bonnie got off work at dominoes around 830. "let me just run home and change my pants." she said when i called her. "i'll swing by and pick you guys up."
by us guys she meant, erika, alyssa, and myself. we were all sorts of revved to get out of laie for a night. bonnie came by and we piled into her old taurus, frankie. side note: her ipod converter for the car doesn't actually work unless you twist the cord until the knots are j u s t right. we elected to sing at the top of our lungs most of the night, sans ipod.
there is something universal about walking into a walmart. there's the little old man filing the job of "greeter" who never actually greets you. the yellow walmart smiley face beams down at you, assuring you- yes, our prices actually are rolled back. there's the family with the screaming baby and squirly teenagers out doing their late-night shopping. look around and you'll see that woman, who might actually be a man, with that mustache and short miniskirt. who knows? yes, late-night walmart trips are the same, no matter where you are. immediately you have to touch everything in sight and shop to your consumerist heart's content, for all the things you don't actually need.
We wandered through almost every aisle, packing our baskets with all the little luxuries the foodland in laie doesn't provide: hair care, makeup, lip gloss, $8.50 orange and white striped bikini tops. It's amazing how obnoxious and loud four little college girls can get at night. Oh to be young and in college. These are the memories i'll save, tuck away, and tell my children about in twenty years.
The drive home was ridiculous. mililani (walmart) is about an hour from laie (home), so we stopped for libations at the nearest 7-11. the usual dodgy characters were browsing the late night caffeine selection under cheap florescent lighting. alyssa made a major find- pickled peaches. shrink wrapped. brown. we elected not to try them.
a twentysomethingyearold giant of a man in a what-used-to-be-white cutoff tshirt was ahead of me in line. he had that tough i'll kill you look about him. his only purchase clutched in filthy, brown hands: 2% milk. as he handed the cashier a five, i said, "getting crazy with some late night milk eh?" and had one of those moments where i wish i didn't talk. ever. "gotta get my two percent." he grunted and without looking at me, trudged to the door and out to his (of course) giant, lifted, dirty, manly, pickuptruck. the moment us girls walked out of the gas station, the giant backed out of his parking space, but by backed out i mean peeled out, tires screeching, and as he turns to burn through the parking lot, he kills his engine and has to restart his compensation for something truck.
shame.
so then, as we are pulling out to leave, a man is walking toward us and as he gets closer bonnie screams. think davy jones meets mad eye moody. crazy eyes, with some kind of silver liquid leaking out all over his weathered face, tangles of silver hair, cutoff jeans, shirtless, shoesless, and soul sucking glare. we looked into the face of death that night.
good grief i love my life. :)
thats explains it.
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