vituperation

November 10, 2004

I stood at the front of the store and looked around guiltily, making sure no one I knew was nearby. I’d scheduled this trip in the late afternoon, after people took lunch and before they left for the day, just to minimize the chances of seeing a co-worker, since the store is right up the road from my office.

And God only knows what they’d say about me back at work if they knew what I was here for. You know how bad the office gossip is.

I spotted no one other than several strangers milling about, taking care of whatever business had brought them here. I weaved through the people, intent on going to the part of the store that held what I desired, and then I saw it: a huge display, almost as tall as me, loaded down with just what I wanted.

Right there by the cash register, next to the line of people waiting to pay.

I looked longingly at the display, wishing I had the guts to just pick up one of the items and march proudly to the end of the line to buy it, but my God. What would people think if they saw me, an upstanding member of the community, buying such a thing? How could I ever show my face in public again? Surely no one could be proud of buying one of these. I mean, come on, everyone knows what they sound like and everyone knows what you do with them in private, but damn.

How can someone just reach out and pick one up, march up to the counter, and pay for it with everyone looking, like they were happy about getting something like that? Doesn’t anyone have a sense of shame any more?

All I can say is I still have that sense.

A pretty woman, maybe thirty, picked up one of the items from the display and looked at the picture on the front for a moment, then flipped it over and read whatever writing was on the back. She walked away from the display, still holding it, and gave me a knowing smile as she passed me. Wow. That’s one woman who’s confident with her, well, you know what I’m saying.

Unlike me.

I made my way toward the back, passing couples and single people along the way, glancing from side to side at all the things for sale. Finally I got where I wanted to be, to the seedier part of the store, where I had the whole area to myself to look without fears of being spotted.

The selection was incredible, and they had exactly what I wanted. Checking one more time to make sure no one was watching me, I picked it up and started back to the front of the store, holding it close to my side. I did my best to keep it covered up with my hand, but something that big is hard to hide well with your palm, if you know what I mean.

I stood in the line, red-faced and embarrassed at what I clutched against me, and waited until it was my turn to pay. I laid my item on the counter, doing my best to throw a body-block so the people behind me couldn’t see.

Oh my God. The cashier looked like she was about 18, and cute as a button. I felt my cheeks grow hotter with the shame. What would she think of me, buying such a thing?

She looked down at what I’d placed on the counter, and her eyes widened.

“Oh, the new Toby Keith CD!” she drawled in an accent so strong if I heard it on TV I’d think it was a parody. “I just love his songs.”

This did not make me feel any better about my purchase.

“Yeah, I like his songs too,” I said in a small, small voice, looking around to make sure no one heard me. I thought about asking if they had any chaw for sale behind the counter, but I suspect my joke would’ve fallen flat.

“It just came out today,” she said.

“I know,” I replied, almost in a whisper. I wondered if maybe I started praying, the ground might open up and swallow me. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

I’m officially an old redneck.

I mean, my dad listens to this stuff, not me. I still listen to rock, right? Right?

Dear God. First this and now country music. What’s next for me, NASCAR?