Just got back from an a-typical visit to Wal-Mart. We had parked Da Chimpz at their grandparents (what better way to mark their 51st anniversary) intending to get a few things at the nearby shopping mecca... Who knew there were so many additional things we needed?

As we rolled out with a full cart, it did dawn upon me: we didn't see any bizarre people.

Which made it so not the typical visit to Wal-Mart. But then we stopped at the nearby chicken-wing place, having said we'd bring back food for everyone. As we waited for our carry out order, I spotted a kooky looking guy sitting at a table alone, staring into the air in front of him. I motioned to Alane to stop watching the sporting events on the big screen over our heads. "See that guy," I said. "He wants you to sit down and have a conversation with him."

Of course, my statement was utterly wrong -- he didn't need Alane or anyone else to sit down and converse -- he was doing a fine job having a very lively and earnest conversation all by his lonesome.

We got the food, got in the car, and drove down Pearl Rd to a red light. On our side of the road was one of the old-time, creepy, Norman-Bates-type motels that somehow still survive in this area. Across the empty parking lot a woman in jeans and heels was staggering toward the motel building. She wasn't making much progress. "Look at this," I urged Alane. It was still early in the evening, I thought -- she'd gotten her load on in a hurry. We watched her zig and zag until our light turned green and we proceeded.

"Maybe she's looking for the guy in the wings place?" I theorized, thinking maybe the two pieces of weirdness was really a single phenomenon. But as we got closer to the in-laws we passed a parking lot and saw Grizzly Adams busily dumping his refuse into the recycling bins. That confirmed that all the wack-jobs in the area just haven't done their Wal-Mart shopping -- and probably won't get around to it until midnight or after. We just got there too early.