This next encounter happened on a Saturday at K-Mart. And yes, it is the same K-Mart where I had my very first encounter so long ago, but this wasn’t an encounter like any I’ve had before. To be honest, I hope I never have an encounter like it again. Okay, let me explain.
My dad had brought me to the store with him the day he was getting a new Microwave for our kitchen. I have no idea why he dragged me along. Maybe he thought he would need my help carrying it or something. On Friday morning, when my sister was trying to defrost a loaf of bread, our old microwave up and died with no warning what-so-ever. Now, my sister and I know why it died, but with a single glace at each other, we’d promised never to tell our parents why since we both knew what happened. When she put the frozen bread into the microwave, she had left the metal twist-tie on it and didn’t pay attention to it after hitting the ‘Start’ button. Boy, that little wire-twist-tie was sparking and shooting off a lightshow worthy of a Washington D.C. Fourth of July extravaganza. I was so captivated by the light show that it didn’t occur to me right away to get up from the table and turn it off. I watched the shower of sparks at least ten or twenty seconds before I shouted at my sister to turn the microwave off. By then, it was too late. As she was reaching for the ‘Stop’ button, it made a clicking sound and turned itself off. Boy, you never smelled such a stink in your life. It was like hot metal, melted plastic and burnt toast.
When dad came to see what was making the awful smell, I think we both expected him to hit the roof, but instead, he said, “Alright, which one of you two farted? And don’t try to tell me it was your sister because I already know that girls don’t fart!” and he punctuated it by smacking me playfully on the back of my head.
Luckily, my sister had the forethought to remove the loaf and toss it into the trash before dad came in, so I don’t think he ever knew just what ’caused the problem.
Now, dad is the sort of guy, who can’t just buy something. He has to look at every single model and compare every tiny aspect. I suppose that’s a good thing, but not when you have to stand around waiting on him for hours… and I do mean HOURS!
I was so relieved when dad turned to me in the store and said, “You look bored, why don’t you go over to the sporting goods and I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”
I didn’t even hesitate. I was off like a shot, weaving between customer’s carts and racing down unoccupied isles.
Now. I have been begging my parents for a paintball gun for a while now and every chance I get I like to go ogle them. That’s just what I had in mind.
“Oh man, the Spyder Sonix with semi-auto action and,” I was reading the package out loud, “power feed! And oh my gosh; it’s on sale!!!”
“Top of the line!” someone said, and I think I jumped as I spun around in shock.
It was a Hispanic boy, maybe twelve years old with jet black hair and dark brown eyes. He had the biggest lips I had ever seen on a guy before and his eyelashes were so long, that they didn’t look real. He laughed when he realized that he’d startled me.
“Sorry, didn’t know someone was listening,” I said while trying to recover my composure.
“I have two!” he said.
“Two what?” I asked, not realizing right away that he had meant the Spyder Sonix paintball gun.
“The gun, I have two. One’s red and one’s blue with the black rubber grips,” he clarified.
I think I was still feeling a little startled because I didn’t respond right away.
“Oh yeah, play all the time too,” he gloated. “I am the best! No one can beat me ever!”
I was beginning to believe that I was being fed a line of bull, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I mean, I didn’t know him from Adam, so how did I know if he was lying or not.
Anyway, the kid went on and on telling me how good he was, and how he had won all these paintball competition trophies. Heck, I just wanted to look at the guns. I didn’t want to hear how he single handedly beat six tenth graders last weekend. He picked up a package of four blue and gold colored paintballs. “See these?” he said handing the package up to me.
“These have a kind of pepper in them so that when you get hit, you really go down. Only the real experienced players use them. I use them almost all the time,” he said, and I couldn’t take any more of the kid. I mean a guy can only take so much crap before everything starts to stink like a landfill of used disposable diapers.
“Hey, I got to go. My dad’s probably waiting for me.” I said and took off before he could start talking again.
I was surprised to find my dad had made a selection and was about to come get me when I arrived in the appliance department.
“Oh there you are Max, you’re just in time,” dad said.
“So, did you get the white one?” I asked, and I shouldn’t have because dad started into the whole spiel about why the one he selected was so much better than any of the others and how he managed to get a deal on it. All the way up to the checkout, he went on and on and heck, I didn’t know half of what he was talking about most of the time.
“Zip your coat up, it’s cold out there,” dad said as he was swiping his credit card.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled to myself.
We started to leave, but as I was passing through the door, that stupid anti-theft metal detector thing went off. I figured that it was the microwave that did it, but after the lady at the checkout counter swiped it again, it set off the alarm a second time.
This skinny guy came over and took the box out of our cart, he couldn’t have been more than 18 yet, but he acted like he was the king of K-Mart. His name tag said, Assistant Day Manager in Training. He walked it through the doors without the alarm sounding. I don’t know where the two guys in suits came from and though they didn’t have any nametags on, I could tell that they were store security. I’m sure you know the type… cheap department store suits, bad haircuts and a holier-than-thou look about them.
It’s embarrassing enough when the door alarm goes off and everyone within eye shot stairs at you, but to have security ask you to step away from the doors loud enough for all to hear is just humiliating. I mean they automatically treat you like you’re a harden criminal.
You might also remember that my dad is a criminal defense trial lawyer and he can argue like no bodies business. All through his high school and college years, my father was on his school debate team which means, he’s a highly experienced arguer. If you ask my dad what sort of degrees he has, he’ll tell you that he has a PhD in B.S.-ology. But I have since learned that you can’t argue with K-Mart security guys that think they are, Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stallone and Al Pacino all wrapped into one bundle and stuffed into a cheap K-Mart suit.
In hindsight, arguing with them wasn’t the best move to make because dad was just causing a scene. One of the security guys said to dad, “Listen, if you don’t calm down, we’re going to have to phone the police.”
“By all means! Please, PLEASE call the police!” Dad shouted and all I wanted to do was find somewhere to hide. As it was, I had the hood of my coat pulled over my head and down over my face as much as possible, but I could still feel the other customers’ eyes boring holes through my coat.
To make a long, drawn out scene shorter, the police came and both dad and I were escorted to the back of the store to a tiny employee lunch room. When the police found out who my dad was, they seemed to switch sides and were trying to calm the K-Mart people down.
I felt so intimidated and my heart was racing a million beats per minute. I was staying behind my dad, away from everyone and I guess I said something because everyone stopped to look at me. The next think I knew, I was laying on the floor with a paramedic leaning over me taking my blood pressure.
“There he is!” someone out of view said.
“Dad?” I whimpered, sounding like a scared little child.
Dad’s voice couldn’t have sounded calmer, “I’m right here Max. You’re ok. You just fainted.”
The paramedic that was checking me out asked, “Can you tell me your name?”
“Maxwell L. Riddle,” I answered.
“Good,” the paramedic said, “And what’s the L stand for?”
Now, I don’t actually remember saying this, but dad swears I told the guy, “None of your damn business!”
Someone laughed, “Yeah, he’ll be fine.”
“M-my head is cold,” I said.
“That’s because your head is resting on an ice pack.” the paramedic told me.
“Did I hit my head?” I groaned as I tried to move and a pain like an electric shock exploded within my skull.
Dad chuckled and said, “You nearly broke their floor with that hard head of yours.”
I laughed and then moaned from the pain, “Dad, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re nuts!
Dad then said, “Oh, you sound just like the toaster!” And made me laugh again.
Someone was kneeling to my right, but they had their back to me doing something. It took a second to realize that it was the other paramedic. When he turned around, he didn’t look very old. Actually, except for the cheesy porn star mustache, he looked like he could still be in high school. He wiped the inside of my right elbow with a cotton swab and then turned away again.
Dad made the comment, “Get ready for the ouchy!”
“This won’t hurt a bit,” The guy said with his back still to me. I had to hazard another peek and noticed that his shirt had ridden up in the back. When I looked closer I saw that his underwear didn’t look like underwear at all. They looked kind of shiny, like… He had turned back toward me and stuck me with a needle even before I knew he was going to do it.
“Hotchie Motchie!” I exclaimed and made everyone laugh. “Dang dude! Warn a body next time, would ya?”
When he turned away again, I got another look and was sure it was a diaper, but then, my dad leaned over me and asked, “You doing ok champ?”
“Me? Oh yeah, you know, just needed a lil’ nap.” I joked.
“Well, would you look at that!” someone else said.
I lifted my head slightly and saw that it was that same skinny assistant manager guy. He bent down, and it felt like he was trying to take one of my shoes off my foot. As he stood back up, he held out a small black rectangular thing.
“Boy!” Dad said, looking right into my eyes, “If you weren’t already hurt, I’d beat you till you couldn’t grow anymore.”
“What?” I said not realizing that I’d had one of those security scanning devises stuck to the bottom of my shoe.
“He must have stepped on it somewhere in the store.” The skinny guy commented. He then promptly apologized to my dad and me. I guess the fact that I’d fainted had everyone associated with K-Mart concerned. However, I don’t think their concern was for my well-being as much as the fear that my father would sue them for everything they had, and then some.
Normally, I wouldn’t have been too happy with the fact that I had to go to the hospital in the ambulance to get my head checked out. However, seeing how I might get a chance to see more of the medics diaper was more than enough to counter my dread of going to the emergency room.
Maybe they were worried that, if they told me how hurt I was, I might faint again or worse and that is why they didn’t share with me that I did more than just hit my head on the floor. Once in the hospital emergency room, I learned that I had cracked the back of my skull completely open and had bled quite a bit. Dad also told me that before I came too, I had experienced a small seizure. Unfortunately, the diapered medic wasn’t the one that road in the back with me. Instead, he had climbed into the driver’s seat. Aside from the brief moment when he and his partner wheeled me into the emergency room, I didn’t get to see him again.