I had no anxiety when I entered the store, but as I was browsing the tank tops something strange happened.
“What about that one? See her? She’s a pretty one. She would be good for you.” That’s what an old man said to his friend as he peered at me over a sales fixture at Walmart. There was zero sarcasm in his voice, and I’m sure he knew I could hear him. He was only four feet away. His friend, who was at least 75, couldn’t see me for the sales fixture. As he motored his mobility scooter around the fixture to take a closer look at me, I prayed to God that they would leave and I wouldn’t have to speak to them.
“Yes,” he said as he stroked his long, white beard, “This one is a very pretty one.” Then he turned around and they continued their deathly slow journey down the isle. My reaction to this was a half nervous smile and a look that said, “What the fudge is wrong with you creepy old men? Has dementia set in and you ran away from the nursing home?” This disturbing situation has continued to make me nervous since it happened Friday morning. Next time I’ll just pay twice as much for my tank tops and go to Target.
