a dollar for your thoughts

There is a man and a woman. They are married. We will call them Fred and Betty Rubble, but those are not their names.

Anonymity is for their safety—and perhaps the safety of others as well.

They arrive at the rural Missouri Dollar Tree and exit the car.

Betty goes inside in search of metal arrows to hang from trees on a trail behind their doublewide. They like to walk in the woods. They also like to not get lost.  It’s an age thing.

Meanwhile, Fred walks back and forth in the parking lot. It’s what he does. Mr. Rubble walks while Betty shops.

He is wearing a camo hoodie, baggy blue jeans and oversized dark sunglasses. This is not a costume or a disguise. It is primarily the result of a “I could care less how I look” attitude. It is the mindset of rural Missouri, where Americans are still free.

It is also a result of what can be found in resale shops. It just so happens that camo and clothing that is either too big or too small are almost always in abundance. Pickers can’t be choosers.

As for the sunglasses, he is more concerned with cataracts than looking cool. Plus, his wife found them on clearance at Walmart.

He walks back and forth, from one end of the strip mall to the other. He does it over and over until it is time to stop. It is a metaphor for his life. He is a man who knows steps are earned, not awarded.

Every step is counted. Not because his smart watch doesn’t work, but that doing so is somehow comforting. A psychologist once told him it was a coping mechanism. But then, medical professionals aren’t always dependable. For they—like their patients—are frequently possessed by mental health issues.  

If quizzed, the walker could vouch for the presence of two Hyundais, a Ford, a Chevy and a GMC in the parking lot. Three trucks, an SUV and a sedan. Two are black and the others are too dirty to tell.

Fred sees another man at the other end of the strip mall. He is a statue standing amid an empty stretch of parking lot. At first Fred thinks the man is merely looking in his direction. But after a minute or two he concludes the man is staring.

At Mr. Rubble.

Fred is confused because he is innocent of wrongdoing. He is merely getting his steps in for the day. Nothing more and nothing less.

We will call this man Mr. Peepers, although it is doubtful that is his name. He is a stranger. But for clarity reasons we will refer to him as Mr. Peepers. While it is true we could call him Mr. Statue, the decision has been made, and it is final.

Fred returns the man’s stare with a “What the hell is your problem?” stare of his own.

But he quickly changes his mind. He decides it is probably best to mind his own business.

So, Fred looks down at the ground and keeps on walking. He watches his feet busy in their work. But his mind is also busy, mulling over an unnerving mix of anger, guilt and fear.

He feels like passing gas or burping, but neither occurs.

As he walks, Mr. Rubble fiddles with the pink-colored pepper spray container in his right front pocket. He contemplates confrontation. It is, after all, an option.

After several seconds of minding his own business, Fred decides to take a second look at the stranger.

Something has changed. What began as merely looking in his direction, then changed to staring has now escalated to glaring.

More than that, it appears as if Mr. Peepers is preparing to go to war. With Fred.

His shoulders are squared and feet planted as if bracing against a stiff wind. His head is bobbing from side to side and his arms are twitching like a boxer on meth.

The man is yelling but Fred hears nothing. They are too far apart.

The stranger is no longer a man, but a living and breathing warning sign of things to come.

Fred recognizes a threat when he sees it and decides to walk in the opposite direction.

He puts his head down, quickens his pace and silently prays for divine protection.

He includes Mrs. Rubble in his prayers as well. This is appropriate because she is his sweetie and will eventually and inevitably have to exit the Dollar Tree. The logic is obvious: Once she purchases the metal arrows she will leave the store. Thus, she will potentially be at risk as well.

Fred reaches the far end of the parking lot and turns back to retrace his steps. Despite the threat, he must complete his laps until Betty’s return. As you may recall, this is a metaphor for his life so it must be completed.

But retracing his steps means he will eventually come face to face with Mr. Peepers again.

Fred notices the man has disappeared. While that may be a good thing, Fred wonders where he went.

Is he in a car? In one of the stores? Is he really gone and no longer a threat?

Fred doesn’t know the answers to those questions. But he continues retracing the steps he has already retraced several times before.

Unbeknownst to Mr. Rubble, the man is now in Dollar Tree. Yes, the same store as the much beloved Mrs. Rubble. If Fred knew about the danger he would sprint to the store and rescue her immediately.

But he does not know. So he keeps doing laps in the parking lot, unaware his threat is now his wife’s as well.

Not surprisingly, Betty is oblivious to Mr. Peepers’ presence. In fact, she doesn’t even know his name, because he is a stranger.  She is also busy fruitlessly searching for metal arrows. There are none to be found.

Fortunately, she discovers several things she didn’t know she needed and sets them in her cart.

As she does, she spots a young man covered with tattoos standing at the end of the aisle. We’ll call him Mr. Tattoo, although it is doubtful that is his name. He is a stranger. While it is true we could call him something else, the decision has been made, and it is final.

The man has the giddy ups.

His face, shoulders, arms and legs are like a sack full of nervous tics, each dancing to their own tune. It’s not a symphony but a jazz session with musicians who have no rhythm: confused and chaotic.

Every inch of skin not covered with clothes is covered with tattoos. Teardrops, spider webs, skulls, daggers and crosses are everywhere.

There is a single letter on each finger of each hand, all eager to curl up and become a fist. The letters spell “FAFO”.

It is the non-verbal message he desires to send to everyone he meets.

His odd behavior and appearance draw the attention of a fellow shopper, an older woman. She stares at Mr. Tattoo, and he stares back. The woman is afraid, and he is not.

Like Fred did minutes earlier, the woman decides to mind her own business. She looks down at her feet and walks away in the opposite direction. She takes shelter in the arts and crafts aisle.

Put another way, the woman chooses not to FAFO when it comes to Mr. Tattoo.

Betty sympathizes with the woman’s decision to flee. She decides to do the same and heads immediately to the front of the store to check out.

Unfortunately, there is only one lane open, so she takes her place at the end of the line.

After several seconds of looking forward, she decides to check on the status of Mr. Tattoo. She puts on her best nonchalant face and glances over her right shoulder.

The man is gone. No doubt still somewhere in the store, but out of sight.

Betty holds her breath and lets it out slowly. There is nothing she can do except wait.

She stares at her shoes as the feet inside them move from side to side. Her mind is cluttered with thoughts, a mix of fear, dread and uncertainty.

She feels like passing gas or burping, but neither occurs.

“There’s an opening on register three.”

Another cashier. It’s about time.

The couple in front of Betty are decisive. They dart over to the newly opened register where there’s no waiting. Technically speaking it isn’t their turn, but since the cashier doesn’t enforce the “next in line” rule the couple gets away with it. 

As his wife unloads their cart, the man looks over at Betty. She—like everyone else in line—is looking in his direction. No one is happy with either of these cheaters. Like the cashiers, no one says anything in protest other than giving the man their best versions of the evil eye.

But the man doesn’t care if he and his female accomplice have broken an unspoken law in retail culture. He’s not gloating. Whatever it is comes across more in the category of a stare or even a leer.

The cheater seems oblivious to everyone else in line except Betty. For some reason he’s decided to take a good, long look at her.

He is a very tall man with long, greasy black hair down to his shoulders. He looks like Chris Hemsworth except he isn’t handsome or muscular. He’s mostly just gross.

Mrs. Rubble looks away and decides once again to mind her own business.

After a few seconds of watching her feet move from side to side, she glances over her right shoulder to check on the status of Mr. Tattoo. Nowhere in sight, but no doubt still in the store.

While relieved, she knows Tall Guy is staring at her. She can feel it. It’s oppressive and unrelenting.

Betty wonders when her husband will come into the store to see why she’s taking so long.

She grows impatient and notices the man in front of her is standing several feet behind the next person in line.

This is not proper checkout line etiquette. He also seems distracted.

“Excuse me sir, but are you in line?”

Betty really wants to get away from Tall Guy and Mr. Tattoo. The sooner the better.

The man in front of her says nothing but does move forward a little bit.  His feet seem reluctant to move, but they do.

His shoulders are hunched forward, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The fingers of his hands are tapping the sides of his thighs like raindrops on a windowpane.

The man is distracted by something—or someone—outside of the store.

"Oh god, no," he whispers, barely audible.

Without warning he drops to his knees. His descent isn’t graceful—it’s the desperate plunge of a man evading sniper fire.

He sprints on his knees for shelter in the form of a candy rack next to the register. Those same knees are then forced to touch his chin as he makes himself small. He’s a grown man trying to fit into a child’s hiding spot.

The man is playing hide and seek in Dollar Tree. The seeker is outside, and the hider is him.

Betty looks at him as the oddity that he is.

The cashier and others in line do the same. They are in collective disbelief. After all, no one counted to 100 and yelled, “Ready or not, here I come!”

What’s this guy doing?

After several seconds of tense silence, he peeks around the edge of the counter. He does so with the careful calculation of a soldier in enemy territory. He breathes for the first time in a long time. The coast is clear.

The other customers in line exchange glances. Some are amused while others—like Betty—are concerned.

Is this a mental breakdown or a prank?

Meanwhile, the look on the cashier’s face reveals her take on the situation: “Should I call 911?”

Betty looks out the front of the store to see what The Hider sees.

There’s no one outside except Mr. Rubble. She sees him walking briskly through a maze of parked cars and trucks. He’s varying his routine. After all, parking lot laps tend to be monotonous. 

Then it occurs to her: Is this guy afraid of Fred?

This is puzzling because she is convinced her husband is innocent of any wrongdoing. He is merely getting his steps in for the day. Nothing more and nothing less.

She contemplates the possibility of her sweetie being viewed as some kind of threat. The thought is so preposterous she feels a smile about to bubble to the surface.

But it never emerges because The Hider rises slowly to his feet to explain his behavior.

“In case anyone is interested, there’s a suspicious man outside walking back and forth. He’s wearing baggy pants.”

Before Betty can plead innocence on behalf of her husband, the cashier chimes in.

“Yeah, we know about him.”

A lady in line agrees: “Yeah, we know about him.”

Betty cannot hold her tongue any longer. She must defend her husband at all costs.

 “No, there’s nothing wrong with him. It’s just my husband. He’s just walking back and forth waiting for me.”

The Hider turns around to face the alleged spouse of his stalker.

“You have to understand…in my experience…”

“No, that’s ok. He’s my husband—he’s not a problem.”

Betty is firm in refuting the charges.

She is also confused as to who the cashier and at least one customer thinks her husband is. What do they “know about him?” What exactly is he guilty of?

As Betty mulls over what has just happened, real life continues. Both cashiers work diligently to check everyone out.

Before long it’s The Hider’s turn. He lays a bag of Corn Nuts on the counter, pays with cash and walks out the front door.

He looks to his left, then his right, then left again. The coast is clear, so off he goes. He looks down at his hands and fidgets with the bag of nuts. Now that he’s safe it’s ok to eat.

Meanwhile, it’s Betty’s turn to check out. She pushes her cart up to the register and puts the things she didn’t know she needed on the counter.

The cashier decides to give more context to what just happened.

“I thought it was somebody else. We have this couple that comes in all the time. We know they’re stealing things, but we can’t catch them.”

“Oh, ok.” Betty nods her head as if any of that makes sense.

She slides her credit card into the machine but still has questions. Lots of questions.

If there’s a man and a woman shoplifting team, where’s the lady? Is this the first time the male shoplifter has flown solo?

And why do the cashier and a customer believe Fred is a bad guy? Does her husband and the shoplifter look alike?

In the time it takes to check out Betty decides none of her questions matter. Not really. She is just eager to leave the store, find Fred and go home.

Most of all, she never wants to see Tall Guy, Mr. Tattoo and The Hider ever again.

She walks briskly to the front of the store and walks out. Out of the corner of her eye she sees The Hider walking slowly in the opposite direction. He has the gait of a man with no worries and a mouth full of corn nuts.

As she walks towards her car Fred walks up. They smile at the sight of each other, and Betty speaks first.

“Did that man over there talk to you?”

“Oh yeah. He kept staring at me in the parking lot. Why do you ask?”

In that moment both realize Mr. Peepers and The Hider are two names for the same guy. It has a Superman and Clark Kent vibe with a twist. There aren’t any superpowers, just kryptonite.

On the drive home Betty tells her husband about all the weird people she came across in the store: Mr. Hider, Tall Guy and Mr. Tattoo. Even the cashier was kind of weird.

Then Fred tells his wife more details about his close encounter with Mr. Peepers (aka, Mr. Hider) in the parking lot.

After a few minutes of no conversation, Betty sums up her experience.

“That’s the least safe I’ve ever felt in a Dollar Tree.”

Fred says nothing but finds it interesting that he feels the same way.

When they get home Mrs. Rubble says she’s sorry about the metal arrows.

Mr. Rubble says it’s ok and sits down at his computer and begins to type. What he writes is mostly true.

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