A letter to my older doppelganger self spotted at a very large department store
Hello,
This may come off as rather bizarre, but I know who you are and why you are here tonight. Creepy, I know - but please allow me to explain. You are quite possibly some thirty years my senior, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. You see, you are me in the future. In shape (hopefully), shopping alone, and sporting that increasingly irritated look on your face.
I couldn't help but notice your sheer disdain of even being at this behemoth repository on such a wild evening. I'm sure your wife sent you here on your own to get some items for her, and for some reason you begrudgingly accepted the task. It's raining like a motherfucker outside, no? I had to park hundreds of yards away myself, since all the lazy asses here hogged all the spots near the building. I made it inside without anyone splooshing big puddles on me, and it looks like you were able to keep dry yourself. I also see we have something else in common, but more on that in a minute.
I only came here for a few items myself. Paper towels, liquid drain cleaner, some tasty chips, and coffee for tomorrow. Critical things, obviously. However, I have an aversion to this store's giant shopping carts that are about the size of a Toyota Prius. They're completely unnecessary for someone only buying just a few items. I hate them. I hate them so much I always try to find one of those small hand baskets. Problem is, they are illegal in these humongous stores now. I'm pretty sure they're illegal. Why would there be so few of them then, if any at all?
Since I'm used to rejection on all fronts, I didn't even bother checking to see if there was a stack of these little baskets for me to use - I knew that was going to be a fruitless endeavor. However, after walking briefly down the aisle that separates the grocery section with the pharmacy and the rest of this bastion hell, I wondered if my arms would be enough to carry all these items. Or, maybe I'm just too lazy to hold things. I decided I wanted a basket. No, not a Prius, a basket. Hand-held, not pushed.
I turn back around and head to the entrance I came through. Legend has it, these stores place the hand baskets right by the security gates, which are either actual gates or some old bitty passively checking receipts. As I expected, there were no baskets there. I walked over to the other entrance to see if maybe there was a small stack of them there. No such luck. Well, shit. Off to carry things on my own.
I cross over the front of the store again and lumber my way back down the aisle I was before, upon where I make a startling discovery.
YOU!
You're quite mad. Or annoyed. Both most likely, if you're the older me. You're wearing some jacket that barely fits, and khakis that I personally wouldn't wear. But hey, you're older and likely married, so who the hell cares, right? I spot you squirming around a corner, squeezing past some twerp parking his Prius sideways so he can text his significant other what kind of cat food Mr. FuzzyPaws likes. You're in a rush, likely sick of all the shenanigans going down around you. There's a lot of dumb people here, and a thousand registers up front with only 3 of them open if you're lucky. This place is the pits, man.
But, man! If I didn't almost have a heart attack when you came around the corner. Not because of the uncanny future resemblance, nor from the fact you almost mowed me down with your urgent pace, but you had something I long desired.
A hand basket. Blue. Black handles. The store logo slapped in the middle.
Where the hell did you find that, good sir? Nobody else has one within a five mile radius of where we almost bumped into each other. Did you bring it with you? I don't think this big place would even allow for that to happen. Did you stumble upon it in another department somewhere, instead of the front of the store? If so, that's totally unfair. But good for you finding it. However, I want it. I want it bad. Wait! Where are you going? Off to the registers? I should have made my move right then and there, but I wanted to be polite about it. Or maybe I wasn't sure how to be polite over craving the very small bunker for your small purchases that I craved so much. So I played it cool, staying toward the front of the store, eyeing your lane and transaction. Okay, that might have been a little bit creepy. But I wanted to make my move and snag that empty basket as soon as possible.
The moment you appeared far enough away from where your transaction took place, I made my move. Almost a straight line to the back of the registers, give or take a few Prius-dodging manuvers. I stroll up to the very register you were just at with this marvel of a blue basket. The basket is nowhere to be found. Curses! Or more appropriately, what the fuck? How did it just disappear? Did it immediately get tossed into an incinerator? Sent into hiding by the store's vigilant marketing team? Or was there never really a hand basket? Maybe this was some crazy Matrix shit and you were really the basket. Its disappearance completely mystified me. I didn't bother to ask anyone, as I'm sure they're under strict regulations not to disclose the whereabouts of all their baskets. They probably had people spying on you from afar, making sure to nab the shit out of that basket once you left the store.
Their quick elimination of the product you held in your future me hands and that I so desired completely drained my spirits. I was left to trudge onward empty-handed, soon to be full-handed, then having to wait a minute until some employee standing around elsewhere realized I was ready and waiting at her register. She asked me if I found everything I needed today.
No, no I did not.
Hello,
This may come off as rather bizarre, but I know who you are and why you are here tonight. Creepy, I know - but please allow me to explain. You are quite possibly some thirty years my senior, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. You see, you are me in the future. In shape (hopefully), shopping alone, and sporting that increasingly irritated look on your face.
I couldn't help but notice your sheer disdain of even being at this behemoth repository on such a wild evening. I'm sure your wife sent you here on your own to get some items for her, and for some reason you begrudgingly accepted the task. It's raining like a motherfucker outside, no? I had to park hundreds of yards away myself, since all the lazy asses here hogged all the spots near the building. I made it inside without anyone splooshing big puddles on me, and it looks like you were able to keep dry yourself. I also see we have something else in common, but more on that in a minute.
I only came here for a few items myself. Paper towels, liquid drain cleaner, some tasty chips, and coffee for tomorrow. Critical things, obviously. However, I have an aversion to this store's giant shopping carts that are about the size of a Toyota Prius. They're completely unnecessary for someone only buying just a few items. I hate them. I hate them so much I always try to find one of those small hand baskets. Problem is, they are illegal in these humongous stores now. I'm pretty sure they're illegal. Why would there be so few of them then, if any at all?
Since I'm used to rejection on all fronts, I didn't even bother checking to see if there was a stack of these little baskets for me to use - I knew that was going to be a fruitless endeavor. However, after walking briefly down the aisle that separates the grocery section with the pharmacy and the rest of this bastion hell, I wondered if my arms would be enough to carry all these items. Or, maybe I'm just too lazy to hold things. I decided I wanted a basket. No, not a Prius, a basket. Hand-held, not pushed.
I turn back around and head to the entrance I came through. Legend has it, these stores place the hand baskets right by the security gates, which are either actual gates or some old bitty passively checking receipts. As I expected, there were no baskets there. I walked over to the other entrance to see if maybe there was a small stack of them there. No such luck. Well, shit. Off to carry things on my own.
I cross over the front of the store again and lumber my way back down the aisle I was before, upon where I make a startling discovery.
YOU!
You're quite mad. Or annoyed. Both most likely, if you're the older me. You're wearing some jacket that barely fits, and khakis that I personally wouldn't wear. But hey, you're older and likely married, so who the hell cares, right? I spot you squirming around a corner, squeezing past some twerp parking his Prius sideways so he can text his significant other what kind of cat food Mr. FuzzyPaws likes. You're in a rush, likely sick of all the shenanigans going down around you. There's a lot of dumb people here, and a thousand registers up front with only 3 of them open if you're lucky. This place is the pits, man.
But, man! If I didn't almost have a heart attack when you came around the corner. Not because of the uncanny future resemblance, nor from the fact you almost mowed me down with your urgent pace, but you had something I long desired.
A hand basket. Blue. Black handles. The store logo slapped in the middle.
Where the hell did you find that, good sir? Nobody else has one within a five mile radius of where we almost bumped into each other. Did you bring it with you? I don't think this big place would even allow for that to happen. Did you stumble upon it in another department somewhere, instead of the front of the store? If so, that's totally unfair. But good for you finding it. However, I want it. I want it bad. Wait! Where are you going? Off to the registers? I should have made my move right then and there, but I wanted to be polite about it. Or maybe I wasn't sure how to be polite over craving the very small bunker for your small purchases that I craved so much. So I played it cool, staying toward the front of the store, eyeing your lane and transaction. Okay, that might have been a little bit creepy. But I wanted to make my move and snag that empty basket as soon as possible.
The moment you appeared far enough away from where your transaction took place, I made my move. Almost a straight line to the back of the registers, give or take a few Prius-dodging manuvers. I stroll up to the very register you were just at with this marvel of a blue basket. The basket is nowhere to be found. Curses! Or more appropriately, what the fuck? How did it just disappear? Did it immediately get tossed into an incinerator? Sent into hiding by the store's vigilant marketing team? Or was there never really a hand basket? Maybe this was some crazy Matrix shit and you were really the basket. Its disappearance completely mystified me. I didn't bother to ask anyone, as I'm sure they're under strict regulations not to disclose the whereabouts of all their baskets. They probably had people spying on you from afar, making sure to nab the shit out of that basket once you left the store.
Their quick elimination of the product you held in your future me hands and that I so desired completely drained my spirits. I was left to trudge onward empty-handed, soon to be full-handed, then having to wait a minute until some employee standing around elsewhere realized I was ready and waiting at her register. She asked me if I found everything I needed today.
No, no I did not.