trailer. But she’s nervous about crossing a parking lot for fear that somebody will jump her. And when I look at the Wal-Mart associate who is the lucky winner of the walk the hooker to her Honda competition, he’s nervous. So I smile in an attempt to reassure him, and he picks up a toilet plunger. He’s also skittish. I bought a frozen turkey once at night during the monsoon season. I have no idea why. I think it was twenty pounds worth of cold, and I just wanted to have it near me for awhile in the cart. I thawed it out at Thanksgiving and cooked it, and nobody died, so I guess it was okay. But it sure surprised me the next morning when I opened the freezer, and there it was. The heat does strange things to you here. You find yourself debating topics like, “Just how much underwear do I have to put on to buy beer before 1:00 a.m.?” Or does "no shirt, no shoes, no service" mean women, too? What do they mean by service? What if it’s self-service at the gas station, and I don’t actually get out of the car but make the kids do it? I suppose the good news in all of this is that it’s September, which is getting closer to when you can’t brand your own butt on the change you left on the seat of your car when you went through the drive-thru for iced coffee. It’s something to live for.
Posted on: Wed, 04 Sep 2013 23:07:11 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015