Adventures In Hell-Mart

Roll 'em back, people! I had to spend my morning in my least favorite place on earth next to a Port-o-Potty or The Dollar Tree. Actually, The Dollar Tree isn't too bad, seeing as it has a decent soundtrack. It's just that it always smells like burning plastic and the floor looks like a landfill. And I could never eat a jar of pickles from such a place.

But that being said, the experience of running into Wal-Mart for cheap dogfood or the makings of some sort of school project is like no other. The country music that frequently sounds over the intercom. The homeschoolers that have taken over like 'Red Dawn'. The trucker hats that people wear. The people.

It's like the fair minus the midway.

I had to go several times this week to acquire the necessary items needed to pull off a birthday party. The other trips have been brief and therefore relatively benign, but today I was there for nearly an hour - more than enough time to lose faith in Darwinism and go ahead and declare myself a pure-t creationist along with everyone else in there buying deeply discounted meat and bathroom cleaner.

My first mistake was looking the greeter in the eye. Believe it or not, I'm relatively polite to others and try to acknowledge those who are kind enough to acknowledge me. This includes greeters. But I have no time for chit-chat when I'm there, and I don't expect that the kindly old lady held together with mentholated rub and a hair net will actually be able to help me find the varied things I need without breaking a hip or getting lost, though it was generous of her to offer. And no, I didn't have my 'helpers' with me today, though again, it was kind of her to notice. I'm sorry - I just don't like talking to people when I'm in Wal-Mart. Or anywhere.

My next mistake was to be in such a hurry that I crashed my cart into another old lady - this one less kindly - in her Jazzy. No one was injured, and 'crashed' may be a strong word. But we made contact, and while I was deeply apologetic and more than a tad bit ashamed, she scowled, attempted to shake an arthritic fist my way, and scooted around me towards the Maybelline. Geez. I felt really bad. I hope she found her lip gloss.

One thing I noticed today in Hell-Mart is that the building is filled with nothing but slow walkers. Except for me, because I'm always in a huge hurry to get the hell out of there. But no one else seems to have any place special to be. AND, I suspect... some people like it in there. The same way that some people like dungeons or watching women squash bugs. It's deviant.

Moving on to mistake number three: I got in the wrong check-out line. Naturally. Not owning a watch and having misplaced my cell phone, I didn't have a true grasp on the time but knew that I had few moments left to pick up my daughter from preschool, lest I be fined or - worse - scolded. So I picked a line with no one else peeking out from behind the impulse items, figuring it was short. Which it was.

But it was also a woman with two toddlers, buying enough stuff to survive a month or two in a bomb shelter. And the check-out lady? In keeping with everyone else in that place, she was most decidedly NOT in any hurry. Even to breathe - just not in any rush.

The toddlers in front of me were cute, so I decided to scare them a little to pass the time. I didn't really mean to scare them - it's just a side effect of me talking to children.

"Hey, there! I see you have a very yummy-looking cookie!"

Stare.

"Ooooo - purple sprinkles!!! My FAVORITE!! Can I have a little bite? Or better yet, can I just have the rest?"

Hiding behind hands.

"Oh, Honey, I'm not really interested in taking your cookie. In fact, I don't even like those kind. Kind of nasty, really. Of course, I don't expect you to actually know the difference - all you see are purple sprinkles at this point. But I suppose it's a step above that shoe you're licking..."

I swear she flipped me off.

After standing there long enough to watch "Thornbirds" in its entirety, it was finally my turn at the register. And the cashier moving at the rate of plate tectonics??? Well, she had...

A BEARD.

Yes, you read that right. Facial growth, completely covering her chin and neck. But not on the sides, fortunately. Or unfortunately, depending on your personal taste.

Now granted, Girlfriend can't exactly help looking like Abe Lincoln just come in from the rain, but were it I with the facial hair issue - well, I'm telling you, I would DO something about that sh*t. Whatever it takes. DONE.

So I pay Fuzzy Wuzzy, load up, and spy the bright spot in my visit: a guy working the service counter very loosely resembling Dave Grohl. YUMMY!!!! Yes, my standards for male yumminess vary greatly.

So, yay- not only did I survive another trip to Wally World, I got to leave on a vaguely high note, as long as I pretended that 'Dave' didn't drive his '92 Maxima home to an apartment complex where he plays video games and eats Taco Bell until his next shift. I can totally block that out.

Which makes that fact that I forgot something and need to go back tomorrow a little more appetizing. Because even though I feel as though I'm in a space-time continuum when ever I try to weave through slow walkers in the paper products aisle, as long as 'Dave' is there - well, those are some pickles I'd be willing to eat...