Truly a Great Land

What activity do a whole bunch of young, hip college kids like to engage in for funsies? Well, I've mentioned our taste for porn in previous entries. Think cleaner, for once. Think corporate America, minimum wage, and poor craftsmanship.

Think WalMart.

We would get crazy ideas in our heads at ungodly hours, like "Gee, I sure could use a strong round of Jenga right now," or "You know what would make this barbecue better? Long underwear." And, like little consumer machines, we would pile in a vehicle and head down I-35 south just past the movie theater but before the Applebees to accrue charges on our parent's credit cards or pool our laundry quarters together, depending on how dangerous we were feeling that night.

Yes, my darlings, many a night was brightened by an impromptu WalMart trip. It was a kind of a rite of passage, seeing as how, while at home, our parents had met all of our needs. They purchased the kiddie pools, sheets, laundry detergent, and thermometers. They took care of us. But now, it was up to us to attain our own cowboy hats and patio furniture. It was time to grow up.

I hang onto this fondness still today, although I have come to terms with the lack of WalMarts in my immediate area. Things are different in Cali. The women have fake knockers and the city lacks a superstore. I'm okay with that. But what's a girl to do when she feels like doing some late-nite spending?

Target.

The other night, I cleaned the apartment, fixed a respectable dinner, and watched a great doc ("How to Draw A Bunny"-thanks, BoomStar). It was only 8PM when those activities were all done, and all of a sudden I got a hankering to purchase the Life Aquatic DVD that had been released that very day.

It turns out that the geeks were out in force on Tuesday morning and left your heroine with no copies of the film. But this did not stop me. I still had time before the other Targets closed their doors for the night. I headed into Hollywood--windows open, nothing but the sounds of the wind to soothe me. I looked out my window. There was a guy I knew from Austin in the car next to me. I was the tutor for his film class.

He leaned across the man in the passenger seat. "Hey Grae!" David said. "Hey, do you remember that time I tried to make out with you at that party, and you were all like, 'Um, you're standing like RIGHT NEXT to my boyfriend.' Wasn't that crazy?" I think he was trying to impress his passenger, because I KNOW he wasn't trying to pick me up. David, between his life as a junior at UT Austin and his new life living in the Valley, has obviously become more open to the fact that he is more queer than a 2 dollar bill.

"Yeah," I said with a smile as I tried to muster up some enthusiasm. "That was wild!"

He asked me what I was up to. I finally found some enthusiasm somewhere and used it to yell the words, "Oh, just out buying a DVD!"

In retrospect, this was really not the most consistent follow-up to a story involving offers of wanton sex at a ragin' party. I should have made up some story about trying desperately to find crotchless panties and a diaper large enough to fit a 6-foot-tall man, as well as some lube that was not KY. But I chose to tell the truth.

David and his passenger kind of nodded and sped away. I don't blame them.

At the Target, I discovered that they too were out of the elusive Criterion 2 Disc collection set. I picked up the special edition Ed Wood to soothe my weary bones, and even picked up a 7 dollar Zoolander (I think because the pain in my heart was making me woozy and blocking coherent thought).

I wandered over to the housewares department and remembered that I was in desperate need of a bathmat. I cruised the aisles, hoping for a rogue tatami mat or something lacking in fuzziness. I came across a tightly woven mat with 3 palm trees on it. Sold. The green in the trees matches my shower curtain, which is a rice paper consistency with a tinge of green to it...

Aging quicker by the second, I remembered that I needed a pill case to keep up with my demanding supplement schedule. Against my better judgement, I approached a small Filipino woman and asked her where I could find a pill case. She looks at me with huge eyes and says, "Why you want THAT?" like I had told her that I asked for angry anal for my birthday instead of a goddamn plastic case to hold my digestive enzymes.

She doesn't know where one is. She keeps mumbling "medicine" and "pill" and "holder" in her walkie talkie but no one understands what she's looking for. Finally someone comes over to us in the department, asks me what I need, and produces it for me in less than 30 seconds.

"Oh!" Helpful Hanna exclaimed when she saw what I held in my hands. "In Phillipines, pill box mean firecracker. I know we don't sell THOSE here. I thinking you want something to EXPLODE in your hands! Yes! Oh, yes. Pill Box! Right next to Preparation H!" and she kind of clapped her hands, and puttered off in the direction of shower caddies.

Who says that college kids have all the fun? Huh? Who?

rheumatoid. g