Last night I went to WalMart. I hate WalMart for the same reasons everyone else does, but the prices are so good I force myself to go there.
As you all know, it is impossible to go to WalMart and leave without having a story to tell about the experience. In fact, I've decided that every time I go there, I am going to blog about what I saw.
Last night was no different than any other trip to WalMart. The trash was out in full force. I saw the usual stained and ripped clothing, muffin tops, and plumber's cracks. But I got special treats too.
I watched a man smack his child, who was still small enough to be in the child seat of the cart, in the face. Hard. I mean, he jacked this kid up. And the really sad part is that the child didn't even cry, like he was used to being treated that way.
But the scary part for me was in the frozen foods aisle. A man standing several feet from me was on the phone with his insurance agent and was just m.f.'ing the agent up one side and down the other, and he was screaming it. Now don't get me wrong: I probably have been guilty of m.f.'ing an insurance agent a time or two, but I'm sure it was done in the privacy of my own home.
When the call was over, I thought I could pick out my frozen pizza and get away. WRONG. The man turned to me and started yelling at me about his insurance company. I stood there, frozen as the waffles in my cart, and listened to the tirade, while praying that my bladder didn't give way out of fear.
When there was a break in the rant, I did the only thing a sensible person would do: I agreed that towing should be part of a liability only insurance policy and that $80 per month is way too much to pay for a 19 year-old driver on the policy. Then I grabbed my cart and got the heck out of WalDodge (without my frozen pizza, I might add.)
I'm really not judging the trash at WalMart. I can't judge them, because I've BEEN the trash at WalMart.
One of the biggest fights my ex and I ever had, prior to his affair, was at WalMart.
I should've known better than to go with him that day. We were both cranky from long days at work and we had been bickering with each other.
Anyway, the very first thing Danny put in our cart was my pretzels. I said, "You're supposed to get those last so they don't get smooshed."
He snapped, "I'm only trying to do something nice for you and I get yelled at."
I really was trying to defuse the situation when I responded, "Look, I really think you're being hyper-sensitive over the whole thing. I'm just trying to tell you how NOT to get smooshed pretzels."
Then we went to the dairy aisle. As I was walking towards the cheese, he asked, "How many yogurts should I get?"
I answered, "I don't know. Ten, I guess."
Danny must have still been miffed over the pretzel incident because he asked again, VERY LOUDLY, "How many yogurts should I get?"
Not to be outdone, I YELLED AS LOUD AS I COULD all the way down the aisle, "I DON'T KNOW. TEN, I GUESS."
I swear, everyone who passed us after that looked at us and I could feel them thinking, "Trash!"
Am I alone in this? Have you ever been the trash of WalMart? C'mon, spill it. We can be each other's support group.