Shopping in the Twilight Zone

I entered the grocery store alone for the first time in years. No children to wrangle, correct, chase down. The manager had previously asked me to leave them at home the next time I came to his store.

Music was playing in the background

"Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be. . ."

The women were all wearing fitted blouses and full skirts - turquoise, yellow, pink, black and white. Their hair was perfectly coiffed and their red lipstick emphasized the classic 1950s smile. They were dancing and creating patterns with their carts.

I stood in complete confusion and shock. The manager waltzed up to me, grabbed me around the waist and whisked me down the Juice and Cereal aisle, toward Dairy. Suddenly, the lights began to flicker, the music warped down to a stop. Everyone that had been dancing so merrily around me now sluggishly froze into poses like mannequins presenting grocery wares. An eerie blue glow filled the store. The fluorescents were flickering on and off. An occasional shower of sparks fell from above. I began to run toward the exit, but the end of every aisle was simply the beginning of another. Greeting Cards, Cleaning Supplies, Canned Goods, on and on I ran. Where was the exit?

Gradually the music started up again, but it was not the cheery sound of Doris Day; it was children singing. Softly at first, “A B C D E F G. . . .” As I rounded a corner, it was the same tune, but louder and different words, “Bah bah black sheep, have you any wool?. . .” then again the same tune continued, but the words were changed, “Twinkle, twinkle little star.” The voices seemed to be crowding in on me, getting louder and louder, yet all I could do was run in circles. “H I J K L M N O P. . .Yes, sir, Yes, sir, three bags full. . .How I wonder what you are.” I kept running, dodging the mannequins, grabbing and throwing eggs, syrup, produce – anything to make the nightmare end!

The room began to spin, the songs all melded together. Children’s tunes and Que Sera Sera. All of a sudden, the children’s voices were gone. I could only hear Doris Day singing merrily again. Everyone was gathered around me.

What happened? I found myself standing in the middle of Frozen Foods covered in eggs, syrup, bananas and tomatoes and realized that I have become so use to wrangling, correcting and chasing down my kids, that when that was taken away, I experienced a small break in reality in my own mind.

The manager escorted me out, “I must ask that neither you nor your children return to my store.”

I manage to make it home and head toward the bathroom to clean myself up. As I pass my children’s room, I hear them singing a familiar tune in rounds. “A B C D. . .Twinkle, twinkle. . .Bah bah black sheep.”