Sweat threatened to pour down my face as I made my way through the parking lot. I'm always over-dressed for the weather in the summer. It's an occupational hazard, of sorts. I assumed that since the mercury was pushing 90 degrees, my adventure down the office supply aisle at Wal-Mart would be a quick one. I mean, who else is trying to buy crayons this time of year?
One hint . . . CRAZY PEOPLE.
As I made my way past the pens and towards the Crayola stuff, a little girl with bright blond hair stepped in front of me. Suddenly, there were five more just like her moving at light speed down the aisle. Trailing behind was a woman who looked to be ten years younger than me, but I have to assume she was actually the mother of the six nearly identical humans who now stood between me and my precious crayons. I have to assume she was the mother because I heard the eerily-similar-in-appearance-but-clearly-of-varying-ages kids call her, "Mom." It was clever of me to piece that all together, wasn't it?
The oldest of the not-twins looked to be teetering on the edge of teenage angst as she pointed to what appeared to be the group's motivation for cutting me off--the 24 packs of Crayola crayons. I was there to buy as many as possible as they are only 25 cents and I needed them for Do Good Day. There were easily two dozen boxes just sitting there waiting for me to snatch them up, but the Blond Brigade stood in my way, threatening to scoop up MY crayons before I could.
And they did. Blond Kid #3 grabbed every last box and tossed them over my head and into the cart his mom was pushing.
I might have cussed them out.
In my head.
But maybe a little bit out loud.
Once I regained my wits and stopped spewing four-letter words, I realized that I should be sprinting towards the barely stocked school supply aisle before the Blond Brigade stole all of my stuff from there, too. I've always thought it was ridiculous that school supplies start popping up before the last of the fireworks burns out, but for once, I was going to make use of that silly aisle. I knew it wouldn't be even close to fully stocked because, c'mon, this was Wal-Mart. The only thing well-stocked about a PA Wal-Mart is that one super narrow aisle filled with breakables that you absolutely must navigate with a huge cart and a meandering toddler with noodly arms.
I dodged and I weaved, I ducked and I hopped, and somehow, I managed to find myself surrounded by boxes of notebooks and pens and pencils in such in just a matter of moments. I quickly glanced around, now on high-alert and willing to get a little aggressive. I had learned my lesson, after all. It was a game of first come/first served, and I was determined to win.
As I turned my head left to right, a bright light suddenly shone down directly on the green box of my dreams. As the chorus of angels broke out into song, I was pulled towards the box, it's strong gravitational pull too much for me to resist.
There sat an entire case of crayons.
Panic suddenly set in as I realized there were now at least a dozen people standing in the aisle with me. Some of them seemed to have dressed especially for school supply hunting season as they donned camouflage and Kevlar vests and probably carried knives. I lunged for the case of crayons, just narrowly beating a feisty looking brunette to them.
As I hugged the case close to my chest, The Feisty Mom began sizing me up. I'm pretty sure she was trying to decide whether to cut me or shoot me. "Are you going to buy all of those?" she asked, her voice cracking with disapproval.
"Um, yeah. I need them for a charity project," I replied. It was mostly the truth. Not a single box of those crayons is staying in this house, anyway.
The Feisty Mom glared at me, surely trying to use her mind to manipulate me.
I turned and ran as fast as I could, narrowly dodging the mental bullets she shot at my back. "But, MOOOOOM. I need crayons for school," I heard her son call out.
IN JULY, PEOPLE.
I'm really very sorry, young man, but you will survive if you don't have all of your school supplies purchased two months before school starts. I realize your mom can't wait to get your butt out of the house every day, but C'MON. A box of crayons really doesn't justify homicide. Not in July, anyway.
If this is what back-to-school shopping is like, I might have to procure every supply Alexis will need for the rest of her life now. I don't think I can survive school supply battleground every single year.