Horrors of the Wal Mart Zombie Clearance Aisle

            For years I had the suspicion that Wal-Mart shoppers were not human. On the horrible day I discovered the truth, it was because I needed Tide desperately. Tide is only sold at Wal-Mart in Southeastern Alabama. I was willing to bear the unbearable. Little did I know where this one small change would lead me.

For the record, I am loyal to Costco.

         Stepping over discarded cans and trash and climbing over a dirty faux-homeless man wearing brand new Nikes, smelling the odor of diapers and diabetes yards from the door, I crossed the threshold. A little girl selling Girl Scout cookies at a table outside the entrance was my last reminder of the outside world. Feeling extra generous, I gave her an extra $5 after buying Do-Si-Dos because she was adorable. I needed karma. Then I held my breath, planning to enter and exit with my dignity as fast as possible. 

           If you’ve never had the privilege of Wal-Mart on a Saturday, it’s a bit like observing a world where lobotomy has become universal. No one without Alzheimer’s shops here. Drooling, sputtering, knuckles dragging on the ground like primates, the worst of humanity stares vacantly at the bread and chocolate cookies with total vacancy, guttural utterances of animal lust for cheese crackers bleating from their lost souls. They do sometimes have good deals

on dryer sheets, but that’s another story. 

        Not being there to observe or judge, I raced through the check-out. Cruising through the blue and yellow exit doors, pleased at my victory, a sinister female voice erupted over a loudspeaker. 

“PLEASE RETURN TO THE CHECKOUT COUNTER TO DEACTIVATE YOUR PRODUCT,” it declared insistently. The horrible voice reminded me of my now-dead Aunt Cheryl who talked to her kidney stones that she saved in a jar. 

I walked back to the checkout counter, feeling the eyes of the zombies on me. An acne-scarred teenager with braces smiled metallically at me.

    “Must have forgotten,” I said. I hurriedly handed him my receipt. 

    “You must have,” said Metal-Mouth. He just stared at me. I hadn’t been so embarrassed by a pubescent since I was in middle school. Undead faces glared behind me. Somehow this crater-faced genius had been given all the power in the world over me, bestowed by the same evil Queen whose alarm-voiced-shriek I still couldn’t get out of my ears. 

    “It says Tide,” I finally said to him, pointing to the receipt. 

            Like a schizophrenic hearing voices, he stared at something distant on the wall. I swear to God he expects me to pay for this again, I thought.

    “T-I-D-E,” I said. “I already paid for it. Laundry soap.”

           If there is a Hell, this is it, I thought. I briefly thought about how long it had been since I had attended church. I would go to prevent an eternity of this. Damnation would be easier. 

           The metal teeth reflected my snarl. Finally, the idiot teenager gave an angry gasp, lifted the bottle, and pointed the laser check-out scanner that the Queen with that hideous voice had given him at the bottle. The register pinged cruelly. I snatched my soap and headed back for the door. 

            Him and his special laser. He thinks he’s so important. He held that laser like he probably holds his tiny penis in the shower every day, I thought. 

            Turning to go, the boy inexplicably began to sob thick tears. It should have been my first clue. I ignored him, just wanting to be out. But the alarm raged again as I tried to leave.

            I considered ignoring the alarm and going on to my car. Something in me, though, wanted to show that virgin asshole at the counter that his fucking laser swiper was defective. Yes, he had cried, but what if it? I had paid for my fucking Tide. I wanted him to admit he was wrong and then rip his braces out of his mouth and make him sob like an infant. Feel my vengeance, asshole.

        There was no line when I strode back valiantly to the counter, though. Metal - Mouth was gone. Good for him, I thought. Go back to your porn and your anime girlfriend. 

           The woman who took his place had bottomless crevasses instead of eyes. She looked like the magic tree from Pocahontas. Her age was at least triple-digits.

          I held up the Tide bottle to explain to her, summoning every last ounce of insincere Southern courtesy I had left. “I’m so sorry,” I said, “this bottle - I -“

         She looked at me helplessly. I raised my voice. “SOAP BOTTLE - PAID FOR,” I said. Then the tree-woman started to cry. She smelled of adult diapers. Enough, I thought. I grabbed the laser reader, scanned the bottle myself, and heard another reassuring ping. I strode for the exit.         

        Again, excruciatingly, the alarm sounded. 

        I was done, through with Wal-Mart, finished with humanity and tearful losers. I’ve never shoplifted in my life, but I knew I had paid for my soap, so I strode straight to the back of the store for the warehouse exit. I would leave through the loading dock. If the police arrest me, I thought, I’ll show them the receipt. I could have just gone through the front door, but I felt pretty malicious. That will let me prove to someone that I’m right. Someone get me an adult human being who isn’t incontinent with a touch of common sense.

        The warehouse exit of every Wal-Mart is at the back, behind two swinging doors. I pushed them aside, feeling guilty but justified. 

       It was dark and dusty when I came into the warehouse. Oversized pallets of office paper and juice were stacked everywhere. I could see the light of the loading bay exit, but something significant seemed to be blocking the way.

       A hand came down on my wrist in the dark. I jumped and saw a shiny metal reflection coming out of the gloom. It was Metal Mouth, from the counter up front. How did he get here so fast? I could hear him crying hysterically even though I could barely discern his face. 

       “Please.” He begged me. “You can’t leave. Nobody can leave.”

       I shook off his grip but turning, I stumbled over Tree Lady. She was lying on the floor in a heap. I thought she was dead. But she glared up at me.

     “The manager will see us!” she screamed.

     “Get off me!” I said. They were both howling before they became suddenly quiet. The shape obscuring the loading dock seemed to slide forward towards us.

     “The manager!” hissed Tree Lady. “You’ve awakened him!”

     The figure in the distance was a young man, mid-twenties, with slicked hair and a scowling smirk. He could have been any frat brother I went to Vanderbilt with. He had arrogant, entitled eyes and a haughty sneer. But in the halo of light, I could see that both arms were inhuman, slithering tentacles of octopus flesh. Hundreds of dripping, oozing filaments extended from where human hands should have been. He wore khakis and had a white button polo with a button that said MANAGER. 

       “We have been here for a thousand centuries, ” said the manager. “One after another, people come inside. They never leave.”

      I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. His hideous face was twisted and swollen like some horrific sea creature. Panicking, I raced for the door back to the store, but it had somehow locked behind me. 

      The Manager’s octopus arms squirmed and writhed, seemingly ready to choke the life out of me. 

      “People leave this store all the time,” I said, barely breathing from shock. 

     “Oh, they walk out,” said the Manager. “But they walk out as one- of ours!” Behind him and Tree Lady, out of the dark arose hundreds of zombie- shoppers, an army of drooling, angry consumers, their dead eyes focused on me, their wet jaws and hands moving for my neck and ready to transform me into one of whatever unholy monstrosity they had become. 

      I felt the Tide bottle heavy in my hands. It

was becoming part of me. I was going to become a

permanent resident of Wal-Mart, leaving but never really leaving, an undead resident of the clearance aisle. So this is how they get you, I thought. First sale prices. Then assimilation. The cold heads of death and discount deodorant drew near to my body. 

      But then, just as suddenly, the hands stepped back. I heard a voice. “Oh, stop it!” called out the high-pitched call of a female child’s voice.

     I looked up. It was the Girl Scout from the table at the front, her perfect pigtails bouncing. She was standing on a chair. Every one of the zombies glared at her in fear. Even the Manager, with his octopus arms, knelt on the floor and looked down.

      “You- you have power over them?” I said, not believing that a child could stem the tide of the horror I was witnessing. 

      “She is the Keeper!” said the Manager, in reverence, looking at the Girl Scout with a touch of awe.

     “Sorry about that,” she said, looking at me. “And to answer your question, they’re mine for better or worse. Every Wal-Mart has a Keeper. You could say I keep this rabble focused on shopping and away from infecting the world and bringing about the Apocolypse. And you bought Do-Si-Dos,” she said, twirling her hair. “I’m feeling generous. A lot of times, I do leave people to their fate when they shop here.”

      “Are you good or evil?” I asked. I couldn’t believe that buying cookies had saved my life. 

      “Your poor tiny brain couldn’t handle the answer to that question,” said the tiny Girl Scout. “I’m letting you go because you were nice. Unless you want to stay.” I noticed now that octopus tentacles were starting to form from the sleeves of her uniform. The Wal-Mart zombies remained quiescent.

        I took the opportunity to turn to the loading dock door, but I felt an octopus tentacle on my shoulder.

       “One more thing,” said the Girl Scout Octopus, one horrible arm across my shoulder. “Your receipt.”

        Quickly I placed it in her squid-grip, the slime from her suction cups drooling on my skin. I didn’t wait for approval before exiting through the loading dock door. 

       I realized I had left the Tide behind as I exited. 

       When I left, I pulled out at breakneck speed, cutting off two old ladies and a mother with a stroller. Target was still open, but I could get Gain at the Dollar Tree for 75 cents less. They closed in ten minutes, so I had to race to get there. It’s true, Dollar Tree smells like sewage, but at least it isn’t a portal to Hell. They don’t sell Tide there, but even Gain is better than dealing with the undead.