I saw a fent addict in a Walmart once as I was shopping for Benadryl, as I grabbed the bottle, he began to unfold.

At first, I thought it was just my eyes playing tricks on me. Maybe the fluorescent lights were too bright, or I was dehydrated from the 12 Diet Cokes I’d downed in the last hour. But no, this man, this legend, was actually unfolding right in front of me like a human origami masterpiece.

One minute, he was a guy standing in front of the Red Bull fridge, looking confused like the rest of us at 3 a.m. in Walmart, and the next—WHOOSH—he began slowly unfolding from a hunched-over shape into a full human-sized sheet. I could hear the faint sound of paper crinkling as his limbs stretched out like a malfunctioning IKEA sofa.

I wasn’t sure if I should call 911, or just get a video for the "Walmart Shitposts" subreddit. But I was mesmerized. He kept going—arms extended, legs stretching like he was auditioning for a part in the next Transformers movie.

At one point, I thought he was going to start folding into a chair, like some kind of living recliner, but instead, he just folded his arms and took a seat on the floor. All this while the self-checkout machine was beeping in the background, like a modern-day hymn of the absurd.

The best part? He looked at me, nodded solemnly, and whispered, “Benadryl will fix this.” Then, just as quickly as it started, he folded up into the fetal position, turned into a human burrito, and rolled away.

I left the store, Benadryl in hand, unsure if I had just witnessed a man on fentanyl or some new type of Walmart employee training. Either way, I knew I’d never look at the folding chairs in that aisle the same way again.