I hate Walmart. Hell is other people and Walmart is FULL of other people, therefore, Walmart is hell.
I think I needed a pair of black socks. I own plenty, but they�ve all started to get kind of mismatched and fugly and threadbare in spots in the way that only black socks can. So with my bank account fat from Booker paying me for rent and bills et cetera, I decided that, yes, I could afford new black socks. So I grabbed my trust debit card and headed to Wal-Mart.
As I entered the store, I knew it was going to be rough going. Plenty of kids were running around yelling and screaming and presenting their parents with �low priced toys that are priced low everyday!� And screaming �I waaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnttt it.� Their laments followed closely by their parents hissing �I SAID NO!�
You would think that no means no, but careful surveillance reveals that it actually means �Ask me again in 2.3 seconds, only louder.�
So after almost stepping directly into 14 people not obeying the pre-set laws of shopping cart physicis that state that one side of the main aisles shold be for people going left, the other side right, I managed to make my way to the sock section.
Once there, I immediately found a large selection of black socks. So many socks that I didn�t know what to do with myself. I was in sock heaven, as it were. Black sock heaven. Black socks for wearing with trousers, black socks for wearing with jeans, black socks with ribbing. For my pleasure, I guess. Black socks with reinforced toes and heels. Black socks with a tiny argyle pattern on the side. Knee-high black socks. Black socks with black pom-poms. Black socks that came in packs of three, black socks in packs of two, and the presitigious black socks of the Martha Stewart type where there�s only one sock, not even a pair, to a package.
Y�know, I fail to see how black socks with a brand name could be any more of a big deal than regular black socks with no name attatched. Do they not both cover your feet and leave black toe jam? I think they do. I guess one toe jam is more prestigious than the other.
So despite the overwhelming black sock selection, I manage to grab up a pack of eight pairs of black socks. This should do me, I thought. How much, I wondered, were they? Well here we discover the biggest problem that stores like Wal-Mart have. Things are such a jumble, the place is such a mess, everything is so out of order, that it is impossible -impossible!- to find anything. It is even more impossible to determine the price of the thing whould you ever happen to stumble upon it.
There�s no price on my black socks. I seem to have the last package of these particular black socks and it appears they were hanging in the wrong place to start with. What to do? Well, first I gaze dumbly at the empty spots, hoping that the price stickers will have some sort of description on them, like this: �Hey! Tanis! This is the spot where your package of generic black socks with reinforced toes and heels is from! They�re $5.99 and with taxes, it�s going to come to $6.76. There�s a lane over there that�s not so crowded! Have a nice day!�
Unfortunately, after ten minutes of squinting and trying to match the teeny, tiny, UPC code on the package to the hundreds of UPC codes on the tags, I give up and hope that my socks are cheap, because I passed the kitchen gadgets aisle earlier and decided that one of those pancake makers where you flip the whole thing and can make eggs without breaking the yokes is only $19.99 and don�t I always break the yokes? I do. Hence, I should have one. On my way to that aisle, I see that there�s a sale on the moisturizer I use. Well, why not get two if it save me some money? Sure! I grab two.And I bet if I chewed more gum, my breath would be fresher and I could win friends and influence people. So I grab up a package of gum. And you know that you always need batteries. In fact, the ones on my tape recorder are going to be dead soon. So I add a package of those to my collection. Hey, I didn�t buy the expensive name brand kind! They�re really cheap! I�ll get two!
My arms loaded down with merchandise, I start to see ridiculous things that I feel an irrational urge to buy. Because I need them! I need a five pack of panty hose even though I rarely wear skirts! I need a bottle of shoe polish even though I only own one pair of black shoes and who really looks at them anyway? I need a silk nightie even though nobody but Booker sees my Pyjamas and thank-God because they�re my gym clothes from grade eight and they�re getting kinda gamey.
I stop suddenly, looking at all my booty. What was I thinking? Why do I have a jumbo pack of tea towels? Don�t I already have some of those? What about these blank VHS tapes? I have a ton that can be recorded over! And I already have an extensive collection of blank day planners that taunt me with their organizational sections and pockets and zippers. Why do I need another one? So back go all the things I felt that I needed and absolutely could not do without only five seconds ago.
As I clutch my package of black socks, I feel as if I�m coming out of a fugue state. Where am I? Why are there so many bright lights and people who look as if they should be gumming on a moon pie while slurping back some RC cola? Slowly, realization dawns. Ah, yes! I�m in Wal-Mart. Home of the befuddled masses, friend to crafty home bodies everywhere. Bah!
See, Wal-Mart is sometimes like a balm to the chapped lips of my poor, student loan-paying soul. Because when I know that I am flat broke, I can find maccaroni and cheese at fifty cents a box. I can get bread for 75 cents, and now, they even have a dairy section where milk is waaaay cheaper than in the super market. And you can get a big, jumbo jar of spaghetti sauce for about $2.00. And a dozen eggs cost $1.76.
But at other times, I feel like I shouldn�t be supporting this place. It�s like a house of loose morals. It�s a feaking gong show if you ever want any help. Despite what their commercials say, nobody has ever approached me and asked me if I needed help. I always have to find the �sales associates� as they are laughably termed. I mean, when was the last time somebody at Wal-Mart actually sold you something? Like you were hemming and hawing over the press-board phone table, but a kind �sales associate� came over and started up a sales pitch, then offered to lower the price when you mentioned something about Canadian Tire and how the one across the street is practically exactly the same at a fraction of the cost. Like, quick! Don�t lose any customers! Sale prices everywhere! Mark things down! Tell everyone you�re crazy because you�re slashing prices! Never? That�s right.
Tracking the elusive blue vested apatheticus pustulicus through a field of Funyons and gummy worms is tough work, and can often lead to blisters and the desire for a McDonald�s apple pie. Actually catching one in its natural habitat of blue clouds of smoke and exhaust fumes is next to impossible. Should you come across the rare creature, don�t panic. Fight the urge to corner it and beat it about the head with a wiffle bat. Avoid direct eye contact. The blue vest will give flight! And then where will you be? That�s right. Wandering through the vintage Martha Stewart section clutching your pack of black socks, moaning plaintively in an attempt to get a price check band-aid on the bleeding soul of your discontent.
No. The only thing to do is to take the product you want and flush out one of the sick, week members of the herd. You know, the kid who looks like he should be applying some sort of nutrogena product to his skin. Yeah, the one with the bad teenage �stache and the pricing gun. That�s him! Get him! Yell loudly that you need a price check on these socks ASAP! Or you�ll speak to his manager!
That�s how I handle it anyway.
So I finally get a price on the stupid socks that I came for and on the way to the check out, I had to do everything in my power to keep from shouting �Keep to the left people! The LEFT! MY GOD!!! It�s the frelling RULE! DON�T ANY OF YOU KNOW THE RULES???�
Only when I get outside am I able to breathe a little easier. That�s what I love about not having a vice like smoking. I don�t get to vent my rage through an addiction, I let it fester until it is a powerful killing machine that helps me to smite my enemies. Or at least, that�s what I�d like to happen.
I am eating: Altoids. I am intrigued by them and how they cause me to be curious. Because they are curiously strong.
I am loving: That I beat two old people at scrabble last night. I�m the scrabble queen! Yes I am!
I am listening to: NPR�s This American Life.
I am watching: It�s going to be a toss-up when I get home. Buffy, or Survivor. Buffy. Or Survivor. Buffy, Survivor. I�ll probably watch Buffy. Even though it looked sort of lame in the promos. It can�t possibly be as lame as Survivor.
I am reading: Cowboy Poetry. By Robert Service. I like the Ice-Worm Cocktail. It�s so funny!
I am eating: Tonight, I sup on smoked chicken tortellini. Wheee!!!
