Forget Dogcatcher. Val Couldn't Get Elected Public Enemy.

I might be a criminal. I'm not really sure. Some signs point toward my criminality. But, like a tree falling in a forest with no one there, making no sound...nobody stopped me and accused me. That must mean that I am not a criminal. Pound that gavel. Case dismissed.

Today I searched high and low in Walmart for TurboTax. Okay. I searched wide and wider. It's usually in a special glorified cardboard box display in the back aisle. I was without my partner in dime-spending, because The Pony was competing in a tournament against 16 other Smartypants teams from around the state. I had nearly broken my arm patting myself on the back for not needing to roll my cart/walker to the pharmacy end of the store. All I really needed there were some foaming denture tablets to lift the tea stain out of the two cups Genius has been using to brew his Christmas present of a five-tin tea assortment. I figured, with him leaving today, nobody would be using those two cups for a while, so it could wait. The farthest afield I had to go was the paper plate aisle. Just a hop, skip, and a jump from the food section.

Then I remembered the TurboTax. It's not that I'm planning on firing off my tax return tonight. But if I get the urge to start working on it, I want that disk an arm's length away, at my fingertips. I trudged across the back aisle, past the pallets of toilet paper, past the dog beds, past the books, past the lay-a-way/bathroom area, past the DVD section, past the electronic accouterments, past the TVs, to the area where I found TurboTax on a regular shelf last year. Of course it was not there. I went on, into the computer games. Up the aisle to the camera and phone counter. Past the folks with uniform polo shirts in non-private thigh-high cubicles doing people's taxes for them, down a parallel non-through aisle. Aha! Getting closer. There was a cheap-looking cardboard display of H&R Block software. I don't think so. No need to teach this old dog new tricks. I sniffed all around the area like those pooches looking for bacon on the Beggin' Strips commercial. Huh. No TurboTax. I went back to the main aisle, tired of the chase, ready to throw in the towel.

There it was! On a glorified cardboard display case. Three flavors of TurboTax. I grabbed the one that Goldilocks would choose. The one that is just right. Deluxe, I think it's called. Not basic. Not premier. I tossed it on top of my coat on top of the child-seat area. I start out putting things in there, so as not to possibly lose a pound over the course of the year from bending over the main section of the cart unnecessarily. Thing is, I first stuff stuff down in there, then flop my coat back over until that little area is full, then pile it on top of my coat. Some days I can get by with nothing in the main cart. But that's usually at Save A Lot.

I really had more stuff that my list revealed. Thank goodness the check-out lines were virtually non-existent. I piled on my tabloids and bellied right up to the conveyor. Regurgitated my selections, placing frozen with frozen, boxes with boxes, soft with soft, produce with produce. You know, to make it easier for the checker. So she didn't have to think about what to bag together. I put TurboTax with the tabloids. Dry. Flat. Could share space with boxes if need be.

Huh. Wouldn't you know it? I had a checker designed by Rodin! Heh, heh. At first I typed "Rodan." It didn't look right, so I summoned my BFF Google. I don't want to appear as ignorant as I really am. Anyhoo...my checker kept three bags going on that carousel before she would spin it and proffer them to me. My classification system was not good enough for her. Still, she did a more-than-adequate job. Unlike the many checkers I've had who were indeed designed by RODAN! The horror!

After paying, I was momentarily sidetracked three steps toward the door by a guy in the 20 items or less aisle hollering, "Hey!" It was my old custodian. He left his wife minding the items, and came to have a short chat, ask about Genius, The Pony, and Mabel. He looked good. Said he was busy all the time, keeping up with the kids at basketball games, and his granddaughter who is quite a talented athlete in another sport. He looked over his shoulder and his wife was giving him THE LOOK. So he excused himself. I guess he paid or put the items in the cart, so next thing I know, I'm walking toward the exit door, through that vast vestibule where the Subway is located, pumping out that fresh bread smell, past the electronic thief-sensor.

IT STARTED BING-ING!

I stopped. There was no cheerful sexagenarian to greet me and ask for my receipt. I stopped. Looked behind me, like, "Was that ME?" I'm sure I will be nominated for best People of Walmart actress during the next Oscar cycle. Vote for me if you're a member of the academy, 'kay? The sensor-tripper must have been TurboTax. I know Rodin's The Checker rang it up. I saw her slide it across just before the tabloids. I guess she didn't demagnetize it. I doubt it was on purpose. She didn't seem the type to set my up for a fall.

Here came my OC. He was chatty again. I took one backward, "I'm not guilty" glance, and wheeled my walker/cart out the door.

I know I paid. It was on the receipt when I looked after loading my purchases in T-Hoe's rear compartment. I even stood around a bit, taking my time, in case a blue-vested loss prevention specialist came after me.

Nobody cared. Val is not Public Enemy material.