The Long Trip Home (or at least to the Hotel)

As we headed back toward Marco Island with our bellies not full of bubble bread, Robin told me at least two dozen times that we needed to stop somewhere for some toner for her printer. This was a working vacation for us. Turns out the only thing I worked on that week was my suntan. We had passed a Super Walmart on the way out and decided that that would be a good place to stop. Plus I needed supplies for the room. The four minute walk across the street from the hotel to the 7-11 every day just wouldn’t do. I needed water, soda, and snacks (and beer).

Robin and I love to shop. We don’t care if it’s CVS or Saks, thrift stores or Bloomingdale’s. Shopping makes us happy. I always try to grab a cart on my way in to Walmart, Publix or Target because, God forbid, what it there weren’t any available when we got in the store? We’ve all been there. You have to wait and actually stalk the shoppers leaving the store in order to take their cart. Then you get the once over stinkeye look from the current cart pusher. They look at you as if to say, “Are you worthy of this cart? What are your intentions with this cart? What are you planning on putting in this cart?”

We have our cart and Robin is pushing it. She is a risk taker and doesn’t care about getting a cart until we are inside, but not me. She is pushing our lucky we found it cart (there were scores inside, but how would we have known?). I walked away for a half a second to throw out my water bottle in the garbage. I turned her around to see Robin almost run the cart straight into a 400 pound very dark lady. The lady wasn’t moving and Robin wasn’t stopping. The lady said, “You gonna hit me?” and Robin said, “You gonna move?” and I kept walking. Faster.

Robin caught up with me at which time I told her that one of these days, she’s going to get her ass kicked. She really is.

We walked by the bakery and she picked up a huge box of fresh pastries that she would never eat and threw it in the cart. I picked up some strawberry flavored donuts. They were so pretty. Pink. I struggled with the decision to get them, but ultimately decided that I was on vacation and hadn’t had a donut in well over a year and you only live once and what the hell. We then turned the corner and were faced with the 100 calorie snack display. I took out the pretty strawberry donuts and replaced them with a box of 100 calorie blueberry muffins. I’d thank myself later. Then I put the strawberry donuts back in the cart and returned the box of 100 calorie muffins. Finally I put them both in the cart and figured options were the way to go.

Then we did our usual split. She goes for the boys/mens department and electronics and I go for the "Just my Size" workout clothes, night gowns and makeup. We always agree to meet right here, never taking note of where right here actually is, nor do we ever suggest a time. We have never met right here and we never will. But it works for us. Kind of. Some of Robin’s maddest moments at me have taken place in Walmart. One day in particular stands out. I had gone to the garden section and had gotten a few small tree like plants. Once in the cart, they were taller than me. Robin and I passed each other a few times in the store. I saw her, but she didn’t see me. But I didn’t know that she couldn’t see me because I saw her. I figured she was just ignoring me. About an hour and a half later, our paths crosses again and I asked her if she was ready to go.

“Jesus Christ, Kim. Where the hell have you been? I have been looking all over for you. I hate when you disappear”. I informed her that we had passed each other several times and I assumed she had seen me.

“Right. I’m going to pass you and not say anything? You’re an idiot.”

Maybe she was right.

I’m not too proud to buy clothes at Walmart. They really have great
prices. I especially like to buy work out clothes there. I found two pairs of yoga pants in the fat lady section, then meandered over to the mens’ section where I found two tee shirts and Robin. See? It works out. She found some mens’ shorts and a tee shirt that had a monkey drinking a bottle of hot sauce on the front and flames shooting out of his ass on the back. We gathered the rest of the necessities and checked out.

Walmart didn’t have the toner that she needed, but she recalled seeing a Staples on the way back to the hotel. We pulled in to the parking lot and she asked me for my purse. I was driving and said that maybe it was in the backseat. She looked back there and it wasn’t there.

“I think you left your purse at Walmart,” she hurriedly.

“No, no. I don’t do that. I have never left my purse anywhere. You’re the one who’s always losing her shit. It’s gotta be in the back back”, I told her. I wasn’t nervous. I have never left my purse behind.

We jumped out of the car and went to the back to look for my purse. We didn’t see it and soon we looked like cartoon characters with our arms flying a million miles per hour and bags flying everywhere. There where Walmart bags, Jungle Drum bags and Bubble Room bags (they had a gift shop, remember?)

Oh.
My.
God.

My purse was gone. My purse had all of our cash in it, all of our credit cards, my phone, my camera, my life.

I felt like all of the blood rushed out of me. This wasn’t happening.

OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod.

“I can’t believe you did this”, Robin accused. I didn’t say a word. We just had to get back to Walmart. I peeled out of the parking lot on two wheels. It was only about ten minutes away, so maybe if we got there in time, the cart would still be in the cart bin and my purse would still be there. I had to go left to go back to Walmart, but first had to make a right, then make a U-turn. As I made the U-turn I saw the big blue Jungle Drum bags fly out of the back end of the SUV.

We had not shut the back door. In our panic of realizing that my purse was gone, we had both run to get in the car and NOBODY SHUT THE BACK DOOR.

I had to do another U-turn and in doing so, saw that all of our bags were scattered all over a 4 lane busy highway and the Staples parking lot. A nice guy was in the parking lot collecting our bags for us and Robin was running up and down the highway gathering what she could. The big blue Jungle Drum bags were empty. Somebody had taken our pogs and our beautiful ugly lamp. We’d lost our earrings, the litigator alligator for her office, my yoga pants, the monkey ass on fire tee shirt and my beautiful strawberry donuts. We managed to pick up a 12 pack of Heinekin (important) and some generic Walmart cheese puffs. They’d suffered a little road rash we later discovered.

We were sick. We didn’t speak. We still had to race back to Walmart to see, if by the Grace of God, my purse was still in the cart. We drove in utter silence for 10, 15, 20, 30 minutes. We passed a sign that said “Welcome to Naples”.

WTF!

Come to find out, in our haste to get back to Walmart, I didn’t exit the Staples parking lot the sign way I entered it, and, in turn, was on the wrong road. This was truly a nightmare.

Big girls don’t cry. Big girls don’t cry.

I had to calm myself down. At least it wasn’t an expensive purse. I am a purse snob. There is no doubt about it. I’m not crazy snobby though. I would never spend ten thousand dollars or anything like that on a purse, but I do enjoy a nice purse. This particular purse was not a nice purse. It was really a pink and green small beach bag. I had purchased it at a place a month previously while we were visiting my parents. The store is called “Bikini Company”, and although I was torn between a bikini or a beach bag (bikini? beach bag? bikini? beach bag?), the beach bag won. OK. It’s just a beach bag. What else? My Louis Vuitton wallet. You know what? The snap on that hasn’t been working lately, but I couldn’t justify replacing the wallet, so maybe now I can. The cash. Oh shit. All our cash was gone. I then did the math (you know me) in my head and decided we didn’t have that much left over, after what we had spent during the day. My phone, my camera. Don’t cry. Big girls don’t cry. It’s just stuff. Then the tears started. We’d spent all that money and it was all over Route 441 and people stole our stuff and they probably would have no appreciation of a pog, let alone the beautiful ugly lamp.

We finally got turned around in the right direction and found Walmart.

DAMN IT.
Wrong Walmart.

We drove yet another 15 minutes and recognized the crime scene. We never remember where we park, let alone at a time like this. I parked and ran into the store while Robin perused the carts in the parking lot. I ran to Customer Service and from afar, I saw the pink and green!

Thank God this hadn’t happened in Miami.

We drove back to friggen Staples and while she went inside, I took inventory. I guess that while we were wildly looking for the purse earlier, the pogs and beautiful ugly lamp had been taken out of the bags and only the bags had flown out of the car.

The only thing we never found was the dozen beautiful pink strawberry donuts…hmmmm.