Episode VII

Live from your neighborhood friendly

WAL-MART

To say I hate Wal-Mart, is an understatement. I loathe Wal-Mart. Where this intense feeling first came from, or when it first started I cannot say, but the fact is this: I will not set foot in that hell hole unless I absolutely have no other choice. 

For instance:

My mother was in town last month and she wanted to buy my wife and me a new set of dishware. Our old set was the first set we bought when we got married, and has since seen better days. We still have the entire set of mugs, but our dinner plates, salad plates and bowls have since been dwindling in number. I like the set, but I have to admit, that it's just too bulky and heavy for our everyday needs. So my mother wanted to buy us a new set that was maybe more "user friendly". 

So we went and looked for some other options, but we just couldn't make up our mind as to which design or which brand we wanted. There's so many options it really is hard to choose one pattern, because then you have to live with it for the next several years.So finding something to replace our "oriental" themed dinnerware is a daunting task -- one that I'm afraid will take longer to decide on than it did for Enron to collapse. My mother didn't have that kind of time to wait, so she threw in the towel and asked us what else we needed. To which my wife and me decided that we'd be better off with a new stroller. 

Fast forward a month later and my mom calls telling us that we have a pick-up at Wal-Mart (duh duh duh duuuh). Rather than spend extra money on shipping and handling it made more sense for us just to pick the new stroller up, so guess who got volunteered. I knew the day before when my mother called that I would have to face the dark, stank dungeon that is Wally World, but knowing and going are two different things.

Let me first tell you that our Wal-Mart is THE busiest store on the East Coast. I don't think that one minute goes by that that Wally World isn't jammed packed with all matter of hicks, pricks, and dicks -- all shapes and colors too. It's a nightmare, really.

So I get up this afternoon knowing that I have to run in there to pick-up this stroller. My daughter is in tow and I rush in there. The door greeter is supposed to be a welcoming site, or so they say. And I realize they can't discriminate, but can't they at least get an average looking person to smile at you and welcome you to Wal-Mart?! No, instead they get the crotchety old person or the person who looks like their face blew-up to greet you into the store that has everything.

Once you're past that obstacle, then you have to bob and weave your way through crowded isles and cluttered walkways to make it to wherever it is you need to go. I tell you, this Wal-Mart has gone bad. No sooner am I five feet past the ghastly greeter, then I'm assaulted by yellow smiley specials and an assortment of hoo-hums who are waiting for gawd knows what.  

Then I finally make it into the store itself and face a maze of people and dollar store rejects. I don't know what it is with people today, but, "Put On Some Clothes!" I don't want to see your sixty year old titties, or your make-Shamu-jealous thunder thighs and blotted butt. Have some decency when you go out in public. I don't care how rich or how poor you are, you can dress in clothes that fit. Remember those days of "Sunday Clothes"? Or in the Brady Bunch were they dressed in their best clothes to go to Sears? Those standards need to apply today.  

After my daughter suffered the forever scarring terrors that are the customers of this place. We finally reach our intended target, the .Com receiving. Unfortunately this particular building, or maybe it's all stores, the receiving and the photo center are now one entity. I hand the lady my e-mail saying I have an order to pick-up, and she immediately asks, "what is this? is this for photos?" It's a bomb, lady! C'mon, read the paper. "Oh, did you bring a cart?" Um, no, shouldn't you have people to assist with things like this? "No, sorry; can I bring my car around back to pick it up?" I ask. Apparently not, so she gets kinda fussy and mutters something about needing to keep a cart at the counter for her 'stuff'. Okie-dokie. She goes back, and brings out the stroller. Finally, now I can leave.

So I zip back to the front of the store, dodging an old man who's taking up both sides of the isle, a couple of cluttered isle displays and break for daylight. I shake my self off, as I feel just nasty from those agonizing minutes in the store, and head to my car. If I wasn't feeling dirty from the hot and sticky day that was today's weather, then I was now. My daughter was even ready for a bath tonight, that's how bad that store makes me feel.

Just send me to Target next time and I'll be fine . . .