Strangers partnered up, helped each other excavate buried Bruce Willis movies. Or maybe it was Bill Murray. Thing was, there was really no easy way to retrieve a DVD if it was at the bottom of the bin. You just had to dig for it, same as if you were digging a grave or through someone else's trash. Maybe this was a nasty trick Wal-Mart was playing: Entice customers to perform ridiculous antics to save a dollar, while in a back room somewhere employees watched the mayhem on video monitors. They were zookeepers, and the attraction at this exhibit was human beings (naturally they kept themselves at a distance).
But suddenly whatever I was thinking wasn't half as interesting as the opportunity to buy 473 episodes of Welcome Back, Kotter for less than $6. Or maybe Porky's 3. I couldn't decide, and I hate my own indecisiveness. It isn't dying that I'm afraid of; it's dying in a state of reluctance.
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