Wal-Mart: 4:00 AM

Sleepwalking

“Wal-Mart: 4:00 AM”

 

Wednesday morning:

 

The first thing George noticed was that his feet were cold and that he was damp all over. Slowly, his brain began to flicker into awareness, and soon he came to the startling realization that he was standing in the frozen food section of the Georgetown Wal-Mart Supercenter wearing nothing but a pair of red plaid boxers and a Motley Cru t-shirt that had been his dad’s in the 80’s.

         “… I f****n’ sleepwalked to Wal-Mart?!” He exclaimed… mostly to himself as there was no one around. He must have, he thought; else wise, how did he get there in the clothes he had gone to bed wearing. He found this to be quite the feat, however, as Wal-Mart was on the outskirts of Georgetown, where it couldn’t disrupt the tourist traps downtown.

         His first thought was to call home and have Toby or one of his grandparents come get him, but he was soon brought to the realization that his cell phone was in his pants… that sat crumpled in a pile at the foot of his bed.

He then decided the best plan of action would be to go up to the front desk, explain himself and ask to use their phone, hoping they wouldn’t call the cops on him for wandering around the store in his underwear.

         He walked up to the front of the store, passing the registers. Isles sixteen and seventeen were lit up, signifying that they were open, but there wasn’t a clerk at either one. Likewise, the customer service desk was similarly abandoned. So he wandered through the store for a few moments, and not finding anyone else around (customer or otherwise) he decided to take a seat at a nearby lawn furniture display to mull over his situation. There were no pay phones in that part of town—at least none that he knew of—and even if there were, he had no change or any means of acquiring any.

Finally, in lieu of any better idea, he decided to head to the back of the store, to the lay-away desk to see if there was anyone there (although his hopes were good and low, as he hadn’t found anyone as of yet).

         And just has he had expected, he arrived at the lay-away department to find it just as deserted as the rest of the store. Still, beyond the lay-away desk there was a door with a sign that read “employees only”: it was either the break room or the manager’s office. George didn’t really want to go back there (this was all becoming too much of a hassle for him) but he figured there wasn’t much of a choice: he was running out of other options.

         He opened the door to find a long, rather poorly-lit corridor, made primarily of cement. He didn’t know what he had expected to find… not this apparently. Apprehensive, he stepped into the cold, dark hallway. There weren’t many doors and the ones he found unlocked all turned out to be broom closets or other things of that nature. At the end of the hall, however, there was a set of rickety, winding, metal stairs, and although the idea of going up didn’t sit well with him, he decided to do it anyway.

At the top there was another, smaller hallway with better lighting. Two doors down, on the right, he could hear people talking. Hesitantly, he walked up to it and knocked.

         “Who is it?” A young man’s voice asked from the other side.

         “Orville Redenbacher.” George replied, immediately regretting his sarcasm, as a pantsless fellow claiming to be Orville Redenbacher might give people the wrong idea. “… Just open the door.”

         The thin, drywall door opened to reveal five men around George’s age, sitting around drinking Mountain Dew; all of them wearing Wal-Mart uniforms.

         “… Dude you’re not wearing any pants.” The tall, stocky fellow who opened the door remarked.

         “… Yep… Can I use your phone?” was the only response George could come up with.

         “… Uhh…” The fellow at the door—whose nametag said his name was “Henry”—didn’t seem to know what to say.

         “… Yes or no, buddy. When a pantsless guy asks to use your phone, you know he’s not dickin’ around.” George said.

         Henry looked behind him to another guy who was sitting in a folding chair. He was tall, but he had sharp jagged features. The look on Henry’s face said, “what do I do”.

         “What’s your name, friend?” He asked, taking the pressure off of Henry. George didn’t like the way he tacked “friend” onto the end of that sentence: it made it seem hostile.

         “His name’s ‘George’, of course.” A pseudo-effeminate fellow with long, brown hair said. “All the men in this bumfuck, Podunk town are named ‘George’. God, if I meet another townie named ‘George’ I’m just gonna gag!”

         It had become clear that these were all students from St. George College: a very prominent, private school located in the very center of Georgetown. In spite of this, it was rare to ever see any of its students off campus.

         “… ‘Harrison’.” George replied. “… That’s my name, I mean.” It wasn’t entirely a lie either; that was his middle name. That’s right, George wasn’t named after his grandfather, George Senior, or his mother Georgette: he was named after a Beatle.  “And are you gonna let me use the phone or what?”

         “I guess.” The lanky fellow with the pointed features—whose nametag read “Tad” (a name that George found irritating)—finally answered him.

         But just then an exclamation was heard from the other side of the hall. “F*****g, baby Jesus, god-damn, mother-f*****g hell!”

         All five of the Wal-Mart employees tensed up in panic.

         “Tad, that’s the boss!” A redheaded fellow said.

         “No s**t!” Tad replied.

         “What do we do with him?!” Henry—who looked the most panicked of all—asked. “Customers are never supposed to be back here! Even if they don’t have any pants and need to use the phone!”

         “F**k, I donno… Stick him in the closet!” Tad suggested.

         “What?” George asked, bewildered, but before he could even begin to grasp what was going on, Henry had hoisted him off of his feet and stuck him in a nearby closet.

         “Now what the f**k is all this?!” George demanded.

         “Just… don’t say anything and hang here for a minute… please?” Henry pleaded. “I’m new, and the boss really scares the s**t outta me… so I’d really appreciate it.”

In a way George really wanted to get bent-out-of-shape and argue about this some more (he wasn’t happy about being manhandled) but he felt sorry for Henry and just decided to shut up and sit in the closet.

         “… Okay.” He sighed.

         “Thank you!” Henry exclaimed, then slammed the door on him.

         “Okay, listen up you little pukes!” A shrill, lisping man exclaimed. “Some dumb b***h got herself bit at some lame joint called ‘The Fist’… sounds like a lesbian bar to me, but whatever… So let’s roll!”

         The five of them said nothing but George could hear them all get up and leave. George knew exactly what their boss meant by “bit”; anyone who lived in Georgetown for long enough did (it just wasn’t something most people went and talked about). What he couldn’t wrap his head around was what in the hell it had to do with a bunch of Wal-Mart employees.

         He sat in the closet for a while until he figured no one was coming back. There was no phone in that room and all the others were locked. So seeing no other option, he decided to tough it out and returned to the main store where he shoplifted some black jogging pants and some cheap flip-flops that would give him blisters and walked all the way across town, back home.

 

[end]