Meanwhile, back at the Wal-Mart Supercenter ...
There I was again, drawing a deep breath as the automatic doors swung open, welcoming me back to the crowded aisles of the unique shopping experience I've come to know as Dodge, Weave and Bump.
I always try to forget what awaits each time I miraculously make it through the bumper-to-bumper parking lot without calling my insurance company. The ordeal of locating a parking space sets the scene.
Then the moment to locate and retrieve the seven or eight items I needed was again at hand.
Before I could get through the entrance area to the grocery aisles, one of seemingly thousands of apparently disabled shoppers operating those electric shopping scooters buzzed past from out of nowhere.
My rubber-soled Skechers gripped the floor just in time. I smiled as the portly shopper blazed an oblivious trail deeper into the crowd.
Oddly enough, I find I smile a lot in the throes of a war zone, especially at the motorized shoppers who for various reasons apparently find it too troublesome to walk.
Resuming my beeline for the canned veggies, I felt like a wild-eyed running back weaving through narrow openings in the line.
But the man approaching head-on suddenly decided he needed to visit the aisle immediately to my right. And he came barreling ahead full speed across my path, en route, I'll assume, for a can of clams, perhaps jack mackerel. Almost brushed him in the rear. Whew! Mighty surprisingly agile reflexes for a man of my age.
In the vegetable aisle, I twisted my cart carefully past five others, most of which had parked closer to the center than to one side. Stopping close to one side would have allowed others to actually pass by with a foot or so to spare. Couldn't have any of that.
Finally I was there, just an arm's reach from the dark red kidney beans. Chili tonight, baby! My palm opened and I extended the right arm just as another shopper drove her electric scooter between me and the shelf. "Oh, sorry," she said over her shoulder as she sped away. Big smile.
At the end of the aisle, I cautiously peered both ways, feeling a rush of adrenaline as I closed my eyes and rushed forward when it looked as if the coast was clear. Oops!
Didn't see that lady driver zipping tightly around the corner on my right to meet me face-to-face. I stopped as she glided past as if I didn't exist. Yep, another big smile.
I tried entering the next aisle but quickly gave up when I saw it, too, was blocked by several push carts. One was actually turned crossways, ensuring no one else could use the space as long as she was loading. Slowly, methodically loading, I might add, as others waited.
Two more aisles up, I believe it was around the soft drinks and water, I found a momentary safe space and paused to catch my breath. But not for long. Yet another shopper seated on his motorized scooter came humming up fast from behind. 'Nuther big smile.
I believe I've become expert enough negotiating my way through these treacherous battlefields between the shelves to finally offer what strikes me as a couple of good ideas for all of us. I call it awareness.
For instance, why don't we all agree to keep our shopping carts and the motorized corpus carriers as far to one side as possible when we're sharing grocery aisles? You know, maybe leave the center free for others to pass by?
I realize some out there believe there are no other folks who matter equally, and for them I suppose there's just no hope. But perhaps the rest of us could make an effort to become remotely aware of those around us.
And maybe if it's obvious that someone needs to quickly reach behind our little encampment in the aisle to snatch, say, a jar of horseradish, we might move enough for that to actually occur, rather than making them wait until we've finished 10 minutes of deliberating between Miracle Whip and Hellman's.
I'm not naïve enough to believe many, if anyone, will make these efforts. But I do know if I keep having this much anxious fun each time I gird my loins and head bravely into the no-holds-barred cage match I've affectionately come to know as my Wallyworld, I may have to consider buying a helmet and plopping behind the steering bars of a store-supplied scooter myself. Self-defense, ya know.
Say, I wonder if the corporate executives have entertained the concept of painting their motorized carts in racing colors with numbers and sponsor ads.
It couldn't be that difficult to map out a raceway around the store's interior to further enrich the shopping experience. Big smile.
------------v------------
Mike Masterson's column appears regularly in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. Email him at [email protected].
Editorial on 02/03/2015