Upon entering the building, the first thing I noticed was the cart corral. Contrary to its customary empty void, with three or four handicapped carts at the back end of a black tunnel, there were hundreds of BRAND SPANKING NEW carts!! I was ecstatic and immediately thought to myself, "Well, someone out there clearly reads my blog!" Due to my incessant bitching, Facebook posting, and blogging about terrible Walmart experiences - most of them referring to their grocery carts - someone finally decided to fix the problem. (You are welcome, City of Corbin! I deserve an award - or a cookie.)
Filled with excitement over my Lexus cart (ride so smooth, I felt like I was pushing it over a cloud), I began to push my cart in the direction of the first aisle I needed to visit. Not even 20 seconds into my new cart-induced high, I encounter the first insane thing. (Only not insane, it is normal, as this is Walmart - Corbin's Walmart.) A woman had her toddler on a leash. No, I am not talking about the cute "monkey on your back" leash you see at Walt Disney World. I mean a device intended for an animal. This woman had LITERALLY taken a dog harness - the kind service dogs wear - and strapped it on her child. Attached to said harness was a rope. Yes, a ROPE - like the kind you use to tie a horse to a pen (or tie a body bag closed, before tossing it into a river). THAT kind of rope. I found myself stalled, unable to move. (Otherwise, I would have snapped a picture.) I could only stand there and watch the defenseless "toddler on a rope" (similar to "soap on a rope") being PULLED about the store.
**speechless**
Once I snapped back (from wherever my mind went), I turned down the main grocery row, proceeded to the back of the store, and VROOOOOM!! I had to "slam on my brakes" (thank God for the Lexus cart), as a little boy went flying across the front of my cart - exiting the aisle on my right and entering the aisle on my left - on a BIKE! (I swear, it is like a damn zoo in there!!) I waited a few seconds - presuming there would be a parent running behind, in an attempt to catch him - but nada. He was, evidently, left to his own devices. (Naturally.)
Again, I shook off the insanity and continued pushing my cart to the back, when I realized something - my cart was veering to the right. I could not help myself. I started laughing out loud in the store, because the humor in the realization that even NEW carts veer to the right was just too much to contain! Wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes, I pulled my cart up to the dairy section. After grabbing a couple gallons of milk (By the way - is it just me or does anyone else hold their breath, when they open the dairy refrigerator?!), I headed to the juices. As it turned out, the Corbin Walmart juices were NOT expired! (Shocking, I know!) **For those who missed out, please refer to I am NOT a People Person.** I picked out a few yummy juice blends, selected some baby jar food in the next aisle over, and then pushed my sweet, stylish, continuously veers to the right cart in the direction of the cash registers.
I finally found a checkout line with ONLY three people ahead of me, so I jumped into the queue and waited. When the man in front of me made it to the conveyor belt, he started unloading his items - into two distinct piles. I honestly did not think much about it, as I am constantly behind the person who wants to have 75 separate transactions. (I, now, consider it a Walmart normal.) The cashier asked him if he would like to pay for the two piles separately. The customer - a middle-aged man in a black leather jacket, black jeans, and black sneakers - explained that one transaction was fine, the piles merely indicated sale items vs regularly priced items. (I remember thinking - "Why on Earth would one make a pile to differentiate such a thing?" - until he reached into his pocket.) Out came an entire freaking newspaper, which contained FIVE full-length pages of pictures of shit and their discounted prices. (The separate pile was so that each time a sale item was scanned, he could then "find" the pictorial newspaper version and confirm the price reflecting on the independent cash register screen. Have I mentioned this pile consisted of some 15+ items??) Truthfully, though, THIS was not the absolutely infuriating part. The EFFIN' INSANE PART was that the gentleman was having trouble finding the pictures and even said to the cashier, "I am sorry. I cannot see these pictures very well." (Who can guess why he could not see? Anyone? Anyone at all?! I shall tell you!) I had to intentionally control myself, as this JACKASS was - wait for it - WEARING SUNGLASSES!!!
**cue sounds of shotguns going off in my head**
(I am not certain you all feel my frustration yet, so allow me to continue.)
Recap: We have a DOUCHEBAG man in black in front of me, who has taken the time to separate 103 sale items from his non-sale items. He is holding the ENCYCLOPEDIA of sales newspaper advertising in his hand and is double checking EVERY.SINGLE.ITEM scanned.
(Still with me?)
Back to Present: The very last item scanned did NOT match up. By that, I mean it had scanned a full 11 cents - Eleven. E.L.E.V.E.N. One dime + one penny. - higher. When Mr. Too Cool to Remove His Sunglasses noticed the disparity, he made a forced, nonchalant comment to the cashier along the lines of, "Oh, that one is 11 cents higher. It is okay, though. It is not that big of a deal." (PAH-EFFIN-LEASE! DO **NOT** EVEN TRY TO ACT LIKE THIS IS NOT A BIG DAMN DEAL! TIS A **HUGE** DEAL AND EVERYONE HERE KNOWS IT! YOU CANNOT MAKE TWO SEPARATE PILES, COMPARE EACH ITEM SCANNED WITH A SALES AD, AND THEN TRY TO PRETEND YOU ARE AN INSANELY RICH BILLIONAIRE - WITH KNOCK OFF SUNGLASSES - WHO SHITS OUT ELEVEN CENTS EACH MORNING! NO.ONE.BELIEVES.YOU!!!!!!!! NOT TO MENTION - I WILL **KILL** YOU, IF AFTER EVERYTHING WE HAVE ALL HAD TO GO THROUGH, YOU DO **NOT** MAKE THE CASHIER DEDUCT THE 11 CENTS! **OWN IT!** MAKE HIM DEDUCT IT, DAMN IT, BEFORE SOMEONE GETS HURT!!!)
By the time Mr. I Wish I Were James Dean's transaction was completed, I found myself hating the world. (I am quite certain that 37.43% of my stress would disappear, if I would quit going to Walmart. However, the moment I stop going to Walmart is the moment I no longer have anything about which to blog.) As I moved foward, sweet and over friendly Billy greeted me enthusiastically!!! (Per usual, when I am approaching the point of internal implosion, the cashier is ALWAYS the most chipper person alive.) I mustered a feeble, "I am fine. Thank you for asking." Then, Billy went and did it. One of my ***BIGGEST*** pet peeves - HANDS DOWN! He asked me a STUPID question!!! (Seriously, ask my husband how I feel about such nonsense. I go from calm to outraged in 0.3 seconds, when asked a ridiculous question. I know they say the only stupid question is the one not asked, but that is simply not true. There are plenty of questions, where the askers' brain cells actually begin to die, once said questions are voiced. I am certain there is a study out there about it.) As he grabbed the first jar of baby food, he asked, "Do you have a baby at home?" (NO, DUMBASS! I JUST BUY IT TO TAKE UP SPACE IN MY PANTRY!!) Naturally, I just stared at him and counted to ten - out loud - with my eyes closed. (He stopped asking me questions, though.) Fortunately, Billy was smart enough to remain silent for the rest of our time together, other than when he handed me my receipt - with a shaking hand - and said, "Thank you." (Billy is a fast learner.)
After making a swift gesture forward with my upper body (just to see if Billy would urinate on himself), I took my receipt and began pushing my cart in the direction of the exit. About 25 feet from the door, however, something caught my eye. Outside the ophthalmology center was a small table, adorned with a makeshift camouflage table cloth (an obvious fail, as I still saw it), with various pairs of sunglasses sitting on top of it. Not immediately noting the camo/sunglass connection (Who would?), I steered my cart in the table's direction. (I should have minded my own business.) Upon investigation, I discovered that the brand of sunglasses on display were Duck Command (or Central or Starship Enterprise - I cannot remember). It hit me like a brick: Only in Southeastern Kentucky could one sell such a brand, and - in an attempt to "jazz up" the display - someone realized that they had a camo tshirt in their car (or more likely, was wearing it) and decided to use it as a tablecloth. (You know, in order to be all "fancy" and "decoratively astute.")
When I - finally - made it out the door, I was so entranced with leaving everything horrifying behind me that I did not see the Salvation Army/Toys for Tots/Money for Meth Labs guy standing to the right of the door. He shouted from my 4 o'clock position, "Hello, Ma'am! Would you like to..." I did not even let him finish. Without breaking my stride - I put on the best smile I could conjure, turned my head over my shoulder, threw my hand up in a half wave, and said, "No, but thank you for asking!" He smiled back. (We all know he was thinking, "BITCH!") The rest of the way to my truck, I could not help but think, "Those guys have it all wrong! They need to be standing at the ENTRANCE, not the exit." Think about it: 1) You have yet to make a purchase, so it stands to reason you have money on you. 2) You have yet to enter the Seventh Circle of Hell and have your soul sucked out. 3) You are more likely to be in a better mood entering Walmart, rather than leaving it. I truly think they could up their sales by a good 41.9% (I read a lot of studies), if they would catch patrons on their way inside. (I thought about going back and telling him, but was too tired.)
By the time I made it to my vehicle, I discerned something else - my feet were FREEZING!! (They have never been that cold from a simple, short walk.) When I looked down, obviously having forgotten about my new shoes, I instantly became irate - until I remembered that I am sticking it to "The Man!"
(Those of you who know me in person and/or follow me on Facebook are probably aware of my "shoe situation." I like regular tennis shoes. I do not need anything fancy to wear to work or run around Disney. However, I do not want shoes my father would wear. I like leather shoes - FULL leather shoes. I prefer the leather to be a neutral color - light silver, grey, or white. I do not like mesh shoes or black shoes. I want them to be comfortable. I want them to contain zero mesh, so I do not have to worry about my feet getting wet in the rain. I want them to be a normal color. Once upon a time, one could find these tennis shoes anywhere and everywhere. In today's brightly colored, mesh world - NO!! Do not get me wrong, I love my running/training shoes to be fun and festive, but NOT the shoes I wear on a daily basis.) I had searched for a replacement set of shoes for more than a year. I had worn my latest pair of shoes for so long that the inside cushions were completely worn on three sides, the shoelaces would not hold their tie tightly, and my heels would throb at the end of the day.
It got to the point that I had no choice but to break down and buy a colorful, mesh shoe just so that I could get through the work day, without feeling elderly. So, in typical fashion, I jumped on the "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" adage. However, my personality makes it difficult for me to be defeated. For this reason, I did not simply "join 'em," I became their &*@%ing leader! I ordered the brightest, meshiest (Shut your mouth! It is a word, if I deem it so!) shoe in the world. I am rocking shoes that look like a clown threw up a rainbow. I strut myself like I do not give a damn, because I truly do not. You have a problem with my disco light shoes? You walk right over here, so I can shove one up your ass. It does not matter to me that I am wearing a pair of shoes that represents EVERYTHING I HATE about shoes. What matters is that the shoe companies of the world thought I would mentally crumble and succumb to their ways. (Bitch, please! RANDi with an 'i' chooses her OWN path!) I wear confetti shoes, because *I* choose to do so. I not only designed them, I personalized them. I made a pair of shoes that even Nike will recognize as going too far in today's brightly colored, mesh world. (I JUST MADE YOU MY BITCH, NIKE - AND MY NAME IS SEWN ON MY SHOES TO PROVE IT!!)
No comments:
Post a Comment