I Got Picked up at Walmart

I thought I’d forgotten how to flirt, but I was just out of practice.

Since the pandemic, my neighborhood Walmart has been a strictly do it yourself experience.   No more greeters, cashiers, or even cart collectors.  You have to find your own empty cart in the parking lot, navigate around the stacks of boxes in the aisles that haven’t been unloaded, and check out your own purchases. 

 So, imagine my surprise when I found myself being followed to my car at the Boca Raton Walmart, a much classier branch.  The follower looked like a “greeter,” those old guys Walmart used to hire to greet customers.   But—along with cashiers--I hadn’t seen a greeter at Walmart since long before the pandemic.  I couldn’t imagine what this one was doing.

 I wasn’t alarmed because I hadn’t heard of any elderly muggers in the area and he did his best to disarm me with a line of patter. “You’re probably wondering why I’m following you,” he said. 

 He was wearing a mask so it was hard to tell what he looked like, but I could see that he was small, stooped and mostly bald. He looked like my grandfather--and talked a little like an old time New York Jew--think Shecky Greene.

“So why are you following me” I asked

“Guess.   What could possibly be the reason?’ he asked jokingly.   

He had me there. I thought about it.   Finally, it hit me.  It was late, I was driving an electric cart, and this fellow was going to pick it up after I unloaded it and bring it back to the store.

You’re going to take the cart back,” I said.  “They don’t do that at my Walmart anymore”

“Bingo.” He responded, probably smiling under the mask.  Then he started flirting with me, but I hadn’t been flirted with in so long I wasn’t sure, plus his version of flirting was more like a horse evaluation.  He complimented me on my teeth, pointing out that his were capped.  He told me I had nice eyes.  

His compliment on my car won me over.  It’s a bright yellow Kia Soul and he said it looked like a New York city Cab and should have taxi sign on the top of it.  That made me laugh.

He reassured me that he didn’t have to work at Walmart, he just did it to get out of the house.  He knew no self-respecting Jewish woman would date a Walmart employee.    I could relate to getting out of the house. Then he asked if he could take me to brunch the next day.   I didn’t know what to say.  I couldn’t imagine ever being attracted to this gnome-like creature, but hey, I’m lonely and I decided to give him a chance. I’m rather gnome-like myself these days.   Maybe he would make me laugh and I can forgive a lot for a good laugh.  He said he’d call the next day at exactly 11am.

He did call me the next day at exactly 11 am, but I was sleeping.  Yes, my dear insomniac readers, I was actually sleeping at 11 am because I’d been up till 3am bingeing on Better Than Us, a convoluted Russian sci fi series.  Then I had to Google to see what the hell happened and was dismayed to realize I missed an entire plotline.  

 I called him back and agreed to meet him for lunch at 2 at my local Panera.  Not much of a commitment there—it’s 5 minutes away.

He appeared in his best leisure wear, which reminded me of Century Village garb circa 1970—my parents’ generation.  White pants, white and beige short sleeved knit shirt with a collar and white loafers.  And a big gold pendant of a lion around his neck. 

We tried to make conversation but it was a struggle.  He’d been a computer programmer which didn’t offer much conversational fodder.  He’d played chess once so I said he might enjoy watching Queen’s Gambit on Netflix, but he didn’t have Netflix.   The extent of his TV viewing was limited to CNN.  

“Do you like to read?’

“Not really.  Magazines sometimes.  I read the Readers Digest from cover to cover every month.

“I didn’t know it still existed.”

We fell silent.  He was riveted to the table behind us, which seemed to be an outing for a group of developmentally disabled people.   One young woman was moving spasmodically, waving a stuffed animal around and round above her head.   He kept asking me what I thought was wrong with her.  I had no idea and guessed cerebral palsy.

“You know there’s no amount of money that can buy normal children,” he said.  “I saw a woman in the parking lot at Walmart in a Lamborghini SUV.  You know they cost $300,000, more than a Rolls Royce.   She had a child with her who had something wrong with her—maybe she was autistic—I couldn’t tell.  It doesn’t matter how much money you have you can’t buy normal children.”

He then revealed his own personal tragedies. He had three sons and the oldest had Huntington’s Disease. The younger two didn’t know if they had it or not, had never been tested.  But they weren’t married and he had no grandkids.    His wife had died 20 years ago and the woman he’d lived with for the last 18 years got Alzheimer’s and no longer recognized him.   I gathered she was at a facility but he didn’t want to talk about it. 

“You’ve had a hard life,” I told him.

“Hasn’t everyone?” he answered.

“I know people who’ve had happy lives,” I lied, trying irrationally to be upbeat, though actually I don’t know many people whose lives haven’t been marked with tragedy.  Usually, I’m the one being a Debbie Downer but I just wasn’t ready to go there with him.  

Grasping at straws, or gold as it were, I complimented him on his gaudy lion’s head pendant although I thought it was hideous. 

“Was it a gift?”

“No, it’s too expensive.   No one I know would buy me anything that expensive.”

“Why a lion’s head.”

“Leo is my astrological sign.”

“It looks like something a rapper might wear, “ I said lamely, trying to think of something to say

He gave me a blank look. 

 “You know they wear a lot of gold chains around their necks,” I tried to explain.

Same blank look

Then it dawned on me. He had no idea what a rapper was.

 I was shocked.  I didn’t know it was possible to be so ignorant of popular culture.  But that seems to be the disease of many of my contemporaries who would rather pretend the 21st Century never happened.

 When we parted, he asked tentatively to see me again and I said I didn’t think we had much in common.   He nodded, seeming to expect this response.   He told me to say hello when I visited his Walmart.  Which I will do. He’s a sweet guy though living in the wrong century.    Despite the fact that we’re two Jews of the same generation from New York, we might as well be from different planets. 

As for dating, if the right 80-year- old followed my cart I’d be open to it.