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  A voyage into the den of Wal-Mart

By J. G. Fabiano

My wife and I were having a great evening. I actually got out of work early so we could complete some errands in order to prepare for my daughter's first wedding anniversary. The night before we studied the wedding disc we were given by my daughter's friend / photographer in order to build a small wedding album as a gift. It was also a bit of an award for surviving her first year of marriage.

The night was going as planned. We purchased the album and had it engraved. We then went to our local Wal-Mart in order to make prints from the disc we created the night before. Trying to make a decision of which machine to use I was fortunate to be standing next to a person who had a clue as to what to do. He told me I could either use the yellow Kodak machine that would spit out the photos as I chose them or I could have the whole disc copied by using a green machine with a foreign name and pick up the pictures within the hour. Standing behind the counter was an individual who worked the machine that would print my images. I asked him a few questions in order to not print 118 white images and he assured me all was well. A bit giddy, my wife and I decided to grab some dinner at a new steak restaurant that just opened down the road. The night was going beautifully.

When we returned an hour later I handed my slip to a pleasant looking young lady who now manned the counter. She smiled and looked down at the slip. It was as though I gave her a notice I was a crazed terrorist who was there to destroy all. The facial expression on her face evolved from one of friendliness to one of horror. Her color even changed into a kind of dark gray that only happened to people who were dead for at least a week and a half. Her now yellow eyes peered back at me at which time she told me through her saber like teeth the photos I gave her looked professional.

I then noticed a second clerk walk next to the monster who now held my photos. She stared at me as though I was responsible for every atrocity that had ever been committed. Her hands were below the counter as if she was holding some sort of an assault weapon just in case I made the wrong move. For a couple of seconds I said nothing because all I wanted to do was pick up the prints of my daughter's wedding photos. I told the 'keeper of all that was holy' my daughter's friend that was a photographer had taken the pictures.

"Ah hah!" bellowed the ogre behind the counter. She then went on to tell me I was breaking every copyright law that ever existed. She told my wife and I that under no circumstances could she allow me to have what I thought was mine. In shock, I explained to her that the anniversary was in a couple of days and that I needed the prints in order to complete her present. A smirk appeared on what I thought was once a face and she told me there was nothing she could do to help me.

Instantaneously the assistant manager appeared to her right. I never saw her walk to the counter so I assumed she must have been beamed down from some mother ship of the Wal-Mart Empire. She went on to tell me if her underlings dared to give me my prints she would be forced to fire them. In my minds eye I took that comment quite literally imagining both of the fiends behind the counter instantaneously combusted.

My wife was obviously upset and it seemed there was little I could do against this empire of malevolence. So I did what I knew I had to do. I grabbed the envelope of prints the lieutenant had in her claws and attempted to run out of the store. All of a sudden the lights throughout the entire store turned red. There was a loud buzzing sound announcing to all the soldiers of the encampment I had to be trapped because I was disturbing the entire reason their universe existed.

I quickly ran through the labyrinth of aisles that were built in order to trap all visitors in the store for as long as their money existed. Running down the paper towel aisle I was shocked to see all the rolls had fallen off their shelves in order to build a wall that blocked my escape. I turned and noticed the only way out was to run toward the back of the store. Turning to my left I found myself in the toy department that had mountains of costumes because the empire was getting ready for their favorite holiday; Halloween.

Quickly I grabbed a mask of one of the heroes of the newest video murder game hoping to disguise myself to look like one of the soldiers of the empire. To my dismay the mask was equipped with a microscopic speaker that told me I would never escape and the only thing I had left to do was immediately surrender at the customer service desk. I tore off the mask thrilled it was not equipped with the strongest of super glue and continued my trek deeper into the empire's bowels.

I knew my time would soon run out because as I ran toward the back wall I was surrounded by thousands of clocks all set for exactly the same time attempting to click me into submission. I turned a short corner and in front of me stood one of the largest beings I have ever seen. He was dressed in a tiny blue vest covered with medals from previous actions. He was wearing protective goggles with the rest of his uniform being totally black. All of a sudden giant television monitors blocked my escape. They were all playing re-runs of Dr. 90210.

The soldier then started walking toward me understanding the game was now over. Just as I was about to be crystallized the giant took off his glasses and exclaimed: "Hi Mr. Fabiano. Do you remember me?" Looking up I remember him as being an ex-student. The first hope I had was I passed this ex-student with flying colors. He then told me he had to do what he had to do. I closed my eyes. My wife asked me what the hell I was doing.

I found myself in front to the counter with two clerks and one assistant store manager staring at me in a rather confused fashion. The assistant told me there was nothing she could do and the only way I could have the prints was with a signed affidavit from the photographer. We left the store having failed to complete the planned tasks of the day. As we were about to leave the store I heard a young lady call out and ask if I remembered her. I then became afraid.

The End.

Jim Fabiano is a teacher and writer living in York, Maine, USA and past winner of:

Maine Publisher’s Association Best weekly column award.

e-mail him at: yorkmarine@yahoo.com

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