I was in Walmart today, trying to get my holiday shopping done for my niece and nephews. Walmart... I love going there because I'm cheap & broke, but I hate going there because everyone else is there for the same reasons. The crowded aisles with filled with shopping carts, the endless checkout lines, and the o-s0-cheerful people. It's a love-hate relationship. But today, I bit the bullet & took myself there. What happened in the store today was almost too insane to be true, but make no mistake, it happened.
I was among the moms and pops and gramps at the toy section with my own shopping cart perusing stuff. I knew I wanted to get my nephew a new bike since he's sort of outgrown his old tiny one. And so a few aisles down from the pepto-bismol pink explosion that is the girls' toy section, I found myself standing in front of a red bike and a blue bike. A few passersby smirked as I tried the bikes on for size, but that's no big deal. Then as I knelt down to feel the tires, a man came by. He, too, was looking at a red bike and a blue bike, but not at the ones I was feeling. I happened to glance in his direction and we exchanged polite smiles. No harm done. He looked to be around 50ish (I'm always bad at the age game), white & tall, pronounced stature, eyes a bit bloodshot, and perhaps like he's forfeited his razors for a few days. He was dressed in business clothes, with a black plain jacket. He had two items in his hand: ClearEyes, which made sense, and another small box which I can't remember. All in all, he looked pretty normal... safe, even.
He remarked that we both don't know which bike to get. I agreed. The truth in the statement made me assume kindness and I asked how old is his boy. Six, he said. Mine is seven, I told him. He then went on to tell me that he has to buy toys for EIGHT kids. I gasped. Not only that, the eight kids were international kids who he's adopted. "Really? Wow." He listed where he got them from, but I only remember Vietnam, Korea, Costa Rica, Ireland, and some country in Africa. He himself had been adopted and raised in Korea. I was beside myself. Here's this incredible man who's got a heart of gold.... and I met him in, of all places, Walmart!
We got to chatting a bit more, and at times like this, I wish that I had a record button in my head. Switch it on, and I'll be able to recall the entire conversation without forgetting the tiniest details. His name, I learned, was Thomas. He was born in Ireland. His family had been killed during the British invasion of Ireland. Here I was perplexed... my history is very rusty, but I couldn't recall any such invasion within the past century. There was WWI, and WWII, but even with my rusted knowledge, I was pretty sure those events didn't involve invasion of Ireland. Pretty much the only historical event involving Ireland that I could remember was the potato famine. I was ashamed not to know what he was referring to, so I played along, nodding my head in sympathy.
He went on: he's the grandson of Daniel O'Connell. His family in Belfast was killed by the British. He himself was shot in the back (he was 7 then) and left for dead. His kind neighbors found him and took him to a nearby "Christian monastery" where the "monk" removed his bullet and tended to him. He was later shipped out to Korea where he would be raised by Buddhist monks there. He paused.
If I possessed Caucasian eyes, they would've popped out of my sockets by now. As it were, I have Asian eyes, and they only felt like they would pop out. Every wheel in my head switched on. I still hadn't solve the mystery of the British invasion, and here he was, his family killed and as the only survivor, he was shipped to Korea! "Why Korea?" I asked, innocently as I could. He paused, looking up. "Because that was the only place where they thought I would be safe from the British. The British wanted me dead, you know." Interesting. What possible danger could you, as a 7 year old child, pose to the Brits that they wanted you dead? When did Brits set out to kill families and 7 year old children? What British invasion are you talking about? What the hell did your family do? So many questions I wanted to ask him, but it seemed risky, so I simply nodded.
Nodding, I learned, is the universal cue for "Continue" because continue he did. The monks raised him for 12 years. As if to impress me more, he spoke a bit of what he claimed to be Korean Buddhist chants. Being completely ignorant of the language, I could neither authenticate nor discredit, and so I was impressed. And as he spoke some more of his time there, I noticed strange movements in his left hand. He was touching the back of his neck and then moving to the front, touching his collar and loosening his jacket. Odd, I thought. ".... and then the monks tattooed me with their sacred sign." And then, there in the middle of the bicycle aisle in Walmart, Thomas opened his undershirt to show me the tattoo on his hairy chest - an apple-sized blue circle with what looked like a closed fist in dead center. There might have been some yellow or black involved somewhere in the tattoo, but I was too shocked to remember all the details. A camera along with a recorder in my head would have been most useful.
Thomas described himself as European on the outside, but really Asian on the inside. I resisted the urge to ask if he knew what an "Egg" is. He goes to the Buddhist monastery in Richmond, and has been asked by the "Master" to become a monk. I laughed, he laughed... though I'm quite sure we weren't laughing at the same things.
During these sort of conversations, I always know I need to end it sooner rather than later. But somehow I can't quite do it. Make up an excuse, look at my watch, fake a phone call... I could've done any of these acts and walked away. But I didn't. I stayed and listened; I smiled and even asked questions in kind.
Thomas currently volunteers for some Christian immigration organization, which, interestingly, does not exclude Muslim or Buddhist immigrants. He lowered his voice when telling me this, as if some federal agent was luring behind the bike rack. He also volunteers for an organization helping adults with mental disorders. He learned that I was unemployed but looking for work in a research lab, and that I had done previous research in anxiety disorders. He widened his bloodshot eyes at the mention of anxiety, as if I had just provided him a perfect segue into his next bit. Anxiety! You don't say!
In fact, he is currently taking a "sabbatical" to work on his dissertation. Given the course of the conversation so far, a regular person would have nodded and responded with something nonsensical like, "Oh! That's great." Being a non-regular person (but not irregular) and somewhat of a huge nerd, I couldn't help the words that escaped my mouth: "Oh! Dissertation? On research?" Apparently, Thomas will be writing about women's sexual dysfunctions, specifically the inability of some to orgasm. Thomas whispered the O word, as if he was embarrassed. If *he* was embarrassed, I must've been ready to shoot myself. Again, a regular person would've feigned an emergency phone call. Hell, they'd have blatantly walked away in the general direction of security. But no... my feet, it seemed, grew roots and all I could manage to do was raise my eyebrows.
The study, 3 years in the making, was done with a Dr. Sarah White who insisted the title be "The Mystery of the Female Orgasm." Thomas had interviewed 1800 women for the study and found 72% of Korean women were sexually dysfunct, while 73% of Vietnamese women suffered the same tragedy. He didn't disclose the rest of the breakdown. I realized my eyebrows could not be raised any higher, so I lowered them, and raised them again.
It was like watching an amateur magic act: you were slightly entertained, but if you squinted hard enough you could make out the faint string lines. I kept squinting for those strings, and against my better judgment, I baited him. "1800! My! How did you analyze the interviews?" By this, I merely wanted to know how he quantified the subjective responses. Thomas took this differently, and proceeded to tell me that he had to study the couples in the act, but not in the same room, mind you! That would've been inappropriate! He was in the *next* room while the couples sexed up. Afterward he gave the women questions while they were hooked up to lie detectors. At this point I was screaming in my head... somewhere nearby dogs were howling in response.
Not to be discouraged though, Thomas continued. He had found a cure that was 85% effective. Being a Taoist, trained by the Buddhist monks, he learned that he could cure women's sexual dysfunctions with holistic treatments, by transferring Chi to strategic stressor points on their bodies. Behind the left side of the neck, on the back, the hands, the feet. He proceeded to demonstrate how he "transferred energy" to these women by pretending his left hand was a foot, and massaging it with his right hand. I guessed that the 15% of cases where treatment was ineffective was due to women having ticklish feet. He laughed, I laughed, but again, I knew we weren't sharing the same humor.
In effect, Thomas claimed that he could give women back their ability to achieve the big O with Chi massages, taught to him decades earlier by Taoist monks in Korea. Taking ancient teachings and giving it a whole new twist - how proud the monks must be of him. It took all of my being not to blurt this out.
As it were, the conversation had passed several hundred levels beyond what I consider to be comfortable talk with strangers in Walmart. I stared at the red bike intently, loudly proclaiming that I will need to find someone to help me get the bike off the high rack. We said goodbyes and parted ways, but not before exchanging phone numbers and him taking my hand and bowing his forehead to it. "Om chung ma" he said, which is supposed to mean "It's fate" in Korean.
I wanted to run out of the store. To hell with the toys, just leave! Lest he calls the number, finds out I gave him a fake one, tracks me down and demand I give him my real number. But I had already fought my way to the store, and had endured what could be the world's most bizarre conversation with a strange middle-aged man in the bike aisle of Walmart. And so I sped through the maze and to the checkout line, all the while scanning my surroundings, as if I could be caught any second.
While driving home and even while writing this, I experienced sporadic pangs of guilt. What if Thomas is an Irish humanitarian who was shot when he was 7, who was raised by Korean monks, who really does have 8 adopted international kids, who legitimately studied sexual dysfunction in women. That could be possible. How ignorant and how righteous of me to think he would tell me anything but the truth.
As it turns out, Dr. Sarah White does exist, in quite a few number actually. But I couldn't find anything related to the "Mystery..." or Thomas. And from what I could find, the last time the "British invaded Ireland" was under Cromwell in the 1649. The last uprising involving Britains and Irishmen was in 1918. Daniel O'Connell did indeed exist, between 1775-1847. Now, even though I am bad at the age game, Thomas does not look to be near 80 years old, and he certainly does not look to be near 360 years old.
So, was Thomas a liar? A conman? Perhaps he was mentally ill? Lonely? Perhaps I misunderstood everything, and he is the person who he described. The truth will remain a mystery. All I know is my ordinary trip to Walmart for the most ordinary reasons became a most bizarre encounter. From this, should I learn how to end conversations when they first approach the area of weirdness and not when I'm neck deep into it? Or, should I continue to do what I did, nod & smile, because who else can say that they met a middle aged man in Walmart who discussed Korean monks & sexual dysfunction? Knowing myself, I bet I'll meet another Thomas soon, maybe in Walmart's frozen food aisle next to the teriyaki shrimps.
No comments:
Post a Comment