Reason Number 1738 Why I Hate Walmart

As if I needed a new one...

If you have read many of my previous posts, you will not be terribly surprised to hear that I loathe Walmart. And it's not what you may be thinking - that it's a "big box store" which runs mom-and-pop stores out of business or that they are rumored to use suppliers that abuse animals and destroy the earth.  Those things make them unlikeable, yes, but I do recognize that sometimes it's just awfully convenient to be able to purchase a head of lettuce, a crock pot and a bookcase all in the same store.  Sometimes you just need to go to Walmart.

I have to go there rather frequently.  It is less than five minutes from my house and the most convenient - location-wise - grocery store to my house.  But here are some reasons I do hate Walmart.  Some of them, you have already read about.

There's the fact that I am always behind someone in line purchasing a "feminine care" product.  Most recently, it was a lady on a scooter who was buying - not one - but FOUR cans of FDS.

Aerosol cans.

To really get in there and coat it up real good.

I got to have the visual of this woman going home and blasting herself with the soothing spray of lavender-scented anti-itch product.  Then, of course, there was the elderly woman who was purchasing only two products - bananas and douche.  Again, a lovely visual as I was in line buying ingredients for my dinner.

I also get annoyed with the constant panhandling I am faced with every time I darken the door.  Technically it's not panhandling, I guess.  I assume that these people have to obtain permission to be able to collect money for their charity in front of the store.  I get frustrated at Christmastime because I am at Walmart so often that I end up pretending to be on my phone as I hurriedly slip past the Salvation Army worker asking me for donations.  I give, of course, but I not every time because it can get costly.

At least I know that the Salvation Army is a reputable organization and I can have some assurance that my money is going where I believe it to be going when I donate.  But a lot of these people are trying to send their high school band to some type of event which, the last time I checked, is not a charity.  It's just a bunch of kids with their parents standing there blocking the entrance.  I'm all for helping kids out, but some other school's band members to whom I have no connection is not at the top of my list.  And sometimes, it's just a random dude with a poorly written poster taped to a card table asking for donations for addicts.  I wonder if I'm donating to fund someones habit or if I'm actually donating to an organization who can provide help for people who are addicts.  I'm thinking those people might have a logo or some type of graphic on their poster taped to the card table...

But yesterday, I was reminded yet again of how much I hate Walmart.  And, as usual, it was because of something that happened in the 20 Items Or Less aisle.  Let me set the scene: I had in my possession three items - hummus, pretzel chips, and beer.  I logically headed to the 20 or less line and immediately started standing on my toes and craning my neck to see if there was perhaps a better lane since both "speedy" aisles were about six people deep.  Seeing that there were no better options, I stayed put.  I was behind a charming couple who had too many visible tattoos to count and I was busy trying to read the birth names and dates of what I assume were their children that were lovingly etched into their necks and ankles.  That these two people were reproducing was a concern.  That they had enough offspring that they were running out of body parts to print their names on was downright scary.  And did I mention they positively REEKED of cigarette smoke?

Because I was busy trying to decipher the names of the children and also admiring his delightful t-shirt that had a graphic of a nude female centaur and the tagline, "Continuous Adult Entertainment" that I really wasn't paying attention to much else.  So, when they finally reached the register, I actually had a chance to look in their buggy.  It was obvious that they had considerably more than the 20 items that we, as a society, have agreed upon as the magic number to which we must all hold ourselves accountable if we are going to stand in that line.  I quickly changed from tallying the number of tattoos/children to furiously counting the items that were visible in the cart.  There were, of course, items that were not visible.  They were buried under the bigger, bulkier items.  In under ten seconds, I could discern that they had a minimum of 37 items.

Now perhaps I am being naive in assuming that this couple was capable of counting to twenty.  Maybe they weren't and I was just being a jerk.  Let's say for the moment that they were not.  I imagine that the woman whose job it was to check customers out was capable.  In my opinion, it was not her fault that this couple showed up at her register.  It was her fault that she allowed them to move forward and check out.  As it often happens in these types of situations, those of us who were behind them and therefore on the receiving end of this enormous injustice because instant compadres.  Fighters for the cause.  Perfect strangers became united in our anger and disgust for what was unfolding in front of us.  We were also collectively kicking ourselves for not recognizing the situation sooner because by this time, both of the other 20 Items Or Less lanes were now ten people deep.

We all watched as they placed can after can of Manwich and other must-haves onto the very narrow counter top designed to accommodate 20 OR FEWER items.  They were told their total.  And then the real fun began.  See, they didn't have enough in their account to cover the total charge.  So it turned into a game of What-Can-We-Put-Back-And-Reach-Our-Target-Total.  They began rummaging through their bags and finding items they could live without.  Pine Sol.  (I'm going to go on and bet that their house probably really needed that.)  Dinner rolls.  (Nice to have, but not a necessity.)  One can of baby formula.  (Let's just let Junior have a Manwich.)  The register girl dutifully took them off the bill and then gave them their new total.  This time, they were under their target.  So, you guessed it, it turned into a game of What-Can-We-Now-Afford-To-Put-Back-In-The-Bag.  I am not blaming these people for not being able to guess the prices of the food they had picked out or for not having enough money to cover it.  Unless you really pay attention to that or cut coupons, you may not know what to expect.  But there were clearly frustrated people behind them and these people were completely oblivious or worse - just didn't care that they were inconveniencing all of us.  It was just a complete lack of consideration for other people.

My new-found friend in line behind me, who up until this point had only been murmuring her disgust to me, very loudly gave it a "Oh, hell no" kind of remark and went to another line.  I briefly considered saying something ugly to the couple in front of me.  But I am not good at confrontations and I was so frustrated that I knew I was probably not going to be able to adequately articulate how I was feeling.  Plus, I'm just not very good at really zinging people.  I can do it in a joking manner.  It's the main way I converse with people actually.  But to do it and mean it... I'm just not very good at that.  I knew that if I was dumb enough to get into an argument with these people, that I was dumb enough to lose the argument.  So, instead I turned and followed my Norma Rae who had already inspired others to follow her to a new line.  While in my new line, I bowed my head and said a silent prayer for those who chose to roll the dice and stay in the line.  For within a minute of leaving that line, we witnessed the dreaded sight that no one ever wants to see - the sight of the register girl lifting a hand to turn off the light illuminating her aisle and inviting people to come to her register.

I got through my new line and out the door in under five minutes which was especially good considering there were two people ahead of me.  Or maybe it just felt like it happened quickly since the other lane had been so painstakingly slow.  As I headed for the door, I looked over and saw a manager trying to help the incompetent check-out girl and the inconsiderate patrons.  I almost turned to go over and tell the manager that really this whole thing could have been avoided if the Walmart associate had simply directed them to an appropriate aisle in the first place.  Well, the whole thing wouldn't have been avoided.  There was still the issue of not having enough money and having to decide what should stay and what should go.  But at least it would have been avoided by me.  I decided against it though.  She had probably learned her lesson.  Plus, she was still having to deal with them and I was free.

Free to be accosted by the teenage girl (with no poorly written poster or signage of any kind) holding a bucket for donations for her church standing just outside the door.