“Weekend Waiting”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-18)

“So tired… tired of waiting… tired of waiting for you.”

The Kinks released this pop statement to the world in 1965, when I was a mere child of four with my Silvertone AM radio. But more recently, I reflected on their notable 45 rpm single during a Sunday spent with my friend Janis in Ashtabula County, by Lake Erie. We had decided to get food at Toro Carryout, on West Prospect Road. This hole-in-the-wall eatery offered us a break from typical fare available near her home. The aroma of gyros and fresh-baked baklava filled my truck as we drove back to watch episodes of the new ‘Mayans’ series on FX that she had saved with her DVR. But then, the mood changed. As we neared Route 45, a stalled train could be seen, blocking the way. She offered directions for a detour. I was grateful, being less than familiar with her neighborhood. It took a few extra minutes to veer around the creaky, cargo-hauler. Then, at last, we were able to enjoy our feast in her living room.

The series started slowly, somewhat less thrilling than ‘Sons of Anarchy.’ Yet I reckoned we ought to watch more than two episodes before passing judgment. Janis agreed to a quick walk after finishing our meal. We enjoyed the breeze and cool afternoon temperature. But then, both of us were relaxed to the point of nodding off. She asked if we could watch the remaining show at a later time. I needed to do a bit of grocery shopping on the way home, so her suggestion fit my unspoken timeline.

Driving west, toward Geneva, I intended to stop at my favorite supermarket. Then, a reflection on the list I had left at home reminded me that Wrangler, my Black Lab, needed food. He was particular about his sustenance, taking only dry Kibbles ‘n Bits in his bowl. Buying large bags of this processed foodstuff meant going to the Walmart megacenter in Madison, or paying a $2.00 - $5.00 premium elsewhere.

I could easily go home through Lake County. But – IT WAS SUNDAY!

I debated my options while at the wheel. Our household budget had become strained after I needed to retire early, in 2016. Recent trips to West Virginia regarding family matters only tightened the screws. I had to save money. Still, visiting the empire of Walton on a weekend? The act seemed sure to cause a headache. I pondered waiting to get dog food on another day, but that seemed more foolish by far. My canine friend needed to eat, as I had already done.

Reason won out over convenience. I made a u-turn and headed east once more.

Store 3608 is located northwest of Madison Village. An easy target on my way home to Thompson. Yet when I began to descend the hill from North Ridge Road, my peril became clear. I could barely see any empty spaces in the lot. Fall had blessed Ohio with a day nearly perfect in every aspect. One suited for a motorcycle cruise, yard work, grilling out with family and friends, visiting a local winery, or simply basking in the lingering glow of days growing shorter with the season. But a single thought had apparently gripped the entire weekend crowd.

SHOPPING AT WALLY WORLD!

I managed to squeeze my truck into a space about a dozen rows from the food entrance. As with each visit, I cursed fate for not having a disability placard to display. Hobbling with my cane, I found a cart that made walking the long distance less demanding. Then, the ordeal began.

Kibbles ‘n Bits were located on one side of the behemoth store. Bread, my pooch’s prime choice as a snack, was on the opposite side. An electric cart would have made the journey less taxing to endure, but I refused. People were literally everywhere. It seemed safer to meet them at a walking pace rather than with the speed of a motorized carriage.

I felt grateful to no longer be active as a retail manager.

Getting Wrangler’s necessities required a few minutes of walking while dodging others preoccupied with their own buying needs. I noted that more than one of my fellow patrons had the visual expression of a zombie on ‘The Walking Dead.’ I reckoned that they shared my remorse for having chosen to visit Walmart on its busiest day of the week.

Shopping was easy enough, with patience. Then, I scanned the front end. Out of a regular-register-roster that ran to a count around 20, I saw four stations open. The self-scan ‘bullpen’ was mobbed with what looked like the crowd at a Cleveland Indians game. Buried in a sweaty mass of impatient humanity. I crossed myself and again gave thanks for being retired. The scene evoked memories of long hours spent serving customers in similar venues. I felt glad to be free from my role in supervision.

Now, I hoped for liberty of a different sort. To get my purchases recorded and to escape from the restless throng of unhappy souls. I could see on each face, a familiar look of sadness and desperation. They had come to know what I knew, standing in line. That their visit to retailing hell would not end without a protracted period of agony and regret.

I wondered about the genuine worth of $2.00 saved on my bag of bow-wow bits. Every excruciating penny was about to be pulled from my skin, one after the other.

An express line, 20 items or less, offered the least suffering. While waiting, I looked over at others who had chosen to ring out items on the self-scan registers. Their wait was longer and more tortured than my own. Kids fretted and cried. Moms squawked on their phones. Dads huffed and sweated and fondled bags of potato chips and cases of beer.

I simply looked at the bag of Kibbles ‘n Bits.

After about ten minutes, I had gotten close enough to the express register that I recognized the cashier as a friend from my days at another store. But with the passage of another five minutes, her visage became more clear and less familiar. I had been wrong. She was someone I did not know, personally. But, her demeanor broke my mood of woe.

“Hello,” she smiled with a sterile expression of medicated calm. “Did you find everything that you needed today?”

“Yes, “I replied. “Thank you.”

“Were you able to enjoy the day outside?” she continued.

“Yes,” I answered. “Wonderful day. We won’t have many more like this...”

She appeared like a grandma who somehow traded her apron and baking of cookies for a uniform vest at Walleye Mart. I felt sad to think that she probably had grand kids somewhere who needed her loving words more than the artificial blips and static of a video game.

When my order had been completed, she nodded gratefully. “Thank you for shopping at Walmart!”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said.

She looked straight ahead, with eyes that, perhaps, offered a tell-tale whisper of empty resignation. Again, I felt sorry for the kind woman and her grand kids. And, guilty for being in the store to make her plight more profitable for the folks in Bentonville. But, I was joyful for myself. I had jumped the fence between this world and the outside. Now, I was about to bolt for freedom, again!

On my way back to Geauga County, a train had traffic stopped just north of downtown Madison. A perfect point of closure to my day away from home. I sat at the steering wheel and sang to myself as Ray Davies had done, so many years ago.

“So tired… tired of waiting… tired of waiting for you...”

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