by The Boss
Wal-Mart is evil, and I will tell you why.
First, we drive into the parking lot. Our van will begin to turn down an isle, but then be forced to stop because someone is going to wait for a person to pull out of their parking space that is next to the handicap parking spaces. Never mind the fact that we could actually be parked, even at the very end, and have our 4 children out of the car and in the store before this person actually gets their goods in the car and pulls out of the parking space.
You think to yourself, maybe I’ll back up. No, you can’t back up because someone is behind you now, and someone is behind them now and so on. So, you just wait, while you watch all these people walk to their cars, get in them and drive away. The bozo in front of you is determined to get the first parking space, because walking is just too hard. I would feel differently if this person was a mother with children and it was pouring down rain, or maybe and elderly person. But, it’s not.
Finally, we get into a spot and walk through those sliding doors, trying to avoid the person who is asking for money. “Avoid eye contact…avoid eye contact…” I’m not trying to be selfish here, I am just skeptical of organizations I am unfamiliar with. Plus, I never carry cash.
We walk in the store and 1 of 2 things will happen. If Ben is with me, he says, “Oh, I have to go to the bathroom.” If Ben isn’t with me, one of the children will say, “I have to go to the bathroom.” Once one person goes to the bathroom, they all want to go. So, I spend a good amount of time stepping over wet toilet paper and strange puddles and trying not to have a break down because my children are obsessed with public restrooms and I cringe at the very thought of them.
Then, we go down the same isles. Pick up the same things every week. Then (as Beth mentioned,) you look up, you see someone. If you want to see this person, you go out of your way to track them down and talk to them. If you don’t want to see them, all of the sudden you feel like you can do without the rest of your grocery lists…or just leave your entire cart where it is and run like the wind out of the store. You hope that they haven’t seen you and if they have, maybe they’re avoiding you and you wont have to talk to them “Wait, what have I done to them? Why are they avoiding me?” By the time you realize you don’t want to know, you’ve been spotted and you throw on your, “Gosh I almost didn’t see you there” face.
We pile our carts full of stuff Made in China and try not to think about our crashing economy, and just hope that it will all get better over night.
People get annoyed with you because you’re standing in front of the Doritos, and you’re just trying to grab some popcorn but can’t get to it because a lady just ran into her mother’s first cousin on her dad’s side, and they are talking about Family Reunion ’85.
You see the people who feel like everyone should clear out of the way for them, and the people who have their carts crammed with the same three products: frozen chicken pot pie, canned Dr. Pepper, and fruit cups. Then you see the frazzled type, they have a cart filled with 107 jars of baby food, a pack of diapers, and beer.
By the time we make it to the end of our Wal-Mart route, Zion has gotten over tired and Aidan has decided she will walk on her knees through out the rest of the store because her feet hurt. Andrew has spotted a Thomas sippy cup on an end cap and we haven’t noticed he’s not walking with us anymore.
Ben drags Andrew from the Thomas sippy cup, I tell Aidan to get off the floor for the 60th time, and Zion is trying to eat the chapstick that is mixed in with the last minute items. The cashier trys to keep her annoyance hidden as my children try to help her load our groceries in bags, and spin the bag holder. I yell for them to stop, which is a waste of breath because spending a hour plus in Wal-Mart makes children deaf and dumb but unfortunately, not mute.
Finally, we’re approaching those sliding doors again and we start to feel like we’ve made it. But alas, those stupid gumball machines have caught the eye of my children and because my mother always gives them quarters for it when she’s with us, they wrap their arms and legs around them, protesting our horrible parenting ways. “But whhhhhyyyyyyyy can’t we have somethiiiiiiiiiiiiing?….Whhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyy?”
We make it out the doors, and once again avoid eye contact. We don’t have to wait on traffic to stop because someone is holding up all the traffic waiting for that stupid parking place. We get to our car, we put the children inside, and try to drive away without being ran over by a truck with wheels as huge as our car.
My conclusion is that Sam Walton was a evil sorcerer who put a horrible spell on us all. Why else would we spend our money on this sort of thing?
