Flatfooted.
	Original satire.

	I pulled into the Walmart parking lot at about two o' clock 
in the afternoon.  Even in my mind's eye, the name of the 
ludicrously popular and hideously impersonal corporate cash cow 
loomed larger than life, those big white letters advertising the 
poor man's strip mall.  Even at this time of day, many people 
still congealed in and around the overgrown general store, which 
was probably more popular and revered now than the infamous Sears 
and Roebuck catalog was in its heyday.

	Normally, I would avoid showing up during the day, because 
that was when the poor white and black trash housewives would 
emerge from their holes, dragging unwashed brats along with them.  
I preferred going late at night, when the true weirdoes would 
come out of the woodwork.  Of course, I also had to put up with 
the giggling high schoolers who were there because it's the only 
thing to do at night in a town like this, but you can't have 
everything.

	This time, however, I was heading home and I knew we were 
out of a few of my favorite foods.  This Walmart was a 
supercenter, meaning that it had a number of grocery aisles off 
to one side.  Although horribly overpriced, it was on my route 
home.

	I got out of my car as if in a daze, blinded by the harsh 
sunlight, free and unfiltered by clouds.  I would be glad to 
leave this place, to get back to the solitude of the country and 
be with myself and no one else.  

	I strolled through the twin set of automatic doors, pausing 
briefly in turn to give them time to slide back in their tracks.  
This aging Walmart didn't seem to spend much on maintenance, 
which may explain the overlong time lag between my stepping into 
sensor range and the little electric motor kicking in to roll the 
safety glass back.   It always annoyed me.

	Or, perhaps it took the little sensor just a little bit 
longer than average to realize that I was there, as if it wasn't 
sure or not.  I could relate, I didn't much feel like I was there 
either.

	The initial chill blast of the air conditioning washed over 
me as I walked inside, but I barely noticed.  Reflexively, I took 
up a firm stride, hands loosely balled into fists at my side, 
shoulders squared, and my eyes locked onto obstacles far ahead, 
well past anyone near that might wish to say something.  I had 
long ago learned that people rarely bother anyone that looks like 
they are on an important mission.  Even security guards and 
Walmart door greeters are put off by a determined look in your 
eye.

	This Walmart, however, employed a number of cheerful 
elderly women, no doubt upstanding members of their church and 
community, who seemed to know everyone that entered by their 
first name.  They didn't know mine, but that didn't stop this 
particular elderly lady from giving me a warm, almost sincere 
smile as I entered.

	"Hello!" she greeted me cheerfully, although I could detect 
the slightest bit of hesitation in her manner.  "Enjoy your time 
in Walmart, sir!"

	"Thanks, I will!" I replied boldly, giving her a half smile 
back and nodding acknowledgement.  "You have a good day, too."  

	This, too, was a reflex.  Drilled so often by my mother to 
'Be polite.', I could recite any number of appropriate greetings 
on command, just like a trained dog.  I didn't honestly give a 
rat's ass whether or not she had a nice day.  But responding so 
instantly and cheerfully was to be much preferred over the 
blinking astonishment that someone would rudely interrupt someone 
as obviously in a hurry as I was, a reaction I had been stuck 
with on more than one awkward occasion.  I hated that flat-footed 
feeling.

	I plowed quickly through the aisles, walking faster than 
everyone else.  Several times I was forced to go around people in 
my way, and once I was even forced to come to a full stop and 
give a stony glare to two middle aged women blocking the path 
with their buggies.  It was one of my better looks, and always 
prompted immediate response.  My path was soon opened, and I 
brushed by without so much as a by-your-leave.

	I was snapped out of my reverie by my name being called 
from afar, drawing both by attention and that of everyone else in 
the immediate vicinity.  I quickly spotted a pretty blonde in 
shorts and a t-shirt hurrying over to me.   It took me a moment, 
but I quickly put a name to the face.

	Amanda.  Amanda was a friend from high school, one I hadn't 
seen in some time.  I gave her a warm smile, one of the ready 
ones I was able to summon at will.  Hopefully it would buy me 
enough time to get my mind in gear for conversation.  I doubted 
it, though.  Amanda could talk faster than I could on a good day, 
and today was definitely not a good day.

	"Hey!  I haven't seen you in a while," she said happily.  
"How are you doing?"

	Before I could stop myself, I replied cheerfully with, 
"Pretty badly, but I'm sure I'll live.  How about you?"  The tone 
was that of 'Doin' great!' and tone is always what people hear 
first.  Amanda was no exception.

	"That's good.  I'm doing fine," she replied before her 
brain caught up with her mouth.  

	You could see the confusion creep onto her face as she 
realized what I had said and processed the information.  I bit my 
lip, hard.  Amanda was a friend, and a nice girl to boot.  I had 
no reason to do that to her, and the fact that it was my habit to 
treat each 'How do you do?' as a literal request for information 
wasn't much of an excuse for being a dickhead.  

	"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized hastily, reaching out as if 
to comfort me and quickly drawing her hands back to hold and 
twist around each other, visibly repressing her desire to help 
with her stronger desire not to invade my personal space or, god 
forbid, to actually touch me.

	Inwardly I cheered.  Chalk one up for Amanda.  Many people 
simply kept talking, having heard the tone but not the words, or 
possibly simply ignoring it.  None of my friends had ever done 
that, but many of my casual acquaintances had.

	Damn.  Damage control time.  "Just kidding," I hastily 
assured her.  "Just checking to see if you were listening.  
Really, I'm fine," I lied.

	She laughed nervously, choosing to believe me, as I knew 
she would, especially since she had gotten somewhat used to my 
antics in high school.  "Oh, you had me worried."

	"So, whatcha been up to lately?" I asked quickly.

	"Oh, you know.  School, work, not much else."

	I found that unlikely.  Amanda had always been an active 
party girl.   I shook a playful finger at her.  "Can't work all 
the time, you know.  All work and no play and all that."  I 
grinned.

	"This, coming from you?" she asked ironically.

	I inclined my head in admission.  I had missed several 
parties because I had to get up early the next morning and go to 
work.  Of course, I had missed more because I didn't want to go, 
and blamed work, which I'm sure my friends were aware of.  "Hey, 
you know," I said, which really didn't mean anything.   

	I pondered my next move in silence.  According to accepted 
rules for this kind of meeting, I was supposed to ask how 
everyone was doing, as we both knew she had kept track and I 
hadn't.  Unfortunately, I didn't care, and certainly didn't feel 
like listening to the fifteen-minute report Amanda was sure to 
give.  

	Awkward silence alert.  And I still hadn't thought of what 
to say.  As I said before, I hate that flat-footed feeling.  One 
of these days I'm going to think of a list of things to say in 
situations like this and commit it to memory.  One day, perhaps 
I'll have a little set of things to do and say in every situation 
I'll run into.  Then I can move around and meet people and act 
normal, just like everyone else, while deep inside my own mind 
I'm riding passively, sifting through the deluge of crap people 
spout for the occasional gem of coherent thought.

	Unlikely, though, as it'd be easier to move somewhere where 
I'd never run into anyone I knew.  Whoops, Amanda was talking 
again.  I wonder how much I missed?   Nothing important, I'll 
bet.

	"...school?  I heard from Sarah that you were doing pretty 
good."

	School?  Ah, that was probably, 'So, how's it going in 
school?'  I hate that question, and I get it a lot.  "It's 
there," I said noncommittally.  "Yeah, I saw Valerie a while 
back.  She was doing pretty good, too.  She married yet?"  What 
an understatement.  I hadn't seen Valerie in over two years.

	"No, not yet.  She and Roderick broke off the engagement 
last month," Amanda said regretfully.

	I snickered inwardly.  I hadn't known that she even had a 
boyfriend, but marriage inquiries are always appropriate amongst 
people my age.  It's as if it's all we think of when we get old 
enough to hear our biological clocks ticking.  I mentally patted 
myself on the back for having figured this out long ago.  Ah, the 
simple pleasures.

	Now Amanda would ask about my own love life, or lack 
thereof.  I was prepared this time, however.  "So, how's your 
love life?" I asked, giving her a mock leer.

	In response she held up her hand, proudly displaying a gold 
ring.

	So much for being prepared.  I gawked for a half second, 
getting my wits back.  Amanda?  Married?  Settled down, this 
party girl?  Maybe she wasn't kidding about work and school.  
"Wow!" I enthused after a moment.  "How long?" 

	"A year and two months," she replied smugly, although I 
suspected she might have been a bit hurt that I hadn't heard.

	"Well, congratulations!  Where are you living at now?"  I 
listened attentatively to her directions, making sure I knew 
where the rent house was.  I would now be obligated to stop by 
and say hi occasionally.   "That's great," I said when she'd 
finished.  "I'll be sure and come by to see you sometime."

	"That's fine.  I don't get home until after seven, but Mark 
is home around five.  Feel free to stop by, I'm sure he wouldn't 
mind talking for a while before I get home."

	He might not, but I would.   

	"Or you could come by on the weekend.  If both of our 
trucks are there, go ahead and knock."

	I smiled warmly.  "That's great, I'll do that."  I made a 
show of looking at my watch, then looked up regretfully.  "Well, 
I need to get this stuff and get outta here, so I'll see you 
then, okay?"

	"Sure!  Look forward to it.  I guess I'll let you go.  
Bye!"

	"Later!" I replied, looking back and waving as I walked 
away quickly.  Married, huh.  She had changed.  I had no doubt 
that everyone else had too.  Only I, the loner, the antisocial, 
the asshole, had remained the same.