Seriously. There is something that chemically happens to me between Monday and Friday each and every week that makes me forget that I have sworn off coming to this consumer Mecca. I don’t know how, but I seem to find myself pushing, nudging, and damn near getting run over inside and outside of Wal-Mart. It starts with an “I just need a few….” or a “Chase just needs some more food”, or the proverbial, “We’ll just be in and out”.
Then it happens. You’re there. Between the beer aisle and the Milk aisle. Some lady (usually a woman with a purpose and a few kids attached to her) runs into you and gives you the look of, “Why did you hit my cart? Don’t you know I’m at my whit’s end?” It’s all I can do to keep my religion and sense of humor.
Then there are the shopper zombies. They have a dazed look on their faces and are probably communicating with one another with less than audible clicks and cries, “30% off 50lb bags of kitty litter” they’re probably saying to each other.And for some reason, someone higher up on the retail food chain decides that restocking in the middle of “weekend madness” is a great idea. The words, “Chumming the waters” probably crosses their minds if not their lips.
Sweat begins to form on my brow and the small of my back. I cannot make it to the completely backed up cash registers fast enough. I just have to get out. I feel like the tiny bottle I’m in is filling up with sand and I won’t have room to breath if I don’t get the hell out of here soon. After we make our deposit, the greeters in the front quickly size me up and down and decide that since all of our items are in little plastic bags that we must not be criminals. They let us pass with only the visible inspection and the stroke of the yellow highlighter pen.The electronic doors open with all the fervor of the doors on Battle Star Galactica and the philanthropist are there to paw at your change. “Buy some wrapping paper” or “We are selling popcorn…” Thinking quickly I take a fake call on my cell phone and the children turn beggars let me pass without a clue there is no one on the other end of my call. It hurts inside, but only a little. Besides our car is in sight.
just to navigate the shark infested parking lot. The predator that rules this part of the planet Wal-Mart is parkingspacious overzealous. One false bob or weave and me and my family could be a memory. We make it to the car, put our things in. Waiting to take our space are two of the illusive species mentioned above. I can feel their stare boring into the back of my skull. I shrug off their stares as I do the right thing and return the cart to the holding pen. There it will soon be rescued by a very small, boy-like creature with and electronic lasso that will help him control hundreds of discarded, uncared for buggies by the end of the day.
We hop in the car, securely fasten our safety belts, and prepare for warp speed out of this Twilight Zone episode. Quickly now, past the lady who was selling kittens when we arrived. (They are now marked down to free because she only has 4 left). And….and…..and…..
We made it! The tension melts away like the polar ice caps and I swear off Wal-Mart under my breath once again. I vow to never come back on a weekend again. Then I wait for the reaction in my brain that will erase my memory of this horrible experience like Men In Black. That way I can come make my weekly deposit next Saturday…or maybe Sunday.