Bukefalos: Nagg häst

An afternoon or so ago, I ran out of underpants and went looking to replenish my supply. I'm not averse to second-hand, even in that context, but I remembered some Bangladeshi-crafted wear I had found in a Target in an Southern United State several months past and was willing to go for two. Days passed, my own fault, a procrastination thing I developed swinging sledge in a mine, as great a place as any to develop bad habits I tell my kids. Oh, but days passed, my own fault, a procrastination thing I developed, and then I got right up and went to your North East location, colloquially known as The Quarry.

The underpants were there, sure, and the young man who found them for me could not have been more helpful, huzzahs all around, but you see, they were outrageously overpriced. I will purchase foreign made clothing but not for American prices and so I hustled around the corners, shuffled swiftly along the aisles, hunting as if for big game but for an underpantishly equivalent fabric product that I could then fold or tape or sew around myself and under my clothing to mimic underpants for a low low lower price. Seeing nothing, I slowed, moping and whining, dragging myself limply from the pharmacy to the children's toys, sadly whistling the slowest waltz I could remember, my cheap underwear fading from memory.

My face was down you see, when before it had been up. Impressively low ceilings, wide aisles, the things that Target Corp. is so known for, all I had appreciated but all because I had my head up! Now, with my head down and eyes further, I started to notice distinct and seemingly significant patterns, or rather the lack of them, in the tile formations at my feet. I pulled from under my poncho a large notepad of graph paper, simply unmatched as a paper concerning tile studies, and charted my findings, shuffling around and around the store, finding new and longer strings on strings, deep three-dimensional abstracts detailing obscure building codes and forfeited BigBox designed (the longhouse version, modeled after the Iroquois koneechiwa (which means longhouse in Iroquois, which is French for Haudenosaunee or People of the Longhouse or People of the Koneechiwa, or People of the Good Afternoon). I followed a series of concentric circles in deep rotation inside the tiled pattern but rotation at a seemingly random angle (see Rand Corp.'s groundbreaking work in the 1950's for a primer) until a young man in red and came up to me, and brusquely jammed a finger into my neck. "What do you intend to do with this information?" he shouted, "To whom will you give it, What do you intend to do with this information?", I stammered and he took the opportunity to continue, "Don't tell me, another egghead, well, get used to the fact that the whole word isn't your laboratory, Professori-" A break here because I need to really get into this point. I am not Italians, nor do I have many physical features found on that southern peninsula, but he called me Professori. The significance, I certainly can't say and speculation isn't my game, but I wanted to highlight this particular bit because it intrigued me so. "-and that is proprietary information you've got up your coat, proprietary information! They might not believe in private property in-" I can't relate this bit completely, because I didn't understand it all. Like those tapes, where the unintelligible is added over the rough spots, he said something nearly obscene it sounded, and it ended in -stan. Maybe re-assessing my nationality toward the middle east, I was at a loss. Again, I must stress, I am fair-skinned, deeply freckled even, with straight blond hair. "-stan, but here at Target we have worked and worked and worked again and-" The course he was taken continued for several minutes, repeatedly focused on what I intended to do with this information. After he calmed, I explained to him the mathematical insinuations made by the floor planner of your specific Target were fascinating "-but its ours!" and beyond intent or any proprietary interests. It was odd, we were speaking at cross purposes but he seemed to understand the deep math- Yes, unnecessary and not even really related to the tile projections and plotting, which is what he said and what led me to my belief that he knew, just what I was talking about, but I was trying to get away with a little something by confusing the poor boy- and the plotting techniques I was describing. Strangely, he made certain insinuations about the end product of my research that bore out, but that could be my old mind playing tricks on me, but again, and again, he was only interested in my right to take these notations, my use of these findings and who my employer thought he was trying to pull this crap using a pathetic old man- to his credit, I must say before he finds himself in trouble over something so minor, he didn't believe I was an old man until several minutes later when an attempt at my jowls was made, after which he apologized deeply and allowed me to leave with my notes intact, if ruffled. As I said before, the young man's predictions, well, hindsight reveals them to be assertions and largely true ones. This only enlivens a formerly latent instinct that these were built with intent.

Concluding, I found the experience odd, but if Target does have a policy regarding the placement of tiles and sub-mathematical models within that placement, is it over to the top to ask to have it posted in a public area? Near the entrance and egress, a large plastinated sheet, detailing the algorithmic or arithmetical elements beneath out feet (and noses)? It seems nasty and mean-spirited to plant such lovely numbers below me and then claim property without alerting me that I might find them, and further to instruct the enforcers of your team to rough the numbers right out of me.

Thank you,
H.