So my husband must have mixed some bath salts into my coffee this morning because I decided that it would be a fine idea to go grocery shopping this afternoon. At Walmart. On a Saturday. Only bath salts could possibly induce the delusion that this is a fine idea.
So I pull into the parking lot and find a spot that is close to a cart corrall and far enough away from the entrance that I can lie to myself and say that I am walking for my health, yet close enough that I don't actually break a sweat. I get out of the car and narrowly avoid being clipped by the 100 year old lady driving a car that I am pretty sure doubles as an aircraft carrier while she is trying to park in those handicapped spots that run parallel to the flow of traffic. Apparently to park in these one requires the dexterity of a surgeon. She had the dexterity of Lenny from Of Mice and Men. Despite what should have been a warning to get the hell out of there, I cheerily walked in and selected a cart.
Foolishly believing that because the first one I got did not have any annoying squeaks or require an alignment it was going to be a great trip, I briskly walk through the entrance. On a related note, has anyone ever bitched about the exposure to whatever mysterious forces works the alarms at department stores? I mean, really, aren't they somehow altering my DNA? Maybe that explains the force that is Charlie...it is some kind of weird force like the radioactive spider was for Spiderman. Or perhaps that is why I walk into Target to get laundry detergent and end up with a new bed set and shoes for the entire family...some kind of mind control.
Anyways, I am not 50 feet into the entrance when someone from 100 yards away spots the Thanksgiving display (the whole two foot by four foot display, that was the only one in the entire store, might I add). She swoops in for the kill like a perigrene falcon does with a mouse. Frightened that I might snatch up all 14 turkey tablecloths and 27 paper plates and napkin packages that there were, she darts in front of me and cuts me off. They really need to equip those carts with horns. Gritting my teeth, I walk around her and to the health and beauty section.
There, I search for an aisle that is not overly crowded to cut through so I can get to the back where the children's Zyrtec is. I finally find one and sneak back there, only to find the mystery cart. The cart that is half full, yet with no owner. WTF, people? If only they made it so that carts were able to go with you to where you needed to go....
I grab what I need and attempt to get to a main aisle. There, at the end of the aisle that I had the misfortune to choose, were two old ladies chatting up a storm. And blocking the whole fucking aisle. Having no choice but to press on due to the traffic behind me, I politely say, "Excuse me". They turn and glare at me. I fully expected their eyes to roll back and to see flames dancing in them. Indignant at being asked to be polite, they begrudgingly move out of the way, giving me the stink eye the entire time.
I head over to produce. While examining the lettuce, those fucking sprayers come on to lightly mist the veggies. I never understood the reason for that stupid spray...Because apparently, the same logic behind a wet t-shirt contest works for selling veggies? Slightly damp now, I press on and turn the corner.
I run smack dab into someone who is re-stocking the shelves. Because you know, it is super important to make sure that there are 4, 798 additional packages of hot dog buns on the shelves to supplement the 7,906 that are already there. Super important. There might be a run on hot dogs. They are really popular right around Thanksgiving, I hear.
Aggravated, I finally finish up and head to the checkouts. People joke about the number of checkouts that are open, but really, I think that the powers to be at the stores really make sure that there is an inverse relationship between the number of people in the store and the number of registers open just to fuck with the general public. So I get in line and wait. I see a client and quickly duck down to read a magazine cover until they pass. I check my phone to see if perhaps time had stopped because that line sure wasn't moving. I finally get to the checkout. I wince at the total...I spent how much and got nothing but a cart full of things that will last us a week...then I get to have the privilege of doing it all again?
The real kicker is...I didn't buy ANY alcohol. Really, they should hand that and/or Xanax out at the doors just for surviving.