The Midnight Freak Show


Have you ever found yourself begging for sleep when you have a terrific migraine that is just roaring to tear your brain apart? And have you ever wandered around your house with your head in your hands, trying to scavenge any pill possible to just TAKE THE PAIN AWAY?!? And after searching for nearly an hour and realizing that somehow you don’t have any Excedrin or Advil or any other medically legal pain relieving device (because you hate pills and really don’t buy them that often) you come to a hazy late night awareness  that you will need to go to the store and buy something to stave off pain-induced insanity?

That was me the other night. I don’t know if that has ever been you but if it has, I feel your pain. Literally. I jumped in my car to head over to my grocery store before I realized, ‘Huh, it’s after 11 p.m. and my local grocery store is closed. I will need to go to Centerville to get the goods.’ There was a brief moment where I thought I could meet up with Mr. Bojangles who lives across the way in the Adult Community Compound. He frequents the long strip of road that leads up to our two respective communities, riding along on his little Jazzy, smoking what I am pretty sure is medical marijuana. (No, I am not kidding. Someday I will have to tell the story on the little run-in Mr. Bojangles and I had on July the 4th…unless I did it already. I don’t remember what I write down and what I don’t anymore.) But alas, he was not to be found going the 3 mph he normally clips along at – but I don’t think I would’ve asked him for a hit anyway. You know, germs and all. 

Within 10 minutes of leaving my house, I ended up at WalMart just around the midnight hour. WalMart is apparently a happening place no matter what the time of day it is and I was about to add a bit o’ adventure to my pill run. To start off, the second I walked in the door I was dang near run over by two elephant-ish women riding the store Jazzy’s with their little baskets twittering in joyful anticipation (or perhaps they were just reverberating from the impact…). Big Bertha and her twin sister Gertie plowed by me like two cows being sent to pasture. Sure, call me mean but I’m just calling it like I saw it. And it was SCARY. They zigzagged all over the store, draining the battery juice on the heavily strained Jazzy’s, and loading up their groaning baskets with items of a high fructose and unmentionable nature.

Ugh. I ran over to the pharmacy area, snatched up my saving grace – Excedrin-Extra-Super-Nuclear-Strip-the-Paint-off-Walls-Strength medicine – and proceeded to the checkout. THE checkout. As in only one being open. And did I happen to mention it was busy at midnight?

The dear old man at the head of the line decided that he would like to pay for his juice, bottle of Drano, can of Hormel chili, and black socks (two pairs), with his change purse…THAT WAS FULL OF PENNIES. My head is meanwhile starting to send me into an irate state, complete with eyes ready to shoot fire out of their flaming black sockets. Twenty-nine hours later, the old man is finally done counting his change to the PRECISE amount and we move up another person.

The next two people are not that bad. However, Drunken Dave and his teenage son are right in front of me – and I can tell “This is gonna be good.” Drunken Dave was friendly, as in very, very, very friendly. He struck up a conversation with the checkout girl about how cute she was, how happy and awake she looked for this time of night, and what a snazzy dresser she appeared to be. This is what the girl actually looked like: funnyface

Seriously. Dave was so far gone he was lucky to just keep his two feet under him and be upright at this hour. After leering at the poor checkout girl for a few minutes, he turned to me. Oh boy. I was not at all in the mood to be drunk-flirted with at a WalMart at midnight with my head having a massive gong show going on inside. 

“Oh my gosh golly goodness! Are you just buyin’ that teeny weeny bottle of pills? Is that all yer here for, darlin’?” {insert clouds of inebriated air}

I looked at his poor son, who rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, and then back at Drunken Dave. “Yes.”

At this very  moment, the Clampetts behind me started to have what I think is their nightly domestic squabble. “What the hell are you buying marshmallow creme for? I told you I HATE that stuff!”

“What the *%@* is your problem?! Let go of my creme! I said LET GO YOU *%^&*#$@&$*%&#*$%!!”

POW! Mrs. Clampett gave a fairly solid right hook to her sweet other half and sent him backwards into the gum and mints. He stood up, not seriously hurt but more damage to his masculine pride, and promptly shoved her backwards into the other side of the checkout aisle. Hand sanitizer and car fresheners went a flying. She drops the the jar of marshmallow creme – crack! (great, marshmallow on my shoes now) and goes full force into her husband.

Drunken Dave appears to be lost in some vision staring at this little scene, his eyes are bugging out, and I hear him say under his breath, “Holy &%@*, I think my ex-wife is back…” and he quickly pays for his stuff and leaves with his son.

And here I am. Stuck between crazy and crazier and thinking that my headache could not possibly get any worse. I just wanted  a little bottle of pills. That was it. I didn’t need The Midnight Freak Show to add to my woeful physicality. But nonetheless, I get Gargantuan Twins on Jazzy’s, Pay-in-Pennies Geezer, Drunken Dave, and The Clampetts to make my night complete. 

I can laugh at it all now. Before, I just wanted to punch them all in the face. And down the entire bottle of pills as I left the parking lot. Moral of this story? KEEP YOUR PILLS STOCKED.


One comment

  1. Susan · December 8, 2008

    No matter the time of day, the Walmart by our house has a full parking lot! I always prefer to go to the K-mart across the street instead. Their parking lot is completely empty. I hope the pills worked!

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