Okay... so maybe it wasn't my proudest moment in life.
There's something about going to Wal-Mart that draws the redneck out of you.
You could take the Queen of England into Wal-Mart during a tour of the old USA and I bet by the time she came out of there she'd have called someone a bloody idiot as she "accidentally" knighted some poor fool a little too heavy-handedly with her mighty sword. Forget about "going postal on somebody." Go "Wal-Mart shopper on them." The language and carnage will be unrivaled.
Today was epic, as usual. I detest Wal-Mart. I don't believe it's the prices that are falling inside those walls. It's America's collective IQ. In any case, as happens a few times a year, I was basically forced into going there.
Today's excursion was to secure some bicycle shorts for Little You to wear under her gym shorts for physical education class. More specifically, deterrent attire to ensure that the boy tweenadoes aren't able to get any visual physical education and stimulation via a crotch shot during sit-ups. Her request, and the mental image in her Momma's mind, were enough to make me swallow my hatred for the place long enough to get in the door. Well, I almost made it through the door before I had a language lapse.
I was cussing and swearing that this was "the exact reason that I never come to this damn place" before we even walked in the door. I sat behind a black Honda for 7 minutes. That's right seven....freaking....minutes. She was waiting for a parking spot. So we sat there, trapped on the aisle like the idiots we were for even going there. We got to watch a woman unload her entire overflowing buggy into her car. She then leisurely strolled to the buggy corral. Finally, she got in her car and the Honda Ho got her spot.
We then drove the old Volvo down to park -- a whopping four spots farther down the line!
Before we got out of the car, I penned a token of my appreciation for the Honda Ho from Henry:
As we walked into the store, I quickly tucked it under the wiper of her car."Congratulations! You may be the biggest idiot in all of Henry County. Good luck with that."
If you had any doubt that Karma is a bitch, you'll see that I got mine. It was horrendous inside that place. No buggies at the door. It was the second sign that I should have left when the leaving was good. Little You was nice enough to secure us one from beside the building. The first turn I took, it almost tipped over. We looked down to see that the left front wheel was missing. It made for an adventuresome stroll through the mecca of madness.
We got everything on our list and then some. The coochie-covering shorts. A new UGA book bag for Little Me who is "too old for cartoon stuff" on the six or so other almost-new bags we already own. We even found some camo pattern boots on clearance for $3.
A tip of the Grasshopper hat to the person who was smart enough to put the display of cute freeze-and-serve adult beverages on the end-cap beside the checkout line. After being in that store, I bought several. Too bad they were weren't ready to serve upon purchase.
The checkout wasn't too bad. The cashier looked incredibly like my Great Aunt Sissy. Actually, I marveled at how much she favored her the last time I saw her...at her funeral. Seriously. It was scary. Amazingly, the old goat was faster than most of her counterparts who were at least 50+ years younger.
On our way out, an old man ransacked our receipt. I had it out and ready. He went over it. And over it. And, then promptly told me that my two cases of cokes weren't accounted for. Only one was on the receipt. I just looked at him like "WTF?" I mean...seriously? I've got a buggy full of crap and you're giving me grief because the walking dead woman didn't ring up a case of cokes? As if that is MY fault somehow?
NOTE: Wearing a cashmere sweater to Wal-Mart ups your odds for a random security check. Lose some teeth, put on some tattered jeans and you can walk out of that place with a free television.
I finally told him to just "to take the things out the buggy. All I want to do is get out of this hell hole."
Damn. Damn. Damn. Just damn.
As we left, we spied the Honda Ho from Henry removing the note from her car. The look on her face as she read the Grasshopper's griping was classic. I suddenly felt a little bad.
In just an hour, I lost about 20 IQ points along with my Coke and my smile. And, I felt guilty for being mean to someone who was probably just performing to the best of her ability as a member of the Smiley Face Gang.
One of my annual allotment of three trips to Wal-Mart has been accounted for. Just two more to suffer through. I think I'll up my odds of having a better experience next time. I'll be sure to wear a tank top with no bra so that I'll fit in better.
By the way, the yellow bouncing ball with the smiling face isn't smiling because of the falling prices. He's smiling because of all of the nipples he sees poking through thin tank tops all day. Pervert!
After a trip to a store so uniquely American, we went to the nearest Mexican restaurant to eat a late lunch.