A Saturday morning, out to beat the crowd

WalMart parking lot

It’s early, so not too loud

I pull up and look around

A lone woman walks

She’ll ask me for money, I think

As I watch her walk toward the store

Walkie talkie on her hip

Her belongings stacked in her cart

Revolver on my hip

I get out of the truck

Grab my shopping cart

Surviving this place is an art

I walk the aisles

Throw the toothpaste in

Forgo the Christmas decorations, clothes, and all the other things I don’t need

A consumer’s trial

Scalp massagers

Couch pillows

It’s all stuffing

I head to the produce and grab some lettuce

Cucumber, tomato

When I see him – that guy I know

My customer who demands a lot

I turn around, head the other way

I really don’t want to talk to him today

I grab some milk but still need beans

I head to that aisle

But he’s beat me there it seems

So I take a detour down the chocolate aisle

This early morning excursion is taking a while

My stomach growls

That man is in front of the canned beans

Our eyes meet

But mine dart away

There’s a long line at the checkout

A woman asks me to buy her beer – at 8 am

The little girl in the cart in front of me waves

I avoid her on a whim

There’s no way out

The man behind me puts his hand in my back pocket

Subtly

I feel uneasy

My heart pounds as the cashier says something

I stutter

My heart flutters

I reach for the mace in my other pocket

I wake up on the floor

There’s the cashier standing there and that little girl

That man I was avoiding from the bean aisle

The woman from the parking lot

The guy who’d reached into my pocket

Everyone smiles as I come to

They gathered around

I didn’t hear much sound

One man holds up my legs

There’s a candy wrapper on the floor

“You passed out,” the man from the bean aisle said

“Have some beer,” said the woman who asked me to buy

The woman with the walkie talkie had called EMS

The other man said, “I reached into your pocket to get your ID,”

Another shopper had put pillows under my head

I’d had a panic attack, hypoglycemia, and syncope

Without all these Wal-Mart shoppers I may have been dead

All at once

The kind strangers had been there for me

The gun remained on my hip

Mace in my pocket

Both unused

I’ve since suspended my mental docket

I finally made it home with my lettuce, milk, and beans

Wallet, phone still there

My heart bursting with gratitude at the seams, eyes no longer darting, not looking over my shoulder

Home from the store  – WalMart

Where the strangers I tried to avoid saved me

Much to my surprise – and delight

I saw the better side of humanity