Letting her out of the box

I hate shopping.

I’ve always hated shopping. I’ve got friends and family who are quite happy to go into a mall for hours on end and look at everything on the shelves, me - not so much.

Maybe that’s why I love big box stores. Any time I can one stop shop I go for it.

Which is why I find myself in Wal-Mart on a sunny morning purchasing dog food, sneakers, and a new bathmat. Only department stores have that sort of combo shopping.

It’s red Friday – so I’m wearing my red “Support our Troops” tee.

I’m standing in line – the Wal-Mart checkout chick is asking me if I found everything I was looking for and I hear this nasally, heavy accented, voice say “I hate those red t-shirts. I can’t believe people are supporting the war, Canada has no right to be there” and something else that the blood rushing to my head blocks out.

She’s obviously meant for me to hear her opinion – we’re two cart lengths away from each other. She could have leaned over to her friend and whispered her thoughts – she’s chosen not to – bad move on her part.

“Excuse me?” I hear myself say.

“You heard me,” she replies. “It’s disgraceful that Canadian soldiers are over there and supporting that is shameful.”

I look at my hands and I actually hear the snap as my hold on my temper, and my mouth, simultaneously let go.

I hate stupid people. I hate them as much as I hate shopping. More even. And how dare this foreign-born cow even open her mouth about the Canadian military? Especially since she’s standing not even 20 Kms away from the largest military training base in the Commonwealth? She doesn’t realize that she’s stepped in a hornets’ nest.

I’m livid. I’m at that point where you’re so angry you can feel your body vibrate. I can feel the hair on my head. It’s not going to be pretty. The little cashier is waving frantically for a supervisor and I open my mouth.

My brain-mouth filter has been completely removed and the R-rated version of my deepest thoughts and beliefs come flooding out.

Miss Opinion opens her mouth to respond but takes one look at my face and understands what speaking at this point would mean.

I’m ranting and I know it. And it feels good.

A crowd is gathering. Watching a harried military spouse in a red t-shirt tear a strip off of a beautifully coiffed dark skinned lady at the top of her lungs. At one point I hear them clap.

I’m sick of the CBC ending every story from Afghanistan with the line “96 soldiers and one politician have been killed since 2002” – how many people were killed in Canada since 2002??

I am sick to death of the election making Afghanistan a campaign issue. I am sick of that group in Fredericton protesting at the Freedom of the City Parade. I am sick of the website and the group that wants businesses to remove the support our troops signs in their windows. They hide behind the “freedom of speech” banner – who the heck do they think defends the right to that??? I am sick of it all and this woman will hear every word.

“I, for one, am extremely proud of the fact that the military exists. I am proud that my husband is a soldier. I am proud that these men and women are willing to put their lives on the line and go to some third world part of this planet and do whatever they are asked to do. I am proud that I am a military spouse and I will not be ashamed to show that pride, in what I wear, in where I live, in who I am. And if you don’t like it – feel free to get back on whichever boat that brought you here.”

The cashier looks like she’s about to be sick. Miss Opinion and her friend are pale. I’m shaking.

I pay for my stuff and head for the exit. The cops have probably been called. All I can think of is getting to the car. I want to puke.

Halfway across the parking lot an employee, maybe he’s a manager, catches up to me.

“Great – I’m going to be banned from the stupid Wal-Mart” is what I’m thinking.

But Wal-Mart knows which side its bread is buttered on and I actually get apologized to for the staff not stepping in when the other lady attempted her bullying. I look at him like I’m half stunned.

Thank you, I manage to squeak out.

In my car I burst into tears, ashamed I couldn’t hold it together, and worried that it’ll make the news. I can see the headline now “Military Spouse Goes Postal at Wal-Mart” news at 11.

Can I do eight more months? Day 32.