The Tackle Box

I like organization. I get this distorted sense of pleasure when I see things all neat and tidy. Someone told me about organizing their hair clips and ties in a clear tackle box. As my hair ties and clips are mixed together randomly in a basket, I decided I had to organize them in a clear tackle box too.

That means I was headed to Walmart.

The fishing/hunting section is in the far corner of the store by automotive supplies...a corner of the store I obviously have no reason to visit. I have passed it by a couple times - on my way to bedding and fabrics, or to find Adam or Sara in the toy section. I've seen the people that shop this section. Mullets, camo attire and butt cracks seem to be the order of the day. I fear of interacting with these people. I'm afraid they'll overtake me and feather the front of my hair. Or worse yet, they'll abduct me with their newly purchased rifle and ammo and take me to the woods where I'll be forced to live in a dilapidated cabin and raise their rat-tail children and make new foods from fatback and kill my own dinner. A fate worse than death, I know.

An in-and-out plan was needed, but I wasn't familiar with this section. Asking for help wasn't an option. What would they do to me if they realized I'm buying a tackle box to organize hair accessories? Do they know what accessory means - other than in terms of murder sentencing? I'd have to dash in and out. I didn't have time to agonize over finding the best pricing option, or visualize my hair accessories in each compartment. I'd have to find, grab and buy. My plan set, I left the house.

I walked into Walmart.

I walked, assuredly and resolutely, past housewares, past paint supplies and finally past the safety of the bedding department. I wanted to pause, to scan the section for prospective dangers, but I was afraid to show fear or weakness. I quickly scanned the aisle descriptions and found "fishing supplies". I ignored the pot-bellied employee with beady eyes staffing the gun counter and slipped noiselessly into the aisle. I had to be quick, he probably already alerted a camo-coated mulletman to come find me. Eureeka...near the front of the aisle I spotted a pile of clear tackle boxes. The mid-sized one looked perfect (it had tabs for me to create my own sections, it was slim for easy storage and had a handle for easy transport...ideal really) and cost about six bucks. I grabbed it and tip-toed back to the end of the aisle. I peered around to be sure the coast was clear. Off to my left was a burly man looking at gun racks...conveniently blocking my nearest exit. Without pause, I headed right and delved into the automotive section. I sped along the edge until I made it into the paint section. I wasn't safe just yet. I hurried down to the toiletries aisle, knowing no man would follow me into the tampon section. Surrounding me were bright colored boxes and bottles advertising cleanliness and freshness. I knew I had made it.