So this story may not be new to anyone, but here goes: When I first moved out to Los Angeles, I went on a three day shopping spree across the city with my Mom to make sure we got everything we needed for my new apartment. You know, the essentials: soap, toothbrush, towels, underwater basket weaving guidebook, etc. Anyway, we decide to go visit the friendly local neighborhood Wal-Mart, which is located on Crenshaw Blvd about 6 miles from where I live. We hop on the 110 and head down to the Wal-Mart, arriving around 10:05 pm. Now where I'm from, we know a few things for certain: the sun sets in the west, Bear Bryant is deader than he's ever been, and Wal-Mart stays open 24 hours. Not so in Los Angeles. We arrive to a locked gate and a kindly old man informs us that the store closes at 10:00 pm sharp everyday, no exceptions. Oh well, go figure, I knew this place would be different, but I didn't think it would affect small details like the Wal-Mart store hours.
We head home, disappointment and despair clouding our otherwise cheerful demeanors. The next morning we decide to give it another go and arrive when the store is open. It's part of this plaza mall kinda set-up, the Wal-Mart even has an opening out into a food court area in the center of the mall and the exterior of the building looks like an old art-deco skyscraper too. I half expected to see a monkey on top of the structure, complete with airplane circling and firing away at it. Seriously, it's the strangest looking Wal-Mart you've ever seen. It's 3 stories tall, and they have special escalators that take the carts up one side and then the humans ride up the other side, like they've been doing for centuries... or at least decades, I have no idea exactly when the first escalator was invented, and it's quite possible that a century ago they didn't have them.
So we're on the top floor, in the lamps, bedding, and curtains section. Just me and my Mom, discussing color schemes and fabric softener, when all of a sudden this guy approaches. He's kinda ugly, very big, and looks like he's a mix between American Indian and Latino background. He's got a tight t-shirt on, loosely fills out a light jacket unzipped in the front, and has a LA Dodgers baseball cap pulled down squarely on his square shaped head. He strides right towards us, but actually looking beyond us, or should I say through us, his eyes are kinda glazed over and staring off into space. Either he's day dreaming or crazy, and when his mouth opens, it only confirms the later diagnosis. Streams of expletives thicker than brunswick stew come flying out of his mouth, and we got covered in his foul language. Eff this, Eff that, Eff you mothereffer, etc etc... he's got quite a vocabulary of nice big four letter words, and he's not afraid to use them. Come to think of it, I think he may HAVE used his whole vocabulary in one sentence because he sounded like a broken record after that... just dropping F bombs like it was going out of style. Well my Mom and I are obviously not presented with this high intelligence life form that often, so we're kinda stumped as to what to do.... he seems to be trying to pick a fight? I dunno why I thought that, maybe it was something about the way he looked me in the face and screamed "eff you man, you want a piece of me? I'll eff you up man! This is bulls--t!" I decided to simply stare at the floor and count my shoelaces while he launches into his encore performance. Keep in mind that he's very loud and standing in the middle of the aisle, but we seem to the be the only people up there, and there's not a friendly blue-vested Wal-Mart employee anywhere either. We take his verbal thrashing and he moves on to find another victim to vomit obscenities on. No words are exchanged, I think this is one of those unique mother-son moments where you completely understand what just happened and you're content to try and ignore it.
So we're minding our business and time goes by. No sight of the crazy man for the last few minutes... literally, like 10 minutes go by at least. Then without warning, at the top of his lungs, and sounding like he's only one aisle over and begging for an audience, we hear him again. He screams as loud as he possible can, "F--- WHITE PEOPLE!!!!" This is code language to me and my Mom that we probably should head for the check out line soon. He storms by the end of our aisle and we get a glimpse of him one last time as he keeps screaming about the white race: "PUT 'EM IN A CONCENTRATION CAMP, AND STARVE 'EM TO DEATH!!!" That was the last we saw of our friend with the adult vocabulary. After that we were greeted with over five Wal-Mart employees in blue vests who had finally heard that there was a "situation" on the top floor and come up to see what the problem was. They can't seem to find the guy, and we never see him again either, but I was checking behind me as we left the store and entered the parking lot... you know, just in case he was looking for us to share his true feelings once more. It was more language than I've heard in real life in a long, long time... seriously, last time I heard a man swear that way, it was in a movie. Anyway, long story short, we survived the Wal-Mart on Crenshaw Blvd, but don't expect me to be hanging out around the Low Price Place anytime soon... Target's closer anyway.
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