Gabe chose rock. It was a matter of principle. Rock smashed scissors, a fact of life as certain as gravity.
D. K. Wall:But it should also obliterate paper. How many times had he, a reasonable man, used a rock to hold down a piece of paper on a breezy day? Paper never won, except in this silly game That a flimsy sheet could cover a steadfast rock and claim victory was an affront to physics and common sense.
D. K. Wall:After fifteen years of marriage, Jenna knew Gabe better than he understood himself. So he wasn't shocked her hand outstretched in front of him, flat and smug as a winning lottery ticket. A victory smile spread across her face as she wrapped her fingers around his fist.
D. K. Wall:"Two out of three?" he asked, his voice laced with a desperate hope. She answered with a single decisive finger pointing through the minivan's windshield toward his target.
D. K. Wall:It was chaos outside. Not the fun concert kind of chaos, but a grim societal breakdown in microcosm. Cars jousted for parking spots that didn't exist. Horns blared in a frantic off key symphony of panic. People scurried to and fro, their faces masks of grim determination.
D. K. Wall:Gabe sighed and glanced in the rearview mirror. In the third row, his seven year old twin boys, Hunter and Finn, engaged in their usual brand of sibling diplomacy, which sounded remarkably like two badgers fighting over a squeaky toy in a burlap sack.
D. K. Wall:In the middle row, his daughter Penelope, all of 13 going on 30, cooed at baby Marigold strapped in the infant car seat beside her.
D. K. Wall:Before kids entered their lives, he and Jenna would have avoided this quest, but those four charges were the reason he readied himself to plunge into the mob.
D. K. Wall:Besides, based on the sudden weaponized odor emanating from the back, Marigold had just detonated a little present in her diaper. Jenna would get to handle that particular biohazard while he braved the maelstrom. It seemed a fair trade.
D. K. Wall:"Wish me luck," he said, stepping into the biting cold. He shut the door, pulled his coat tight, and surveyed the scene, mapping out the best angle of attack.
D. K. Wall:A stiff northerly wind whipped discarded litter into the air like battlefield debris. The sky was the color of a nasty bruise, swollen with the promise of an impending storm. The first flakes wouldn't fall for hours, but you wouldn't know it from the internet.
D. K. Wall:Clickbait, he muttered to himself. Thanks to social media, every amateur meteorologist had become a prophet of doom, gravely pointing to their preferred models and muttering about the Euro and the GFS as if they were ancient warring gods.
D. K. Wall:The only forecast Gabe believed in with a 100% certainty was the one unfolding before his eyes. Worse than Black Friday. Worse than the day after Christmas. Yes, this was the day before a winter storm and the grocery store gauntlet.
D. K. Wall:He snagged an outbound shopping cart from a woman heaving the last of her supplies into an SUV the size of a small nation. The buggy's front left wheel wobbled and squeaked like a caffeinated squirrel, but it was a precious and rare commodity. He knew with the certainty of a veteran that not a single one would be available inside.
D. K. Wall:He pushed through the automatic doors batting away the desperate hands of people who mistook him for a conscientious citizen returning his cart. Amateurs.
D. K. Wall:He veered right toward the bakery toward the long promising aisle filled with bread on a normal day, but this wasn't a normal day. Instead, it was a scene of post apocalyptic barrenness or maybe with the impending weather a pre apocalyptic.
D. K. Wall:The shelves, which only hours earlier had groaned under the weight of thousands of loaves, were picked clean. Not a single crumb remained.
D. K. Wall:A dozen or so shoppers milled about, a flock of vultures waiting for a poor bakery employee to wheel a cart into view. They eyed one another with raw suspicion, competitors for sandwich supplies.
D. K. Wall:Gabe kept moving, his eyes scanning the shadowy depths under the shelves until he spied his prize. Tucked behind a metal support beam, crumpled and forlorn was a lone bag of hot dog buns.
D. K. Wall:He pictured Penelope's face scrunching in teenage disgust at the very thought of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich served in such a blasphemous vessel. Shrugging off her disapproval, he snatched the bag and tossed it triumphantly into his cart.
D. K. Wall:Hey, a woman's voice screeched from behind him. "Where did you find those?"
D. K. Wall:Gabe turned. A woman in fleece pajama pants stretched to their breaking point and definitely not intended for public viewing led the flock of bread scavengers toward him. His survival instinct, a cowardly but creative creature took over. A distraction was needed.
D. K. Wall:He pointed confidently to the far end of the aisle. "Down there," he announced with the unearned authority of a store manager. "Bottom shelf. They just put a few bags out."
D. K. Wall:The herd turned as one and stampeded, elbows flying. Gabe didn't wait for the inevitable cries of betrayal. He fled, his squeaky cart tracking his hasty escape.
D. K. Wall:He moved along the back of the store beyond the butcher's section and a squabble over a lone pack of hamburger. On the opposite end of the store, placed there by some marketing genius who clearly believed that a quest for breakfast essentials should count as a full cardio workout, waited the dairy section.
D. K. Wall:The coolers hummed, but they were cooling nothing. A vast empty expanse greeted him. No whole milk, no 2%, not even skim. Gabe hesitated, his hopes deflating.
D. K. Wall:Then a glimmer. A lone misunderstood carton of vanilla flavored soy milk. How bad could it taste?
D. K. Wall:To Hunter and Finn, of course, it would be a travesty, but only if they caught him in the act. If he could just pour it over the boy's sugar coated cereal before they were fully awake, he might get away with it. As long as they didn't notice the distinct lack of a cow in the carton. He grabbed it.
D. K. Wall:"Hey, you tricked us." The high screechy voice echoed down the aisle. He spun around. It was her. The pajama-pant-adour. She was marching down the main thoroughfare pointing an accusatory finger.
D. K. Wall:Gabe did the only thing a sane man in his position could do. He shoved through the crowd, pushing a cart with the aerodynamics of a cinder block and the steering of a drunken goose until she disappeared behind the roadblock of frazzled shoppers.
D. K. Wall:Desperate to complete his mission and escape, he spied the third item on his list and groaned. Toilet paper.
D. K. Wall:The panic over an item that every house had to have an ample supply puzzled him. While the phrase "a run on toilet paper" conjured hideous images, a snowstorm didn't magically induce a citywide intestinal crisis. Yet, he once again faced barren shelves.
D. K. Wall:In desperation, he settled for a jumbo roll of paper towels, hoping the quicker picker upper would be soft enough.
D. K. Wall:In the canned soup aisle, he stared at the lack of quasi tasteful options. Only a depressing wall of cream of celery greeted him. Some creative spices should camouflage that, he thought, and several cans went into his cart.
D. K. Wall:After another ten minutes of scrounging for the winter survival necessities, he rounded the corner toward the checkout lanes, his cart a monument to compromise and poor nutritional choices.
D. K. Wall:Scanning the horizon for the irate pajama pursuer. He spied something magical instead. Bathed in the fluorescent glow of the register lights, a single six pack of beer perched abandoned near the chewing gum.
D. K. Wall:Despite the mysterious brand name, Hoppy on Board IPA scribbled above the logo of a green beer on an orange background, he heard a choir of angels singing a celebratory chorus. With the reverence one affords the holy grail, he lifted the brew and placed it gently in his cart.
D. K. Wall:After a hearty meal of PB and J hot dog buns, celery flavored paste, and cereal saturated with vanilla flavored plant sadness, a Hoppy on Board might be more than just a beer. It could be a taste of victory.
D. K. Wall:With groceries purchased for a ridiculous price, he aimed the cart toward the van. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the screech of the pajama warrior, so he walked faster.
D. K. Wall:He reached the minivan just as Jenna slid open the side door. The fresh chemical scent of baby wipes mingled with the biting wind. Marigold, freshly changed, gurgled contentedly.
D. K. Wall:The twins had entered a temporary ceasefire absorbed in their favorite game of "I'm grosser than you." Penelope's ears were plugged with white AirPods, her head bouncing to the unheard beat of music from her phone.
D. K. Wall:Jenna eyed the bags. "Hot dog buns?"
D. K. Wall:"It was a battlefield in there."
D. K. Wall:She peered deeper. "Is that soy milk?"
D. K. Wall:"It says milk on the carton."
D. K. Wall:Her gaze landed on the paper towels. Her eyebrows rose to dangerous heights. But then she spotted the six pack and her expression softened into something like respect. "Hoppy on board?" she read. "Sounds terrible."
D. K. Wall:"Probably tastes better than soy milk."
D. K. Wall:Receiving Jenna's nod of resignation and acceptance, Gabe climbed into the passenger seat. He caught his reflection in the side mirror, windswept and wild eyed. He looked, he realized, like a man who had faced the abyss, escaped the clutches of a pajama demon, and emerged victorious.
D. K. Wall:All because he had chosen rock.
D. K. Wall:Next time, he'd pick paper.