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I'm not really sure how it happens, but there is a tractor beam around me that attracts lunatics. I'm not complaining, because it provides blog fodder, I just don't understand it.

Thursday, I went to Wal-Mart again. I just can't seem to get enough of incompetence, poor personal hygiene and kids ramming into the back of my ankles with runaway shopping carts.

In actuality, everyone in our house has been sick for the past 2 weeks. After we all exhausted our life-sustaining supply of twelve pounds of snot each, we realized we were down to package of crackers and something in the vegetable drawer that was probably never a vegetable.

When I found the kids cutting that up into quarters and trying to entice the dog to take the first bite, I knew I had to venture out.

As I was standing in the dairy aisle, blearily studying the ingredients in yogurt ("Aids Digestion!" it says. Which, translated in my world, means, "Keep Your Husband from Blowing Atomic Farts All Night! No More Hives For You!") and sniffling, I heard a man start bellowing behind me.

"Hellooooooo? Is anybody in there?"

At first, I thought for sure I was having an acid flashback. I wished for something other than Pink Floyd. Maybe some Bach. I sniffled again and decided to buy cheese and yogurt to decrease the odds of having my skin melted from my bones.

"Hellllllooooooo? HELLLLOOOO?"

Shit. I couldn't deny it. I turned to see a disheveled, elderly man with his head stuck in the milk cooler, hollering like a cow giving birth.

I said cow. Heh.

Anyway, I was only mildly entertained. Nothing really shocks me in Wal-Mart any more.

As he continued to bleat and demand attention, most of the shoppers stopped to watch. I snuck up close to get a better view and so I could hear everything. As he turned his head to and fro inside the cooler, peering into the darkness, I stealthily moved to the Hillshire Farms Christmas Display behind him and pretended to look it over. Because, you know, when it comes to whack-a-doo people just running hither and thither in a store like WM, you can never be too careful. I hope to go out with nobility, face-down in my soup, not having been beaten to death with a smoked sausage roll.

Finally, he got an answer. "Can I help you?" It was a disembodied voice from the darkness and it gave me the willies. I've always thought the milk cooler was creepy. They can see you. You can't see them. I don't think that's natural.

"Yes!" the man screamed. "Your milk is bad! Bad! Spoiled!"

I considered telling him to stop buying it everything it wanted and make it work for things, then thought better of it. Smoked sausage rolls hurt.

"Umm, okay, sir. Which milk?" the voice in the darkness asked.

The old man looked down, snatched a carton off the bottom shelf and attempted to shove it through the back of the cooler.

"This one! Organic soy something! Very wrong! Something very wrong with it!"

"Your kind of milk," I muttered.

He whipped his head around and stabbed me with his crazy eyes. "Heh? Whadju say?"

"I farted," I squeaked, backing away. "Too much Robitussin."

"Well, I don't think sausage is going to remedy your problem, now is it, missy? You should buy yogurt." He then turned and went back to his assault on the milk cooler. "Milk! Organic! Soy! Spoiled!"

"Ok, sir, I'll try to help you. When did you buy it?" voice asked.

"I was gonna eat it with muh' fiber! I eat fiber on Tuesday!" old man barked.

"Sir, did you bring the spoiled milk with you?"

"Well, no I didn't bring it with me! I sent it off to the guv'ment! They should know you're selling spoiled milk!"

"The government. Ok. And you made that purchase at this Wal-Mart?" voice patiently continued.

"What a stupid question," I said under my breath.

The old man looked in serious danger of having a coronary. His eyes bugged and his vein throbbed and he screamed, "Well, hell, no, I didn't buy it here! I don't live here! I live with my daughter and my duck in Walls, Miss'ippi!"

"Oh," I said.

"Uh huh," voice said.

"Bad milk! Stop selling bad milk!" The old man jabbed the carton at the voice again and then shakily returned it to the bottom shelf.

As he did, a tired woman looking partly bemused and thoroughly embarrassed approached the old man.

"Daddy!" she hollered. "Daddy! Leave that man alone! There was nothing wrong with that milk, you just don't like soy!"

"Heh? What the hell did you do with my duck?" he asked her.

As she took him by the arm to lead him away, she made eye contact with me. I saluted her with a sausage. She smiled and gently guided him toward the front of the store.

I was going to follow her and ask her what she did do with the duck when a voice said from behind me, "Ma'am? Can you shut the door, please? It's getting warm in here." I screamed and ran to the hardware department.

I never said I was brave. Just nosy.

EDIT: I just received this in an email. All I can say is, "MOO". (Thanks to Downie Talbot for this for the heads up)