My trips to Wal-Mart are probably like yours. I don’t even peek at the prices of the items we have to have, and then I see one or two things not on our list that I decide I want but don’t really need.

A receipt that used to total $80 to $85 now routinely is over $100. Perhaps yours is even worse.

A recent trip to the discount retailer, though, threw me all out of whack.

Not only did I visit a store out of my side town, but it was even in another state (OK, just Fort Oglethorpe).

I had taken my son to a church party with several friends, and, wanting to be a good steward of my gasoline, and always wanting to save a buck (in a state where most food is tax exempt), I decided to go to the closest store.

I guess most Wal-Marts are laid out similarly, but there’s always a slight difference. In this one, for instance, the bread was out of place and the paper goods were back in the aisles where they once were in the store I usually frequent in East Brainerd.

Eventually, I found most everything on my list, with the exception of the items I can’t find at my regular store anymore. For instance, why don’t they carry lemon ammonia? Or the Tyson Anytizer Cheddar & Bacon Chicken Bites my son likes?

Before I could make it to the check-out area, I was twice confronted by strangers, giving me two opportunities to be gracious and improve my comfort level in such situations. When I left Wal-Mart, though, I would grade myself at no better than a “C.”

In the first situation, I had my head down as I made sure the last item on my list — I believe it was my wife’s B12 vitamins — was the proper dose.

As I did, I heard the voice of someone at the head of my cart. I looked up to find a young man with a packaged flat sheet in his hand. From his voice and his ear piece, I realized he had a hearing deficit. But he also had a friendly smile and a dilemma. He wasn’t sure he had the right sheet.

So we went over to the home goods, where I questioned him as to whether he needed the fitted or flat sheet. I understood him to say that the sheet he needed was stretchy, so I found a fitted sheet for him. Then I asked him what size bed he had, and I believe he indicated it was “small.” So did he need a twin or full sheet? I found him a twin and told him I thought that was it.

As I pushed toward the check-out area, he stayed beside me, chattering away in a words I didn’t completely understand. I continued answering the questions I thought I heard, then paused at the on-sale books. At that point, he said “thanks” and walked away. I was glad to have helped but hoped I’d helped enough.

On the book aisle, I was looking down at a book when I heard a man say, “Are you a writer?” I looked up to find a smiling man in his late 30s or 40s who had a cart of his own. “You work for the newspaper,” he said. “I recognize you from your picture. You’re a hero. At least, you’re a local hero.”

At this point, clearly uncomfortable, I think I may have muttered my name.

Still smiling, he again said he recognized me from my picture in the paper, and that I looked even better in person.

I believe I said “thanks,” and then he moved on. By the time I got to the check-out aisles, I knew I had blown it. Why didn’t I shake his hand and tell him I appreciated him recognizing me? Why didn’t I ask him his name and what he did, and tell him how much I appreciated him reading the newspaper.

While I waited my turn in line, I looked around for him, hoping for another chance. I hoped he would pull his cart in behind me while I pulled an tin of chocolate Altoids off the shelf and put it in my cart.

He never showed.

After years of interviewing perfect strangers, from former presidents to toddlers, I should be able to make small talk with someone saying something nice to me. But I don’t always succeed.

My mama taught not to brag or be boastful, but I’ve probably taken it too far the other way and have a hard time accepting praise or thanks.

So, to those who might receive a grateful mumble from me in the future, I’m working on it. God’s not finished with me yet.

To suggest a faith story, contact Clint Cooper at ccooper@timesfreepress.com.