Kelly had business to take care of, so she left me in the electronics department. There was a bin stuffed with DVDs, all priced under six bucks. The discs had been thrown into the bin haphazardly -- a waist-high junkyard of movies and TV shows. Already punch-drunk from Wal-Mart-induced wonderment, the sight of people furtively rifling through the bin disoriented me once again.
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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