Recently, I went to Walmart.
Whenever I shop at Walmart, I always make sure to stand at the check-out with the longest line-up. That way I can listen to people’s conversations while catching up on my favorite magazines. Other than my lifetime subscriptions to Reader’s Digest and Enormous Clitoris Monthly, I haven’t paid for a magazine in years. .
Just as I was trying to figure out whose cellulite-laden ass was plastered on the cover of the National Enquirer that week (Uma Thurman), the gentleman behind me tapped me on the shoulder.
“Excuse me,” he said, “But I think you dropped something.”
Normally I wouldn’t fall for such a cheesy line. But because he was so attractive I decided to play along.
“Thanks for letting me know,” I said. I made sure to use my raspy voice, the one that makes me sound like I just finished smoking two packs of unfiltered cigarettes. Trust me when I say it’s sexy.
After undoing the top three buttons of my shirt, I bent over and pretended to pick up an imaginary object. I told him I had been looking for this forever.
“Actually, I meant that.” He pointed to my lucky rabbit’s foot.
Because I am very superstitious, I carry a rabbit’s foot wherever I go. I am also a die-hard animal lover. I don’t believe that a rabbit should have to suffer just for his foot. That’s why I have the rest of it propped up on my dining room table as a centerpiece. I find it really gets the conversation flowing when I have guests over.
I asked the man how I could ever thank him. I fluttered my eyelashes and unbuttoned my shirt even more.
“Wait…don’t I know you from somewhere?” This time there was no mistaking the passion in his voice.
“I think you do,” I said. By now my voice was so raspy it was bordering on Bobcat Goldthwait. “You’re donkey punch guy, am I right?”
Turns out he wasn’t donkey punch guy. He was the son of my mothers’ pastor. I told him I had to make a call. Then I turned around and pretended to talk into my cell phone.
The cashier rang in my purchases– An economy size bottle of Mane ‘n Tail Shampoo (Tori Spelling swears by it), a tensor bandage (more user- friendly than Spanx) and a bumper sticker that read, “Canadians Do it In The
The total came to thirteen dollars and sixty-four cents. I was a dollar fifty short. I looked up and noticed the cashier’s name tag.
“Jose, you are from Mexico, right?” He nodded. “Well then, how about if instead of giving you money I let you stick your tongue down my throat?” I know for a fact that this is what Mexicans like to do to foreign women. (That’s why I go there so often.)
He didn’t answer me so I tried again in Spanish. “Tu y yo, el sexo.” I pointed to him and then did a groin chop. He said that he spoke English and he wasn’t allowed to have sex with customers while working.
“Well, can we barter at least?” He shook his head no.
I was about to make a run for it when the pastor’s son tapped me on the shoulder. “Here, take this.” He handed me a twenty. I thanked him and said I would pay it forward. I made sure to bend over so he could get one last peek of the goods. Then I took my change and left.
As I was walking up to my house, I saw the daughter of my hippie neighbors sitting on their organically-grown grass. She looked upset. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me she lost her cat.
“Can you help me find it?” she asked.
Suddenly I realized that this was my opportunity to pay it forward. “Actually, I’m really busy right now,” I said. “But I can give you this.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the lucky rabbit’s foot.
She took it and looked at it carefully. I could feel my heart swell. Gluten-free tears welled up in her eyes. She said it looked just like her kitten’s paw.
Before she could say anything else, I put my finger to her lips and told her to hush.
Knowing I had given her hope was thanks enough for me.