Monday June 7, 2004
	They are having an essay contest at Wal-Mart wanting camping stories.
	The good to look at woman is standing at the counter (in the sporting goods department) and she is writing something when I say: "Are you entering the essay contest?" "I camped a lot when I was a kid," she says.  Unlike most American women she's got small breasts and unremarkable lips. "I've always enjoyed camping," I say.  I've never enjoyed or even understood camping but she doesn't know that. "Good for you," she says.  "Good for you, too," I say wishing I had said something like: I once spent two weeks camping on Mount Ararat looking for Noah's Ark. I have begun writing my camping story in the space provided (on the entry form) when I stop and say: "It says they'll read the winning essay over the Wal-Mart Radio Network." "How fun," she says.  The small breasted essay writing woman is wearing shorts and flip-flops and a t-shirt with a large number 2 printed onto the back of it and I'm wondering if that means she's into anal sex 'cause all numbers on t-shirts mean something and I'm starting to pop a rod and that's when William Hung (American Idol) appears on the Wal-Mart closed circuit TV.      "I just love him," she says while looking at the ceiling mounted monitor. "I bought his CD," I say.  I didn't buy his CD and while he sings Ricky Martin's She Bangs I am imagining the two of us inside a zipped up tent with a full canteen of corn whiskey. "He's something," she says then folding her entry in half.         "I'm looking forward to his next album," I say.         After a pause she says: "I'm Madison."  Just once I want to meet a woman named: Karen or Marlene or Debbie or Donna or Brenda or Barb or even, Robin.  "I like your name," I say.  "I'm Norm." "Hope your entry gets picked," she says.   She is pushing her folded up essay into the slot at the top of the cardboard box when I say:        "What's your story about?" After a pause she says: "Once my whole family was inside a tent and it was dark out and we were in the middle of nowhere and I thought I heard a bee buzzing around inside the tent and my sister is allergic to bees so she started screaming and then my mother started screaming 'cause she's afraid of bugs and my father couldn't find the flashlight so he started screaming 'cause he's afraid of the dark so everyone is screaming and our screaming musta scared other campers 'cause other people at the campground started screaming, too."  "Did you find the bee?" I say. "It turned out that our cassette player was on and it had come to the end of the tape and it was making the noise everyone thought was a bee." "You'll probably win with that story," I say, adding, "Does the number on your shirt mean anything?' "Derek Jeter, New York Yankees," she says. "I knew that," I say, smiling.  "What's your story about?" says Madison. I don't have a story but I'm close to making a connection so I think fast and after a pause I say:  "One time I went camping with a girlfriend and there was this really big tree stump and there was a brass plaque mounted to the front of it and it said something about somebody famous once stopping there so we climbed onto the stump and we balled one another and then we went back to our camp and ate beans right out of the can." "Disgusting," says the good to look at woman then walking away. Unlike most American women Madison had small breasts and unremarkable lips. I eventually finished my camping essay coming up with something entirely different than what I told Madison.  It's a good story.  Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime. PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT