Coddiwomple at Walmart

 

So here I am;  wandering about in a purposeful manner toward a vague destination--in Walmart’s parking lot.  If practice makes perfect, I’ve become a professional car searcher.  If you too suffer from chronic coddiwomple, I have a system that I think  can help. 

1:  Be sure to walk In and Out through the same Out and In.  I always come out the same door that I go in so that limits my search field to like, only half of the five-acre lot.

2:: Use a grid pattern to seek.  I’m using my head’s bobble function to seek out the biggest rig in the lot.  Today I’m hunting a truck pulling a trailer so that minimizes the mistakes that can be made. As a warning note, in this day and age, it can be deadly to misidentify your vehicle.  The days are gone when I can be forgiven for loading my groceries into the wrong car.

3::  Stay optimistic. The task is not impossible because my husband came out just ahead of me. And he is fully aware of my concern that I will be left at the store. Ergo, he would never ghost me in the parking lot.  

I don’t know why I have this strange phobia. I’ve never been left behind; though with eight siblings, there was ample opportunity. One of us wandered off nearly every time we ventured out. Number seven absconded the most and it never seemed to bother him. So I must have developed an empathetic phobia for him. But, today, there are not eight of us. There are only two of us, so there is no reason for me to panic.

4: Stay calm.  As I wander, I work on my panic plan. I have a handy list of questions to redirect my thoughts from the reactive brain to the reasoning, cognitive part of my brain. I utilize this mental tool of redirection whenever my husband tries to implement his mental tool of exposure therapy.

I reason, “If I had to bet a million dollars…” That is a strange brain redirect question because any conversation that includes numbers sounds to me like blau-de-blau-de-blau.  But I know deep down in my rational mind that he has not left me, because he is too cheap to pay the extraordinary divorce costs that a judge would grant.

5::  Dress to be noticed—and rescued.  I am a unique dresser. What most people assume is a fashion attempt at boho chic, really isn’t.  It’s an effort to aid in search and rescue, I don outfits that leave lasting impressions and helpful descriptors. Today I’m wearing a red shirt with chartreuse and purple-striped swoosh pants.  It is the very outfit that has impelled people in the past to photograph me for the Walmart People post. On that particular day, I was wearing my tie-dye head buff too, but even without it, I am memorable. Oh, I am aware of how I must look, the kook in the crazy outfit wandering about, “That poor, poor eccentric lady.”

6::  Keep a sense of humor.  Mirth is always preferable to mariticide.  Some may call this a great prank, but my husband is incapable of such creativity.  He is severely left-brained and there is not a joke in his body.  And… I might remind you, he knows how I feel.  Throughout our years of marriage, we have had ample opportunity to discuss my problem. He repeatedly loses me in parking lots, usually with the excuse that he can’t park right where he has dropped me off. And thus, when I come out, he has vanished.

7:   Think Logically.  I must think like him. Did he need gas? Moments ago, I can recall him saying something like, “I cannot buy gas at that price again, and he called our daughter who is driving to meet us and told her where to buy it cheaper. So, obviously, he is not getting gas.

Irrationality creeps back.  Did I really come out that door? When will A.I. come up with a GPS system that is visual?  Did we park by that yappy dog car?  I don’t think so, but walking past it, over and over stirs up the yapper’s agitation and that does wonders for my anxiety. Frenzied panic breeds best when it’s shared.  

8: Take Your Time. I have time, so I ponder an argument that might convince the clerk-less employees who, like me are aimlessly wandering back and forth agitating the frustrated folks in self-check-out.  How can I convince them to leave their sadistic entertainment to come outside and help me find my car?

9: Accept assistance.  One hopeful help is that young guy over there, who is lounging half-in and half-out of his big old pickup apparently waiting for his wife, (who he probably ditched at the other end of the five-acre parking lot.)  I see another helpful lady who has noticed my meandering and has decided to engage in my plight.  She is going to help the crazy, hapless, helpless hippy. She drives closer, but then it happens!  At exactly the same moment, both she and I recognize that someone is yelling my name.

She drives closer, “Ma’am?”   I continue to walk back and forth past the hysterical dog because now? Now?  NOW!  I am really agitated. Finally, I give in and I stomp back toward her and she says, “Ma’am! Ma’am! I think someone is yelling at you from over there at that gas station.” 

I say to her, “Yes, I know. I hear him.”  At her quizzical look, I try to explain myself. “He leaves me in the parking lot all the time and I have to wander around until he comes back.  So this time, I’m getting him back by ignoring him.”

She interjects quickly because in her mind, I have just slipped from a flaky fruit salad to a full-on serving of nuts and crackers and she explains, “Oh, I thought maybe you couldn’t hear him because of the dog.”   

“Yeah,” I respond, “the dog is going to be my excuse.” 

As she hurriedly pulls away, I yell after her, “After 40 years of marriage, I need to seek entertainment somewhere.”  

10:  Celebrate your victories.  I turn and I saunter out to the pick-up point, right past the young man, who seems to have fallen out of his pick-up truck.  He manages to cough out words past his laughter, “Oh My Gosh. That is Gold.”

I kinda sideways grin at him and walk on with the flush of success.  I still got it!