Supernatural is done. It's wrapped and entered the land of syndication. I know what I said last year about posting Christmas pictures. But screw that. Thanks to Covid, the show wrapped in October, which is close enough to the end of the year to justify one last hurrah. So I get to give Sam, Dean and Cas a final, final sendoff. Happy Holidays, y'all!
Here I am again, back to give this blogging thing another try. Today I’m going to share a true story from the pre-Covid days, when the county’s library system was open and you could actually hang out in the lobby and talk to people. Or indulge in the free WiFi, which is why I was up there all the time. Or curl up in a secluded corner and take a nap, which I witnessed on several occasions. Where do these people go now that everything’s locked down and you can’t hang out in lobbies or coffee shops or fast-food joints any more? They were already practicing social distancing. I certainly never went near them.
Back to the story. I was in the library’s second-hand bookstore, chatting with friend and fellow writer Larry, who was volunteering at the register. There was only one customer at the time, poking around the shelves. I’m not sure what we were discussing, but it must have had something to do with a common complaint of mine, people in grocery stores who park their carts right in front of the one item I went in to get. Or who hold conferences in the middle of the aisle and there’s no room to get around them. You ask them politely to move and their give you the Laser Death Stare. Usually they’re women. Men know better than to attempt grocery shopping.
All of a sudden Mr. Customer decides to join the conversation. “That happened to me,” he says. He proceeds to describe how he was out shopping and apparently took too long to examine the beans or whatever, because some woman poked him with her cart and asked—no, demanded he move. I asked him if he was in WalMart and he said yes. Of course. Things like this always happen in a WalMart.
Including Mr. Customer’s reaction. He said he turned on the woman and started bawling her out.
I should mention Mr. Customer is a white guy, maybe somewhere in his 30s, in okay shape physically and well over six feet tall. He didn’t describe the woman, but I think it’s safe to assume that, regardless of skin color, she was over her ideal weight and shorter than he is. Since she was female and armed with a cart, she probably figured she could get away with rude behavior. Not with our Mr. Customer, however, who told us how he proceeded to lay down the law with this hag. When her husband came running to her defense, Mr. Customer noted Hubby was also shorter, and proceeded to lay the verbal smackdown on him too.
You see, Mr. Customer confided to Larry and me, he has a concealed carry permit. Mr. Customer doesn’t have to take no shit from some Karen and her wussy little hubby, because Mr. Customer’s packing heat. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with him.
He then told us all about his gun and how he’s legally entitled to carry it around and nobody knows he’s got it because it’s concealed. Though not always. He let slip that he sometimes walks around with the handle fully visible, right in his pocket so people can see it. Right in public, right in stores, right where people gather.
This was the point where I started to get scared. Because he told us all this with such glee, such excitement. Oh so proud of himself. Like a little kid who’s been given the toy he lusted after for his birthday, and can’t wait to go try it out. And stationary targets are just so boring. A bull’s-eye won’t turn pale and stutter and back away and prove that you’re the tough guy you always knew you were.
I didn’t say a word either for or against. I’m not stupid. He might’ve had the gun on him, there in the library. He’d just bragged about picking a fight with two randos in a WalMart. It sounded like Karen and her short, hapless hubby escaped unscathed. I didn’t want either Larry or me to provide validation for this nutso.
Because the progression was clear. He has a gun. Even though it’s supposed to be concealed, he likes to wear it openly, like a dare. If some yotz annoys him, he doesn’t shrug it off. He goes on the attack. That gleam in his eyes as he related his tale told me he wants a confrontation. He wants an excuse to pull out his gun and watch the color drain from some other asshole’s face. He’s looking for somebody to go ahead and make his day.
As I said at the beginning, this all went down last year, pre-Covid. Obviously Larry and I survived the experience. I don’t know what happened to Mr. Customer. At the time I was convinced he’d wind up either in jail or dead before the year was out. In jail because he’d shot somebody (and probably claim it was either accidental or self-defense) or dead because he picked a fight with the wrong person—someone else who was packing, legal or not, and proved a lot faster on the draw. For all I know, Karen’s short hubby got his own concealed carry permit after the incident, because you never know what you’ll run into at the WalMart. If Mr. Customer met Hubby in the bean aisle again, bet he got the shock of his life. Among other things.
Fortunately, the virus and mandated lockdowns are keeping us away from each other, and have cut down on the chances of shootouts in the bean aisle. I like to use those mini grocery carts; less chance of bumping a fellow shopper and setting off an explosion. I also steer clear of WalMart, though it’s tough now that the Kmart’s gone. I’d go to Target, but that name’s not very encouraging…
