HOLIDAY SHOOTOUT AT THE OK CART CORRAL
by Jerry Gervase

Holiday season always reminds me of how stressful this time of year can be. The gathering of the clans, sometimes twice, at Thanksgiving and Christmas and/or Chanukah can be enough to invite Dr. Phil to be a live-in Shrink for about a month. If stress in humans is defined as the results from interactions between persons and their environment that are perceived as straining or exceeding their adaptive capacities and threatening their well-being then holiday shopping should be at the top of items that exceed humans’ adaptive capacities and threaten their well-being.

Here’s a “for instance” that happened a few years ago when my dear wife was still alive. We shopped at Target quite often because it keeps us away from the local celebrities (those Pebble Beach people can be such a drag) and because it is one of the few places on earth I can buy Tees with pockets. Apparently in the beautiful world of Ralph Lauren men don’t carry glasses, pens, and scraps of paper. Finding a shopping cart at Target during holiday season can be a problem. Keeping one can turn into the kind of showdown I’m about to describe.

My wife and I were assigned to take our then five-year old grandson, Joey, to Target to buy him some underwear. Joey is a cool kid and his unbridled joy at being in the midst of so much merchandise makes shopping fun. However, at the time he would only wear Blue Clues underwear. I haven’t a blue clue what that is but our daughter assured us that Joey did and Target would have stacks of it.

My wife wanted to look for greeting cards so she suggested I take Joey to the guys department. On the way I spotted a couple of pocket tees in colors I didn’t own so I tossed them in the cart.

There were no stacks of Blue Clues underwear on the shelves. There was only one package of three briefs in Joey’s size so we added them to the cart. Then off we went to the toy department because that’s where grandsons lead and grandfathers follow. I began browsing music CDs while Joey searched for something gramps would pop for.

“Hey grandpa, look at this,” he said excitedly. I walked across the aisle to see what he had. When I turned back two elderly persons (Egad! They were my age) were unloading the items from my cart, readying to ride off with it.

“I beg your pardon, that’s my cart,” I said in my best Marshall Dillon voice, “get your own at the cart corral.” The woman gave me a look that said I was the offender. The man’s eyes narrowed and for a moment I thought he was going to draw down on me. But they complied. In another era I would have been justified in stringing them up on the spot. To leave a man cartless miles from a checkout stand is mean and ornery.

I turned back to the toys – no Joey! I rode my cart down several aisles but didn’t find him. I drew my cell phone from its belt holster and called my wife on her cell (after all it’s for emergencies such as this we have them).

“Joey’s missing.”

“Where are you?”

“In Toys.”

“Stay there. I’m on my way.”

“Cut through electronics,” I said, “he loves that stuff.”

Happily Joey had been in Electronics. My wife put her greeting cards in the cart, along with an Electronic thigg-a-ma-jigg for Joey and we headed for the checkout counter.

Suddenly I noticed the Blue Clues underwear was missing from the cart. Then at the far register I noticed a woman acting suspiciously. The clerk was putting my package of Blue Clues underwear into a shopping bag. The woman saw me and bolted for the exit.

By the time I got there she was riding away in a sorrel colored Mustang. Seeing my agitation the female security person asked if something were wrong.

“That lady stole my underwear.”

The look on her face told me not to pursue the issue.

My wife arrived with Joey and our purchases.

“C’mon,” I said, leading them to the refreshment counter, “I need a stiff drink.”