Meijering

Meijering. For those of you who aren't from Michigan or one of the other adjacent Great Lakes states, you can't know what all that word means. Meijer is a store- the inventors of the superstore concept, actually. We here in the great hot north have turned the name of the store itself into a verb... 'let's go Meijering'. So at Meijer, we go Meijering. Anything can be found there; and anything usually will be found there whether you wanted to find it or not.

I went to refill my script. Easy in, easy out. Keep your head down, don't look, don't shop, don't get sidetracked by the sea of humanity or the loud shelf talkers beckoning you to spend money for new, improved, more, closeout or other single word exhortation to spend.

I was a line of one at the pharmacy. the fat man shuffled in my general direction with all the signs of a real go-getter. Sneer? Check. Averted eye contact? Check. This guy was a pro. It takes one to know one.

"Name", was all he said and I immediately gave him points for combining the greeting, salutation, small-talk and request for the necessary information in one simple word. I liked this guy. He was also fat and bald and looked to be mostly of ill-temper. Perhaps one of my long-lost twins. At least a reasonable doppelganger. Maybe he felt since we were in all the same clubs he could dispense with the niceties.

Knowing this guy was gonna be cheesed off in a second because my scripts are always on the bottom batten of the rack, forcing him to bend at the waste or maybe possibly even the knees, I smiled to him behind his back as he did the shuffle step so often associated with the elderly and ambulatory mentally ill. I switched my attention to the ratty woman in the ratty truck at the drive-up window. Even through the thick bullet-proof glass I could hear the rattle and smell the exhaust of her well worn mule of a green Chevy.

Another pharmacy worker hit the microphone and said, "Sorry for the wait, the methadone is what's taking so long, we'll be done soon."

That explained a lot. And it also made me formulate a philosophical question in my now swimming head. How long will she wait for the methadone? Too long. Get it? Nah, I didn't think so. I hope she waited to dose up until she got home, or back to the home as it were.

I violated my rule by stopping by lawn and garden to succumb to the siren song of products advertising miraculous lawns without the need to bend over, pull weeds, water all the time, or do anything else that resembles actual lawn maintenance. I have this creeping broad leaf weed that I kill and it just keeps popping up somewhere else. It needs to die.

But, no purchases today, having not fully absorbed the shock of buying Em's contacts and my 90 day prescription of happy pills. Expensive day. And here I was feeling good about things. Maybe I'll take an extra pill. Siezure smiezure.

Out to the parking lot the skinny mother of approximately 2,000 kids, (all of whom were darting in the parking lot like they were popcorn kernels exploding in all different directions), was shouting orders in Spanglish. To the eldest, "Mira, ves ayer y grab him, eh?!" At which the eldest ran at full force and tackled his younger brother to the ground in the middle of the parking lot driving aisle. It was wet and greasy. Tantrums ensued as the tackler grabbed the tackled by the wrist and began dragging his quarry toward the car.

The mother reacted a little slowly, I thought, as I shook my head and let out an involuntary and audible 'Jesus Christ', which may have sounded like a blaspheme, but was actually meant to be a quick prayer. For whom, I wasn't sure. Might have been for me.

I made it home to hear Donovan's 'Atlantis' on the radio. Here is a brilliant guy. A song that is some weird talking and then one repetitive chorus that goes on for 8 minutes. Of course I waited in the car burning precious gas and running the a/c to listen. It's how I do.

Meijering. To those of you who have experienced Wal*Mart, you may think you understand. But you don't. It is a world unto itself that bills itself as the place to find anything; the problem is, you usually do.