Mr. McSporty

April 30, 2010

Guess which one one is mine...

(the conclusion of the WalMart story is down below...)

I Still Hate WalMart

April 30, 2010

Everyone knows that unless you're in the market for a .22 long rifle in the $74-$79 price range, or a children's life jacket, one should never purchase sporting goods from WalMart. I mean really, have you seen those elliptical trainers? They should come with a life insurance policy. Honestly, I think I'd rather ride a rickshaw through the streets of HoChiMin City than spend 30 seconds on one of those machines. Seriously, stick me on a rusted out 1970's carnival ride any day of the week. WalMart exercise equipment? I don't think so.

And that's precisely where Jared and I went astray.

We were strolling through the sporting goods section of WalMart, enjoying the views of NASCAR paraphernalia and novelties designed for ultimate fans of Ultimate Fighting, when we happened across a handheld GPS that was marked 40% off. It was name brand, it took AA batteries (just like we'd been looking for), and the weekend before, we had seen the exact same model at LL Bean in Freeport.

There was one GPS left, so it's needless to say that we went for it.

Now if you're not exactly sure what a handheld GPS is, don't sweat it--the Sporting Goods Manager had no idea either.

JARED: Is this thing all set to go?

SPORTING GOODS MANAGER: Uhhhhhh...(looks at the back of the box).....uhhhhh.....yup.

JARED: So all we have to do is pop in the batteries and we're ready to start using it?

SPORTING GOODS MANAGER: Ummmm....(looks at the back of the box again)....that's right.

And we bought it.

As soon as we got into the parking lot, we knew we were in trouble. According the the GPS, we were standing in the middle of a field in Los Angeles. Since we were clearly standing in the middle of the WalMart parking lot, and as far as I know there aren't any fields in LA, we decided to take the GPS home and read the instruction manual.

And that's when we found out that you need to buy a $200 software upgrade before you can even use the damn thing to find your mailbox.

Man, I love it when managers know their products so well!

So, the receipt was tucked back into the box, and the GPS proceeded to sit on the desk in our den for the next 21 days--until Jared's next trip to WalMart.

Jared went to WalMart three weeks later in search of a bike for James's fifth birthday. He planned to return the GPS and use the cash to buy the bike. You know--the Spiderman bike, that had no price tag, and no one to tell him the price, and no one to get it from the back, so now James has an orange bike from Target.

Anyhoo...Jared went to the service desk with the GPS and his receipt in hand.

JARED: Hi, I'd like to return this handheld GPS.

CUSTOMER SERVICE: [looks at receipt, point over her shoulder to a sign] Can't. There's a 15 day return policy on GPS units.

JARED: Really? My receipt says 90 days. I thought WalMart has a 90 day return policy. Isn't that what your commercials say?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: [points to sign again] 15 days for a GPS.

JARED: How was I supposed to know that?

CUSTOMER SERVICE: [points to sign again] Next!

JARED: Can I speak with the manager?

...15 minutes later the Assistant Manager comes out.

ASSISTANT MANAGER: What.

JARED: How was I supposed to know there was a 15 day return policy on this GPS?

ASSISTANT MANAGER: [points to sign]

JARED: But no one told me when I checked out, or at the sporting goods counter.

ASSISTANT MANAGER: You need to walk by the service desk on your way out and make sure there aren't any signs pertaining to the items you just bought.

JARED: Seriously?

ASSISTANT MANAGER: Next!

So Jared called me from WalMart and relayed the whole story--and to use WalMart speak, I was some angry. I said, "Jared, wait right there. I'm gonna call. We'll get 'em from both ends."

CUSTOMER SERVICE: This is WalMart.

ME: I'd like to speak with the store manager, please.

...15 minutes later the Assistant Manager picks up.

ME: Hi, my husband's standing at the service desk right now, and he's having trouble returning a GPS unit.

ASSISTANT MANAGER: [audible sigh mixed with an unbelievably beastly tone] He can't, it's been longer than 15 days. And he told me that he bought it so he could use it and return it.

ME: That's what he said?

ASSISTANT MANAGER: Yup.

ME: Well that's not true, but anyway, how were we supposed to know that the GPS had a 15 day return policy?

...silence.

ME: Kathy? Are you pointing to the sign right now?

ASSISTANT MANAGER: Yup.

ME: How else?

Okay, I won't torture you with the drawn out back and forth dialogue. According to Kathy, there was a sticker on the box (nope), it should have said it on the receipt (nope again), and there was a sign indicating the return policy in the electronics sections (well sorry Kath, that's another nope, we bought it in the sporting goods section not electronics).

So, after the third nope, it went like this...

ME: So will you let him return it?

ASSISTANT MANAGER: Nope.

And this is where it really heats up.

ME: Kathy, can I get the name and number of your boss?

ASSISTANT MANAGER: I don't have a boss.

ME: You're in charge of the whole store?

ASSISTANT MANAGER: I am.

ME: Do yo have a regional boss?

ASSISTANT MANAGER: No.

ME: So you're in charge of all WalMarts everywhere in the world?

ASSISTANT MANAGER: I am.

ME: Well then, we're gonna be on the phone with each other for a while.

And that's when Kathy hung up on me, scoffed the GPS out of Jared's hands, inspected every square inch of it (including each page of the instruction manual, one by one by one) for signs of foul play, and begrudgingly gave Jared his cash.

As for me? I will never step foot into my local WalMart for as long as I shall live.

As for you? Next time you shop at WalMart, please be sure to swing by the customer service desk on your way out of the store and ask about the return policy on every single item you purchased. And for my sake, do it on a day when you buy 30 bags of groceries.

They say: Satisfaction Guaranteed.

I say: I'm having a super hot, secret affair with Curtis Stone, the Take Home Chef.

Well look at that! We're both liars!

The End.

P.S. I still hate WalMart.

I Hate WalMart

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.

For example:

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.

Pending

April 28, 2010

Guess what I'm doing right this very moment?

Writing the WalMart post.

Stay tuned...

Fresh Out

April 27, 2010

Hey.

My mojo is gone.

Any questions? Topics you'd like to see tackled?

The emotions are still too raw for the WalMart post, so that'll have to wait.

The well is running dry.

This is what happens when I feel satisfied with my life. I need to move back to Dallas...