I’ve been putting it off, but the time has come to make a move.

I’ve made my preparations for the battle ahead. I know what to expect. My head will be on a swivel, as my dad says, looking for danger, crazy people, and good deals.

I’m not going off to war. 

I’m only going to Wal-Mart on a Saturday afternoon.

It will be two weeks in a row that I’ve faced the enemy, the vision of Mr. Sam Walton, that transformed the retail landscape forever. I remember the first time I entered a brand-new supercenter. It was like being inside a space station, with its expansive ceiling, gleaming white trusses, and aisles upon aisles of product.

Indeed, had the entire building lifted off into the wild blue yonder, we would have been set for survival for several weeks, that is, until we all turned into the “people of Wal-Mart,” a transformation much like that experienced by the characters of Lord of the Flies or Heart of Darkness.

You see it happen every year on Black Friday: normally sweet and caring grandmothers descend into knock-down, hair-pulling dragouts over the toy of the year, because Mimi said she would get it for her little darling. We might as well have Jack, Piggy, and Ralph there to referee the whole show, with Kurtz reigning as king, whispering to himself, “The horror, the horror!”

There are tastes of it with every visit now, especially during crowded times like the one I’m about to experience. No kidding, on last Saturday’s run to Wal-Mart, my daughter and I were met with an individual in the detergent aisle who, at first glance, would have made a fine GenXer back in the grunge days of Nirvana and STP. 

Except he wore a plastic choker with an aqua-colored jewel, much like something out of a Disney princess costume set. It gleamed out-of-place against his fully buttoned-up flannel plaid shirt. 

He approached us, getting close enough that we could smell his dirty, soured clothing, and he began speaking.

“Your daughter is beautiful,” he said, and he continued with a stream of indistinguishable words. 

I was not listening to him, for I had become more focused on our location at the very back of the store and my daughter’s position in relation to him while my mind ran through the possible scenarios:

If need be, could I ram him with the buggy? No, my daughter had it, and it was pointed in the opposite direction. Did I have any pepper spray? That was a negative, too. Could I pick up a jug of detergent and club him with it if he came at us?

Fight, flight, fawn, or freeze? I settled on friendly, which is a close cousin to fawning, but if I could keep the interaction short and sweet, then maybe we could all be on our way. I smiled, nodded my head, and said little. When it was clear that he was going to continue to keep talking, I told him to have a great day, and my daughter and I walked away quickly. 

Thank goodness, that was done, but then we saw him again a few aisles over. As we hunted for specific ingredients, our travels took us all over the store. 

Again and again, we continued to see him, just behind us, sometimes talking to other people, sometimes not.

This shopping experience was just not worth it. We gave up on finding the last item on our list and we headed for the crowded and sluggish check-out aisles. If there were ever a time things could have moved faster, it would have been then, but we stayed stuck as if behind a car wreck or a construction zone. 

As we waited in line, I continued to keep an eye out for the stalker. Wouldn’t you know, here he came down the main drag of the store, like a bad dream that wouldn’t go away, appearing to be searching for people in the aisles. 

Time for freeze mode: I told my daughter to crouch down behind a display, and I slouched, diminishing myself while staying on the lookout, blending chameleon-like into the hubbub. He made it all the way to the end, taking one last look at the self-checkout, and then he cut back into the recesses of the store.

But he wasn’t finished, and he found us. He circled the check-out area like a coyote, or a wolf, or a vulture, and I decided it was time to stop ignoring the obvious. I met his gaze as he walked, wishing my own eyes could burn a hole into his face, but the effect was the opposite of what I wanted, for he came up to us one last time.

He said, “We’re a motivational speaker, been on Rick Karle and James Spann and all over. We’ve got all kinds of followers. We’re pretty big.”

We. Hmm.

I asked him his name, which I will not write here, and then he left the store. We did not see him in the parking lot, and I have no reason to believe that he will be there today.

I tell this not to frighten anyone, for we’ve all had our experiences with odd people. It’s not just specific to Wal-Mart either, although sometimes weird people seem to be drawn more so to large, wide-open places where they feel they can dissolve more easily into a crowd.

Or behind a shelf or the next aisle.

So my guard is up today, a little more so than usual. I wouldn’t even go to Wal-Mart except there is an item I need that I cannot purchase anywhere else.

Oh, Radio Shack in the old mall, how I miss you!

I’ll save the rest of my items for a good old grocery store, where the nice grandmas still go (except maybe on Black Friday), the ones who would have made their trip early in the morning and would be using their Saturday afternoon time to doze off while studying their Sunday School lesson.

So if you see me in a little while, I’m not making eye contact. I’m not speaking. I’m on an in-and-out mission. I’d advise you to do the same.

The lord of the flies be damned.