I am in the self-checkout lane with my arsenal of flu remedies and medicine. I have Emergen-C, Theraflu, Tylenol, Gatorade, etc. Basically, I have the entire Walgreens Sunday ad in my basket. I am moving in that sort of sick zombie walk, where my body is moving slowly and my eyes are glazed over. One foot in front of the other.
I start to pass the front of the registers, close to all of the sale items. There is a large woman sitting in one of those electronic three wheel scooters with a basket. As I pass by she speaks up at me, “Would you like a tarantula postcard?”
I pause. If I had been more alert and less sick, I would have zoomed by her so fast that she never would have had a chance to stop me. Normally, I would have seen someone coming a mile away. I shrug my shoulders.
“Sure,” I say in my zombie voice.
“How many would you like?” she asks fanning out what appears to be at least 20 tarantula postcards.
“One would be great.” I say .
She hands over one tarantula postcard.
“Thank you,” I say and continue on my way. I turn the postcard over and it has two informative sentences about tarantulas. I have no idea who I am going to send it to.
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