Wal-Mart – The Most Wonderful Place On Earth

I took my first trip to Wal-Mart by myself the other day. That’s right, I said it, my first trip by myself! For anyone that just said to his or her self, “Big Deal!” You’ve either never been to Wal-Mart by your self before or simply put you’re a masochist.

After dogging camouflage trucks with Confederate flags in the back window and poor Calvin peeing on a Ford logo and ’89 Pontiac Firebirds with more rust than the once sweet blue-green paint job with the black racing stripe down the middle, I finally found a parking spot.

It was a little warm outside, so the long walk to the door seemed to take forever, but that didn’t stop the people from hanging out. It looked like people were tailgating for a monster truck rally. Nearly every woman was wearing a Winnie-the-Pooh t-shirt that was just a bit too small for her 350-pound frame. While every guy decided to beat the heat they wouldn’t wear a shirt at all. Of course their shirts were tucked in their back pocket of their jeans, so they could get into the store later.

After hearing a nice blend of Bon Jovi, Lynard Skynard and Garth Brooks blasting from every third car/truck in the lot, I was almost to the door. With my eyes on the prize, and making sure not to look at any of the locals in the eyes either, I walked at a quickened pace with my head slightly down.

Now, I’m a smoker, and normally smoke doesn’t bother me, especially outside. But when I walk through the bright yellow road blocker things that stop terrorists from killing everyone, I entered a cloud of smoke that burned my eyes and made me want to vomit. Shocked by the sudden change in climate I dared to look up. I wish I didn’t. I saw small pods of people all huddled around the door conveniently so the door would stay ajar and the cold air-conditioning would flow over them. In each pod there was four generations of women, all smoking. Late 50s great grandma next to early 40s grandma standing next to mid-20s Winnie-the-Pooh mom all standing over a 7 year-old girl, somehow squeezed into the shopping cart seat. In some cases, the 7 year-old girl was smoking as well, while holding a 6 month old baby.

Finally I entered the Wal-Mart and was able to get a cart. I picked the cleanest one and only had to remove 3 pieces of trash from it, and luckily nothing was wet. I quietly try to pass the sleeping, 89 year-old greeter, so I can get this over with a quick as I can.

With my list in hand I begin my shopping experience. As I wander up and down the miles and miles of isles I start to wonder why it’s taking so long. Then I realize that no one is actually moving. The people in the store seemed to have moved their tailgate indoors! Small groups of people stand around, filling the isles, talking! But instead of just standing there, they have to drag their cart along with them. Some seem to use the cart for support, holding them up. Others, the lucky ones, have found one of those drivable carts, but unfortunately for me, they can’t seem to figure out how to drive it.

After watching a 99 year-old woman have an Austin Powers moment, trying to turn her drivable cart around mid-isle, I decide to park my cart in the small health food section, assuming that it’s a low traffic area and no one will bother it there. I decide to hunt for my items cart-less. I pick a few items from the list and go. After dogging stray carts and stagnant people, I find the item and bring it back to my cart, pick a few more items from the list and do it again.

All was going well, the only things I had to worry about was not falling asleep from the constant hum of the building or pulling out my hair from the nonstop screaming of some child in a cart. Then came the time to check out.

Forty minutes after entering the store, I had everything I needed and was ready to leave. I found what I thought would be the shortest line, and waited. Lesson to be learned, never pick the shortest line. Others must know something I don’t, because the line took forever. Only to find out, I somehow picked the line with the one-armed checker!

Not wanting to seem rude, I waited, and waited, and waited. Finally I reached the front of the line and watched my items slowly, one by one, cross the scanner thing. By this time a lady with a screaming child was standing behind me. Her other child, somewhere around 8 years old was wandering aimlessly in circles, until he found me. He started pulling on my jeans with his candy covered hands and asked me annoying questions like, “How old are you?”, “What’s your name?”. I wanted to shout, “I DON’T KNOW YOU KID! GO AWAY!”. But I didn’t, I just smiled at the kid and then at his mother. She wasn’t paying attention.

In my mind, I begged the one armed checker to grow another arm like the Lizard in Spider-man, get a robotic one like Anakin Skywalker in Star Wars or at least move a little faster. Eventually she finished, I paid for my items, and splitting headache sticky pants me left the store.

Back through the cloud of smoke, and through the monster truck rally, listening to a Freebird / Livin’ on a Prayer / Thunder Rolls mixture. I made it to my car, loaded my stuff, got in, and waited again. It seems that everyone wanted to leave at the same time as me.

I did eventually make it out of the parking lot and home to my own screaming kid and lovely wife. But I do believe that I deserve some sort of metal of honor or a Purple Heart for my service, and I vow not to ever do that again. And I’m sure it will hold up just like me not mowing the lawn.

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