I got the Wal*Mart Blues
I went to Wal*Mart.
Yes, I realize that this is a humor blog and I’m supposed to be writing humor, but there’s nothing funny about going to Wal*Mart.
Ok, EVERYTHING is funny about Wal*Mart! Who am I trying to kid!
Because I’m a childless asshole, I don’t have the first clue what to buy for kids. Seriously. Following the directions on the package doesn’t work either. It SAID ages 3+ on the package, and this kid was seventeen. Seventeen is greater than three, so why the hell did try to shove it up my ass?
And come on, what six year old wouldn’t love a home made flame thrower. This one was no exception, he DID love it! Why the mother tried to get all Lorena Bobbitt on my ass I haven’t the foggiest.
So this year, my buddy came with me to shop for his kids and the other kids on my list. He even corrected me as to what a Bionicle actually was.
Not a Bionicle. Not Kernal Sanders in Disguise, either.
The evil Wal*Mart conglomerate’s mass buying Chinese children slavery manufacturing practices have made it almost impossible to do quantity buying anywhere else. What I’m saying is, they are cheap, and that’s where we went.
We pulled up into the parking lot at 9 P.M. on a Thursday night to a sea of minivans, parked haphazardly outside of the painted yellow lines dispersed among the shopping carts thoughtlessly left wherever, even though there were return corrals sprinkled liberally throughout.
Yay, entitlement. This shopping trip isn’t going to make me want to kill, at all.
We walked through the double wide doors to accomodate a flood of morbid obesity going in and out to find the worlds oldest man greeting us at the door.
Welcome to Wal*Mart. Have you seen my dignity?
He offered to get us a cart but I said we didn’t need one. In reality we probably did, but I didn’t want to be the one responsible for giving the old coot a heart attack because of the effort. Don’t get me wrong, I know CPR, it’s just that I really didn’t want to go lip to lip with this guy. People that eat nothing but cat food have some serious dragon breath.
Here’s the thing about Wal*Mart. Looking around the store, I felt positively anorexic. Just about EVERYBODY there is HUGE! It’s like all the big people in my city all go to Wal*Mart ALL at the same time, ALL the time.
I got this dress in the Ladies Dept. Isn't it slimming?
The Wal*Mart people MUST know this fact, and yet, the aisles are barley three feet wide! They pack as much crap in as they possibly can to sell more, then pack as many fatties as they can fit in the store.
Have you ever tried to navigate your way around a hephalump, two rhino’s and a gaggle of big breasted schoolboys all trying to get through the same three foot space at the same time? No? Go to Wal*Mart.
Despite the over abundance of inventory, people are grabbing at shit like it’s bottled water and the world’s coming to an end. I still have the bruises from being pistol whipped by a barbie doll while trying to reach for a fake toy power drill.
But there’s one good thing to all this: Seeing fat hustle.
These fatties, in their effort to get things, ramp it up to marathon pace. The jiggling chins, the flushed faces, the sweat and the heavy breathing, the bobbling man boobs and the unintentional machine gun farting, all make for some serious fodder for mocking.
If I don't get the white bionicle, my fat kid will splash me!
So I suppose it isn’t so bad. Still, I’m glad I only go there once a year. Any more and I risk getting squished between two five-hundred pound ladies desperate for the latest “pee myself” dolls.
‘Nuff Said.
