Shoppin'

OK, pop quiz asshole...You've just run out of light bulbs, toilet paper, underwear, and junk food. What do you do? What do you do?

Well if you're me you hop in the Kimchee-powered love machine and point it towards the nearest Tar-jay which is exactly what I did last Saturday afternoon. I always get this feeling of well-being and superiority when I shop at Target. Perhaps because my liberal sentimentalities have all but pushed me out of Wally World (that, and the Wal-Mart nearest me is a Shithole with a capitol S) However I realize that this sense of enlightenment is misplaced. After all Target is owned by a monstrously large and evil corporation that kills local businesses, oppresses it's workers, and depresses the economy by offering little more than no-benefit, minimum wage serfdom to its employees, just like the Bentonville behemoth. But Dayton-Hudson is a slightly smaller corporation, plus Target has cooler shit, so I am gleefully off and running down the aisles with my soon to be filled cart.

I am cruising the small grocery corner looking for the $1.99 gallon of milk when I hear the plaintive wail of the overworked, overstressed, underappericated, North American Mom. "No Tyler, no" I heard in a hoarse and lifeless voice as I saw a blur rush past me. The tone and timber of her call told me all I needed to know. The adorable little moppet she was trying to corral had sucked all the joy and zest out of her life leaving nothing behind but enormous bags under eyes that could be seen from space. AS I turned I saw that Tyler was not her only charge that day. She had an infant in the cart, and what appeared two toddlers plodding behind her periodically calling "mommy, mommy" to no avail.

She must have been beautiful in her former life with shimmering blonde hair, and perky breasts that she would show with great enthusiasm for all the frat boys at Sigma Kai in hops of getting a free shot. but now those breasts had sagged, taking the butterfly tattoo with them on their journey south. The tattoo, which was once a reminder of a drunken night in Cancun now hung, lifeless, waiting for the next mammogram. That once volumious blonde hair shimmered no more as it swung behind her in a hastily tied pony tail.

I felt for this woman, I really did, there was great sadness in her eyes. However these emotions quickly came to a stop as the blur returned darting in front of my cart, forcing me to make a sudden stop to avoid crushing little Damian...I mean Tyler. Haggard mom saw this and quickly apologized in a mournful voice that almost seemed like a recording, as if this was the umpteenth time she had apologized for her son that day. "No problem" I replied "I'm a teacher" I added in the hopes of making her feel more at-ease. Her lifeless eyes suddenly lit up as she asked "Oh, what kind?" As if on cue little Tyler returned toting a large glass bottle (seriously, where the fuck did he find this? Have you been in a store lately? Everything is plastic, there's almost no glass left. Nevertheless Tyler found it) Predictably the glass slipped from Tyler's stubby little fingers and plummeted to linoleum where it smashed into a million pieces. Silence for a beat before I said "high school" and moved on.