April 28, 2010
Generally speaking, I try oh-so-hard to be ultra-diplomatic on this blog. In an effort to avoid ruffling any feathers, I like to keep my opinions tucked tightly under the rug. But today? Today my friends, I plan to tell it like it is. Specifically:
I HATE WALMART.
From the filthy children, to the produce that smells like the foyer of the SPCA, to the middle-aged people carting oxygen tanks around in the basket of the complimentary JazzyXL scooters, I HATE WALMART.
(aaaaaaand, cue the guilt)
I've got to say, the WalMart in my neck of the woods, is far and away the nastiest one I've ever had the displeasure of patronizing. I've been in urban WalMarts, country WalMarts, and everything in between--but this place? This place is just plain over the top.
1. I've seen not one, not two, but three fights break out at the $5 movie bin in the last two years. The most recent fight, I kid you not, was waged over a discount copy of Nacho Libre. It was between a dirty looking Grandma and another dirty looking Grandma, and my goodness there was flab undulating all over the place with the peeved-off back and forth grabbing.
2. It's 100% impossible to find baby pajamas between the sizes of 6 months and 18 months. In other words, they don't stock sleepers in 9 or 12 months. Probably because it's cheaper to wrap a baby up in some paper towels and call it a day. They're all, "PIjamas! That baby don't need no PIjamas! Just dun wrap 'em up in this har paper-towlin' and you got yerself sumfin' better 'n PIjamas!"
3. Using the bathroom is like scoring a free ticket to Diarrhea Fest 2010. Apparently, every single patron of my neighborhood WalMart (except for my family) has a raging case of the runs, uses an entire roll of toilet paper to handle the mess, clogs the toilet, and then repeats the process in every stall in the joint. Seriously, I don't think I've ever been in that bathroom and not had the displeasure of witnessing the smells and sounds of a redneck losing their bowels out their anus.
4. My friend had her eyebrows waxed at the local WalMart salon (hello, horrible choice!) while she was waiting to have some pictures printed, and with the exception of five hairs, the beautician accidentally WAXED OFF HER ENTIRE LEFT EYEBROW.
5. Our trips to WalMart prompt James to ask all kinds of questions that I don't want to answer...."Mom, why can't Maggie have blue juice in her bottle?"...."Mom, why isn't that man wearing any underpants?"...."Mom, I wish my shirt had light-up iPod speakers sewn onto it."
6. Somehow, the same creepy greeter seems to work both entrances of the store 24/7. You walk in, he slowly eyes you up and down and he says something very long and drawn out like, "Hello, welcome to your always friendly, very happy, oh so helpful, really nice, very friendly...wait, did I already say friendly?...neighborhood WalMart."
And then when you walk out he's all, "I'll need to check your receipt."
And I'm like, "Really? I thought they only do that at Sam's Club. You really need to check my receipt?"
He'll read through it, find the most personal item purchased and be like, "Did you find your [tampons, condoms, Vagasil, KY, herpes medication...you get the idea] without any trouble today?"
Believe you me, I hate WalMart for each of the reasons listed above, but somehow, even when you add them all together, it was never enough to keep me away from that perverted little happy face and his messed-up deals.
It was the experience we had two weeks ago that finally made me say, "For as long as I shall live, I will never step foot into my local WalMart ever, ever again."
...but I'll have to write about that later. Right now, Maggie's waking up.