Walmart Again

I couldn’t sleep, so after a couple hours I got up, dressed, and drove to Walmart. I arrived at 11 PM. (There’s not a lot open at 11 PM in my little burg.) First, before I entered the store, I put away some shopping carts that had been abandoned in the parking lot lane I was driving in. What is wrong with people?! Then I went into the store and picked up a few items. Some of it was real food. Cereal and unsweetened almond milk, pre-made salads, an Italian sub, 2-liter bottles of soda, and an 8 ounce bag of chips—or as I call it, a single-serving bag. And because the reason I was at Walmart was insomnia, I picked up a bottle of wine—Cabernet Sauvignon—thinking a couple of glasses might bring on slumber. By 11:15 PM I was ready to checkout.

Problem: there were only two checkout lines and both of them had shoppers backed up all the way into an adjacent clothing department. All of the self-pay registers were closed. “Why do I shop at Walmart?” I keep asking myself and I never have a good answer. Oh wait, now I remember: There’s not a lot open at 11 PM.

By 11:55 PM (after waiting in the checkout line for 40 minutes) I was finally at a checkout register. During my 40 minutes in line I kept wondering if I would reach the register before midnight, at which time my bottle of wine would turn into an unsellable pumpkin. But I squeaked in under the wire.

I drove home and watched news and whatnot for an hour or so, while consuming the better part of my bag of chips. Now it’s 2:00 AM and I’m drinking my first glass of wine. I figure I’ll have two glasses, then hit the rack. Maybe I’ll sleep, maybe I won’t. The house is quiet, the wine is good, my little electric space heater is blowing warm air at my bare legs, lulling me into Sleepytown. And when I say Sleepytown, I’m not referring to the album by Tex-Mex musician Flaco Jiménez. But I digress. It’s how my brain works at 2 AM.