It was as if time stood still. As I was walking into a store to either buy something or return it, the beepers went off. Everyone in the store stopped what they were doing and glared at me. A few microseconds later four store employees ran to the front of the store where I was standing. One was holding a type of walkie-talkie while the other was dressed in a uniform. They didn’t say anything when they got there. They just stared.

At this point, I thought it was in my best interest to say something. All I could think of to say was, “I’m walking into the store.” My response did not change the mood.

Finally, the person in uniform asked if I had anything hidden away in my pockets. Again, I reiterated I was walking into the store. The in-store policeman continued by asking if I had any merchandise in my pockets. Now since it was January, and I was wearing my winter coat I knew I had multiple places to hide things. All I could say was “I was coming into the store.” 

“Maybe it was something I ate,” my humor failed to eliminate the stares of the people in the store. Finally, the officer told me not to worry about it. I answered by stating I wasn’t worried about it in the first place. Soon everyone went back to their business, and I went over to where I could do some shopping. As to why I didn’t just leave the store is above and beyond my comprehension. 

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Walking toward the sweater displays, I still felt the stares of the customers in the store. I hoped they all knew I was walking into the store and not out causing the beepers to beep. I sincerely hoped no one thought I was trying to steal something. I guess I was wrong. One shopper stopped looking through the merchandise as soon as I started doing the same. I wondered if the beeping meant I now have some sort of contagious disorder. A kind of beeperenza? 

Walking back to the counter to pay for the sweaters I didn’t like but knew I had to buy, I noticed that same woman was now holding her children close. Even though the adults in the store stopped staring at me, the children did not. 

After I paid for the sweaters I didn’t want, I started to walk through the door. Before I was about to leave, I began to worry. If the beeper beeped when I entered the store what is to say it won’t beep when I leave? Am I destined to spend the rest of my years inside a clothing store that has a name that I can’t pronounce? I smiled to myself and decided to leave the store. Sure, enough the beeper beeped again. Once again everyone stared at me like I was some sort of alien. This time I was a bit worried for I was now leaving the store.  

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The employees again ran up to the front. Seeing it was again me they just joined the crowd and stared. The manager now told me not to worry about it and apologized for the inconvenience that his machine was causing. Paranoia would have been a better term. I then walked back to my car wondering if I could ever walk into that store again. Not that I wanted to. In fact, for a few seconds, I thought I had discovered a reason for never having to enter any store for the rest of my existence.  

Maybe my body’s chemistry changed to the point of triggering all the anti-theft devices in the world. Maybe the reality of truly hating shopping had triggered some sort of a genetic response that sent out waves of energy demanding I be excommunicated from the act of shopping forever. At this point, one of the older customers who was in the store came up to me and told me to relax. I told him thanks hoping my car alarm wouldn’t go off.

Jim Fabiano is a retired teacher and writer living in York, Maine. You can contact Jim at james.fabiano60@gmail.com.