It's not even Halloween yet, but there was a spooky dude at Walmart today. Sorry I didn't snap a photo, but, honestly, he was really normal-looking. That makes it even more spooky.
As I was headed past the Cracker Aisle, a man with an empty cart rolled up to me and asked, "What color nail polish do you have on your toes? Is it black or blue?" "Oh, I'd say Navy Blue," I responded helpfully. If he'd been a woman, I might have added that it was from a pricey bottle of Catherine H from the "Real Housewives of the Tudor Dynasty" collection, but that was TMI. "Purple?" he queried. "Navy Blue with a little Purple, I'd say." (This is the South. We're very polite.)
At that point, he said, "You are one good-lookin' woman." "Well, thank you, sir," I said with sincerity.
(I say "with sincerity" because, although I was completely surprised and 99% creeped out, there was 1% of gratitude in there, because no complete stranger has talked to me like that in about 30 years. And the last one was probably drunk.)
I decided I didn't need anything else from Walmart today, so I briskly rolled my cart in the opposite direction from which the man was traveling. I checked out in a "less than 20" line strategically located next to a couple of nice ladies in Corrections Department uniforms, thinking that they might be good company today.
The afternoon ended without further incident, but I have to wonder . . . who are the People of Walmart, and where do they come from? Really.