Touring the Vast Plains of Walmart

How I took up travel writing

I ran into a guy the other day who billed himself as a “travel writer.”

He was on a bike starting across an intersection just as I turned right. Landed mostly on his backpack, so it didn’t hurt him much. He was wearing a helmet. I told him we could fix that bone sticking out of his ankle with some Gorilla Glue I had in my trunk. Good stuff. Only other medicinal thing I had was an old can of Off insect repellent. Figured it had to have some antiseptic ingredient in it.

That’s when he told me he was a travel writer, but I’m not so sure about that. I suspect he was really a Mormon missionary, because he asked for a drink of water, and all I had was half my Diet Coke, which he turned down. But I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

Couldn’t recover the bike, though. Bent the frame. I felt bad. So, after we patched up his ankle, and sprayed some Off on that nasty patch of road rash on his forearm, thought I’d be charitable and get him another bike. He was screaming for one of the onlookers to call an ambulance.

“Nah, don’t need that,” I told him.

Loaded him into my car, and took him to a pawnshop. All they had was a 24 inch Huffy mountain bike, a girl’s… well, woman’s model. Had a good price on it.

He was kind of indignant about it. Seemed irritated, saying he didn’t want a girl’s bike, and could I please take him to a hospital. Coulda been the pain talking. I’d given him some Extra-Strength Tylenol I dug out of the trash heap in my car’s console, but figured they hadn’t kicked in yet. At least, I think it was Tylenol. Also had some left over heartworm pills for my dog in there. No big deal, though. Couldn’t hurt, right?

“Hey,” I scolded. “You need to be more diverse and inclusive. You don’t want womenists calling you a misogynist pig, do you?”

I smiled and winked at the blue-haired girl behind the counter with pieces of metal sticking in her eyebrows and lips and a tattoo of a flower on her neck. At least, I think it was a flower. Not sure what kind. Maybe a hyacinth. Anyway, she didn’t seem impressed.

Mr. Travel Writer sat down on the floor and started crying.

“Look at it this way,” I said. “It’s a mountain bike. As a travel writer, you surely come across mountains now and then, don’t you?”

He groaned, sobbingly. I took it as a yes.

“Well, there you go.”

I’m telling you all this because the encounter got me to thinking I needed to seek some other avenues to broaden my writing resume. Hell, I could do travel writing. I mean, who couldn’t. I go places every day.

For instance, yesterday, I went to Walmart. The one over by the toll road east of town. It’s a very popular place, and the locals are colorful. Especially the native dress. One large woman in the frozen pizza section had on leopard yoga pants, which appeared to be a couple sizes too small for her ample lower body. This resulted in an exposed top two inches of her butt crack. Now I cannot unsee this image and doubt I’ll ever buy another frozen pizza.

Another person meandering through the fresh fruit section came attired in a… in a… Well, I’m not exactly sure how to describe it. This person was of indeterminant gender. I mean, could've been any of the five which are now popular. Had I asked this human which pronoun them identified with, Them probably would’ve chosen it, but I can’t be sure. So, in an attempt to be socially unoffensive and politically correct, I’ll call them, them.

Them wore red spiked heels, a garter belt holding up black net hose, a paisley bikini bottom, and a chartreuse tank top with “Caitlyn for Gov” printed on the front. Them had heavy blue eye shadow, hair cut butch on one side dyed gold and ear length on the other dyed green. Maybe a Green Bay fan. Had dangling ear ornaments which looked like bear claws. I don’t know, them could’ve been a tourist, judging from the tank top.

I bought some double A batteries and a family-size bag of dark chocolate M&M’s. Quite an exciting day, being my first as a travel writer.

Tomorrow I’m going to travel to the carwash, where the surly guy at the entrance expects a big tip if I want all the bugs off my front bumper, then the Pharmacy to pick up a Rx for my over-active imagination. At least, that’s what my psychiatrist calls it. It’s a mom and pop drug store in a plaza mall. I’ll tell you more about the place in my next travel writing piece, but it’s unlike the stores in the Big Pharma/Big Druga chains.

For one thing, they don’t have a pickup window. Rather, you park out front and call them to bring out your drugs, if you don’t want to go inside. I don’t go inside because they still follow political propaganda instead of science and make you wear a mask. Besides, they bring you a cookie to go with the prescription you’re picking up. Usually, chocolate chip but sometimes those with M&M’s baked in. I love M&M’s.

Travel writing is easier than I thought.

Thanks for journeying with me here. I’ve written some other crazy stuff, too. Check here:

© 2021 by Phil Truman. All rights reserved

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