Horror in The Villages
(So hideous it cannot be fiction)
By Bobby La Douche’
It was a mother out there. Needed gills to breathe. The temp ticked up to 98 degrees as we drove to The Villages, Florida Walmart. As I turned into the parking lot I thanked William Carrier for inventing air conditioning and wondered how the hell people survived out here all those years ago without the icy breeze. I selected a parking spot that was partially shaded by a tree. My wife and I opened the doors in unison and the blast of hell went right up our noses. “Holy Christ” I muttered. I grabbed hold of an abandoned cart to help me walk. I had a lumbar disk that was protruding into my spinal cord and sciatic leg pain that left me as slow as the workers in the store. By the time I got through the doors I had a sunburn. A wave of God Bless Mr. Carrier came to mind as I entered the store. There was a large contingent of ugly humanity moving slowly through the aisles with walkers in tow and huge sweaty giants in electric carts trying to place the cart basket up my keister. I followed my wife, let’s call her Gladys, to the back of the store. One thing about Walmart, it’s a great place to lift your self-esteem. While I’m no prize I always feel like George Clooney after a visit. Fortunately, Gladys is a standout in Walmart through Nordstrom’s. I call her Amal after we return home home to plan our weekend romp in Tuscany while clothed in Walmart couture. Gladys was looking for a 400 pack of toilet paper and I took up a spot behind my cart leaning against a shelf to relieve this awful back and leg pain. I noticed as the customers lumbered around me that there was a direct correlation between ugliness and size and the number of piercings and green hair. Bright green hair, a huge round head, and a nose ring worked very well for many tattooed mammoths wandering through Jurassic Park. All of a sudden, I felt some heart palpitations and there were beads of sweat forming on my brow and upper lip. A few years back I felt this way when I was having a work-related heart attack. A wave of anxiety punched me in the face quickly as I realized what was happening. No heart attack here, something much worse. I had to poop. The thought of pooping in a Walmart bathroom dropped my blood pressure to near zero. I was briefly moving towards the light when I woke up and the sweat was now pouring down my forehead. My anus was quivering to hold back the tsunami of liquid enchiladas. I told Gladys there was a condition red and I was moving towards the bathroom which was of course three blocks away at the front of the store. I clenched my buttocks like a vice and shuffled up towards the restroom. It was as if time stood still and I was barely making any headway. I had to stop periodically because of ridiculous pain and cramping and to reset the vice. I felt a seizure coming. Finally, yes finally, I was inching into the men’s restroom at Walmart. I hadn’t shit in my pants yet but it wasn’t a done deal. I went past the urinals that had puddles of pee under each one. There were paper towels strewn about. Your mind can play tricks on you because you are in the bathroom and you could relax because the finish line is so close. Having been a veteran of past emergencies I didn’t fall for it. A surge of adrenalin splashed through my veins and I was able to get into the disabled toilet stall. No time for etiquette here. As I approached the bowl the lid was down and splashed with urine from some cripple with no manners. My last effort was to grab some toilet paper and wipe off the offensive body fluid. My emergency skills were honed to perfection as I dropped my pants and spun around like a ballerina to dump the poison into the water. I exhaled deeply with complete abandon. The disaster had been averted. I said to myself “The Eagle has landed”. The color had comeback to my face as I washed up at the sink and thanked God that I made it. When it came to these situations I was like a Navy Seal, I thought. The brutal realization then came over me that I had shit in a Walmart bathroom. I swore that this would never happen, maybe a Target bathroom, but never in Walmart. I hung my head in shame, and as the sign in the bathroom stated, tell the manager if this bathroom needs attention. I did.
I am a loser,
Bobby La Douche’