Hippopotamus
My life is not necessarily something I’m proud of, but I think it’s at least interesting. To say the least.
Last Wednesday, I was at Target. And I mean, I’m a normal kid. I do normal kid shit, I hang with normal kids. But sometimes my life gets a little… not normal. I guess. Maybe I’m not normal. I don’t know. I love to ramble. I’m doing it now. I’m getting so off subject. Target. Is where we were. It’s me, this girl, Alexa, another girl, Jess, and a boy, Greg. At Target. Simple. Normal. But then something weird happens and I’m all thrown off guard. We’re at the checkout. I bought a hat. It’s a beanie. A black beanie. I’m running this black beanie over the scanner thing when in walks, and I’m not kidding, a purple hippo. Well , it wasn’t a hippo per say. It was a dude. In a suit. A hippo suit. A purple one.
And I’m thinking… what? I look to my trusty friends to see what exactly I’m to do in this situation. How do I , how does one, react in the situation of, “a hippo walks into Target”. I mean, that’s not something you’re trained for, as a human. Maybe it’s just me, but I was kinda freaked. My friends, however, are like, cool as cucumbers. Just chillin’. Just standing there. So… surely, I’m thinking, they haven’t noticed the hippo. Because if they’d noticed the hippo they wouldn’t be so relaxed. Because hippos are something people tend to question when they’re in the checkout at the supermarket. So they mustn’t notice the hippo. Because they’re just standing there. I’m looking at them, and then I begin to think. The wheels are turning, and I’m like… maybe the hippo isn’t real. Maybe I’m losing it. I have heard of this. One minute you’re sane and normal and then like, something snaps. In your brain. In the medulla. Grey matter. Whatever. Something snaps. And you’re seeing hippos. Purple ones. In the checkout at Target. Shit. I’ve finally lost it. I always knew this would happen, just not at so ripe an age as sixteen.
So the girl, Alexa, I ask her about it. And this is what she says:
“what? It’s a hippo.”
What. She says. It’s a hippo. She says. WHAT. She says. IT’S A HIPPO. Question mark. Just like you go to target and see a hippo all the time. So, still questioning my sanity, I’m thinking… Is it normal to see hippos? Are they just everywhere and a. I never noticed ,or b. I’m insane, and I forgot it was normal to see hippos. At Target. Purple ones?
The hat is in the bag now, and I’m still like… what’s going on with this hippo, though? Is it A or B? Surely I’ve lost it. So I’m like, guys. Come on. I need more information. Why am I the only one freaking out about this hippo? And I’m not even stoned. Which, normally I am. But nope. Not when I see the hippo at Target. I’m stone sober. We all are. And no one. Is freaking. Out… Apart from Cole (that’s me).
“You guys can see the hippo too, right? “ I ask. And they assure me now that he’s real.
“Yeah, he’s there.”
Is all I get. Still, I’m pulling at straws here. Why is no one else moved in the least by this hippo? Maybe that’s just what kind of guy I am. The guy who freaks out. When he sees a hippo at Target. There are two types of people in this world. The ones who laugh when they see a guy in a hippo suit, and the ones who flip out. If you’re not a laugher, you’re a flipper. I would have thought up until this point that most people would at least chuckle at seeing a hippo. Maybe point. And laugh with their friends. And the sheer silliness of a guy in a hippo suit waltzing into a grocery store. I mean, that’s pretty silly. Because you know this guy must have like, lost a bet or something. And he was with his friends in the parking lot, and he was like,
“I don’t wanna do this guys! C’mon. It was a stupid bet!”
But they made him do it because that’s how teenagers are. They encourage each other to do weird shit. So he has to put on this hippo suit. Piece by piece. There’s the main piece, which is a fuzzy purple jumpsuit. He has to put this on and zip it all the way up the back. In the backseat of his friend Gary’s grandmother’s 1996 Windstar. And then the little purple hippo feet shoes go on. And this is now getting really embarrassing for the guy. He’s pissed he made that bet. Next comes the hippo head that he has to slide over his face, and it’s really hot In there. And then the fuzzy purple hippo hand gloves. And his friends, they’re pushing him in the door. Lauuughingggg. Because it’s really silly. A dude. In a purple hippo suit. Walking into Target. It’s funny, at least. So, any normal person should at least be laughing at how silly this sight is… at least that’s what you’d think.
But not in this hick town. All around me, I can see a ton of people. A shit ton. It’s four o’clock on a Wednesday. I mean, there’s a lot of people. And none of them. Not one, is laughing. And laughing is just one option. They could also be doing what I am. Flipping the fuck out. Because it’s also kind of alarming. You don’t know who’s in that hippo suit. It could be a nuts ass maniac. With a gun. If you’re not one of the laughers, you’re one of the flippers. Me, I’m a flipper. Because in my head, the scenario is this:
The guy (we’ll say he’s named Sam, for the sake of my twisted-fucked-up-mindgame-hippo-at-target-what-the-hell-is-the-world-coming-to scenario) wakes up this morning . This Wednesday morning. He’s had this planned out for awhile. He’s been making the chemical bombs. He’s built the gasmask into his hippo suit, and he’s ready. Today is the day he’s been waiting for. With a fucking creepy as shit smile, Sam is staring into the mirror, and he’s getting into the fuzzy purple jumpsuit, one leg at a time, just like any other normal chemical bombing hippo maniac who hates society and wants everyone dead does. Then he slips on the hippo feet shoes. And Sam is still fucking smiling. He’s never been happier than this Wednesday. Hippo day. The hippo bomber, as he’d come to be known, is putting on the fuzzy purple gloves, which he sewed grips onto so he could drive his creeper 1996 Windstar to Target in costume, and the wheel wouldn’t slip out of his hands. No use crashing your car on your way to commit a mass murder. And he puts on the head. Just to look at himself. And you can’t see it, but good ole’ Sam is still smiiiiiling away under this hippo head.
He just stares at himself in the mirror, catatonic, smiling. For hours. Until three thirty three. This is when he decides it’s time. He gets in the van, and he keeps the bomb in the pocket of his little hippo pants. In the parking lot at Target, Sam psychs himself up for what is about to happen. He’s been looking so forward to this. Now everyone will pay for what they did to him In school. He’ll show them. The hippo bomber. Walks into target. And sees four unsuspecting kids. Three of them chill, and at the checkout, with a black beanie in his hand, he sees that this fourth kid. Is freaking out. Flipping out. Hes a flipper. It’s time to bomb. To kill everyone. Hippo Style.
And this is how I think. There’s two kinds of people in this world. I’m one who overanalyzes and thinks too much and flips the fuck out. Of course, there’s no way to tell at this point what the hippos intentions are. There’s no way for me to know whether it’s A or B or C. Or any of the letters. So all I am left with doing is flipping out. And looking to my friends for cues that they’re not giving me about proper hippo in the checkout protocol and standard operating procedures. How do I advance, after the hippo has entered? What’s the next move? Nobody is helping me, and my chest is getting all tight, because I don’t know if any of this is even real. And just when I think I’m getting too dizzy to take all of this stress, this hippo stress, the issue resolves itself. Out of the cold unfeeling sonic darkness, a light in the form of Alexa’s voice beckons my sanity.
“That’s really fucking weird.”
THANK. GOD. I’m still sane. Or at least, as sane as I’ve ever been, pre-hippo. Thank god. I don’t even need the answers anymore. I don’t need to know why the hippo was there, or what his intentions were. I can finally move as I grab the bag and we head for the exit. The automatic doors slide open and the hippo looks at me and says,
“Hey.”
“Hey.” I say back. And I make my exit.
I mean, maybe I’m not that normal a kid. I hang with normal kids, we do normal kid shit. But the shit that’s going on in my head… I guess it’s not that normal.
My life is not necessarily something I’m proud of, but I think it’s at least interesting. To say the least.
