A Wal-Mart joy ride

AS ONE ENTERS THE SUPER Wal-Mart stores, an array of shopping carts can be seen, many full of kids either sitting down or standing up precariously. A few even can be found under the basket by the wheels, seeing what the world looks like from below. Then there are the electric carts for the handicapped and seniors. These are stationed close to the door-greeter, who keeps an eye on them to make sure that adventurous youngsters do not take them for a spin.

I long have envied these electric cart riders and always felt the urge to sneak in a spin myself, but was too embarrassed to do so, being a robust and healthy person, albeit a senior. Little did I know my time would come. After open-heart surgery, I was homebound and forbidden to drive my car. However, my doctor never intimated that I could not drive one of those Wal-Mart specials. My opportunity came when I was walking again and my wife wanted to go to the beauty parlor for a short check-up on her hairdo. She dropped me off in front of the store and was to pick me up in half an hour. We needed a few things and she thought I was well enough to meander slowly down the aisles. I never mentioned that I would use an electric cart.

I sat down sheepishly, but tried to act big and bold, as though I had used it many times before. No matter how I fumbled at the controls, however, I could not get it started. There were right and left handles that moved up and down that were supposed to propel it forward. To stop, one simply had to pull down the handle. There also was a reverse and a horn. I never would use either for tear of drawing attention to myself. An array of impressive-looking lights were flickering on the dashboard, mostly indicating the battery charge. The door-greeter, seeing I was in trouble, showed me how the car worked. Apparently, the electrical system is activated when one sits on the seat. I felt sheepish about my Ignorance, but that lasted only momentarily. Now that I finally had power, I zoomed out of the holding area, going at least a half-mile per hour. I tried all the controls and felt confident that I had mastered them, so I decided to go about my assigned shopping chores.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote in The Hound of the Baskervilles that the powers of evil are exalted at midnight. He had it wrong. They are exalted at high noon. Little did I realize this was the shopping "rush hour" as the store seemed to be carpeted with customers. It was like navigating the Chicago Loop. l thought that perhaps the unspoken roles of the road prevailed, and tried to keep on the right side of the aisle. In fact, no roles applied and it was "'look out for yourself and devil take the hindmost." While kids were playing "hide and seek" in and out of the aisles, women determinedly were pushing their carts quite rapidly until, without warning, they would make a sudden, abrupt stop if something caught their fancy. In a way, the mall--and especially Wal-Mart--acts as a cultural center, where neighborly soccer morns inevitably run into acquaintances and gossip with them like they were long lost friends. Of course, these women pay no attention to the fact that they are blocking the aisles, forming an impenetrable phalanx a football team would envy. When they finally broke tip to continue their shopping, I was able to get moving again.

My allotted time nearly had elapsed, but I had not picked tip any items yet. I went to the prescription counter where a line had been forming and knew this necessitated a wait, even though the prescription was called in earlier. I was not embarrassed at being in the cart since medicine was dispensed here. So, I thought I would get the bananas I needed and look liar a birthday card and return for the medicine. By the time I got back, the line had disappeared and I was waited on right away.

It was time to go, so I looked over to see which check-out counter I should use. Immediately, I thought of one that only took less than 20 items. However, each of those had such long lines that I thought the cashiers must be giving something away for free. Adding to my woes was the fact that many of those in the "express" lanes had what appeared to be at least 30 items in their baskets. Hence, I looked elsewhere and saw a regular check-out lane with only three people on it. That's for me, I decided, and drove right over. Only two people were left in line upon my arrival, but before I could compliment myself fin such a wise selection, the woman front of me put her items on the cashier counter--and I knew I was in trouble.

She purchased three girls' dresses and a couple of boys' trousers that had sales tags on them. The cashier had to take out the hangers from each, then use the hand bar code device to check each one manually. Then, she would neatly fold each item and place it carefully in the bag. I could see this would be a long process from previous experiences and thought I would back up and get out of that lane. No luck, however. By' the time I was second in line, four other people were behind me. I was trapped and just had to bite the bullet and wait. And wait I did, as the lady buying the sales merchandise fumbled in her purse to get a check to pay the cashier. She had a large, deep pocketbook that almost vied for honors as a shopping bag. It seemed like she was looking for her checkbook forever. Finally. she had it, then fumbled some more to write out the check, asking the cashier for the date. The cashier thankfully saved her from more searching as she handed the lady a pen. Then. wouldn't you know it, the customer not only wrote out the check, but then deducted the amount in her checkbook. She seemed to have trouble with the math as she crossed out some numbers in the account. Now, I was well behind schedule.