I walked around Wal-Mart the other day. From one end to the other. I bought stuff and almost bought other stuff.
I asked a staff person where something was. She pointed. “Over there past the George Foremans, next to the computer stuff.”
Perhaps I looked dazed. She added, “Yeh I know. No matter where you are, what you want is somewhere else.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I chuckled.
I looked at my options, compared prices and finally placed my selection in the cart. I wove my way to the long bank of check out lanes, hearing “Welcome to Wal-Mart” in the distance.
I waited in line zombie-like, said “no-thank you” to the cashier who asked me a question that I really didn’t hear. I slipped my credit card in the money-taker contraption and walked off into the dusk, once again having no idea where I parked my car. But I saved three bucks, and when I finally found my car, I had to just sit there for a few minutes, the engine humming.
Then I drove home and didn’t realize until I walked through the door, I didn’t get what I went there for.