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.