Walmart.

Let's set the scene.

(PS. Use of the word "black" is for descriptive purposes only. So you know in what way I heard all this. In no way at all am I racist... but maybe there's a reason for some of the common stereotypes.)

Joel's in the car, patiently waiting for me to come out with groceries. He was so patiently waiting that he just had called me to see if I was ever going to escape that place.

Hung up the phone, swung down the next aisle, passed someone, and heard: mmm hmmm. You know, the way black people say that. It might have been that certain expletive they say like that too. The one that starts with D.

He was talking on the phone, nbd, probably was talking to them.

I keep walking. I hear "excuse me?"

I keep walking. I hear "excuse me?" again. Louder.

Uhm what? as I turn around.

How do I find a girl like you? (As he's checking me out up and down) You lookin' good! (Insert something that I can't remember about white hair...) You from here?

Not originally... Iowa.

Many black people in Iowa?

Not so much, no.

So... you probably wouldn't be open to carrying black babies?

(Internal gasp. Hel-lo. Hold up my left hand.) I'm married.

So am I. Don't matter.

Yeah, it does.

Oh, you're happily married?

Very.

Well, marriages break up all the time.

Oh do they? Not ours.

Are you sure?

Yes.

Oh, okay.

And he walks away.


He wasn't creepy, probably 23-25 years old, probably no taller than 5"8", was decent looking, and was dressed fairly nicely, in reality.  But, really? You want me to carry your babies? And ask me three times if I'll give up my marriage?


Wow.

Is my ba-donk-a-donk that big that I'm attracting black guys? I think it's time to hang up the push-up bra and start doing some squats or something.

I was looking all over for my other experience with Walmart on my blog... apparently it happened PB.. pre-blog. Where those Postville (IA) meat-plant raids were happening and they were carting out illegals left and right. And storing them in an auditorium 3 blocks north of our apartment in Iowa. And it's sunny noon as I'm in the Waterloo Walmart. And this Hispanic guy with nasty teeth and a tracking leg-bracelet followed me out to my car. The one time I parked like a mile away. And wouldn't let me put my own potting soil in my trunk. And hardly let me shut the door. And walked my cart back to the store grinning and waving as I speed-locked my doors and flew out of the parking lot.

That one actually required shoe shopping to get past the queasy stomach feeling.