2005-07-23 @ 11:18 p.m.
I am so proud. In fact, I am so proud that if I was wearing a shirt with buttons they would probably pop off. Why? Why, you ask? Because the town I live in....the highly sophisticated metropolitan mecca of all that is cool, has not one...not two...not three...but now FOUR WALMARTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I know you’re saying to your spouse, honey, lets move to where witty lives. Because she has...COUNT THEM....
within a 15 mile radius of her house. And yes....I just have to pinch myself too. A fourth Walmart just opened this week near my mom’s house and oh what excitement. It was the lead story on the local news, bumping a dumb old drive-by shooting story where somebody got killed. Meh, we have those every day, but WALMART!!
On the news report they showed over 200 people anxiously waiting for the front doors to open for the first time and let me tell you...it was spectacular!!!! Because when they did, there was kind of this big whoooooosh, and everybody flew in and started throwing stuff in their carts like Suave shampoo and Hefty garbage bags, and it was kinda like that scene in “Gladiator” where the lions annihilate the Romans. I mean people were trying to wrench boxes of rice-a-roni out of each others hands, because, after all, you know you can’t find those ANYWHERE else. It was totally vicious.
They interviewed one woman who was nearly in tears. She was about 34 years old and she was sniffling slightly. She has grasping a slightly frayed photo in one hand and a newly printed Walmart receipt in the other.
Her: “I realllllly wanted to be the very first customer in this Walmart, because I came out when they first started building this store and took pictures of the construction and said, “Betty, you are going to be the very first customer when they open their door, but then someone else got ahead of me and I only got the (sniffle) second receipt.”
And then behind her, you could see some slightly balding 40 something guy jumping up and down, waving the #1 Walmart receipt like it was some freakin’ $150 million winning New York State lottery ticket.
And I was actually sitting in my living room yelling, “Give Betty the god damn Walmart receipt, ya stupid bastard. Give it to her!” But no. He had to be his own little island of stupid gloating bastardhood and now she’ll probably need therapy. Asshole!
The next day I called my mom from work. She’s been bugging me to take my car back to the same guy who keeps supposedly
(I’m so easy)
So I went up to her apartment and we took her claptrap car. The parking lot was a nightmare and even with her handicap sticker we drove up and down the aisles for over 10 minutes looking for a space. When we finally got inside, my mom immediately decided she needed to apply for a Walmart credit card. Pretty interesting since she despises Walmart. The guys with the clipboards were pretty damn cute, albeit, pretty damn gay. That too was interesting. I wondered how a gay man fit into the fabric of Walmart. It was sorta like inviting Richard Simmons to a Nascar race. But the guy was so enthusiastic and cute (he looked like Benjamin Bratt), that suddenly even I was filling out an application for Walmart. Me!! Ha! A person with no credit!! I haven’t had a credit card since a bankruptcy about 7 years ago and I’m actually fine without credit cards. I mean, sometimes when my car breaks down, I wish I could charge the repairs, but I really hate owing people huge amounts of money (especially you “A”). But there I was putting down all my pertinent information for Benjamin Bratt-acular. And then it was time for my free prize for filling out an application. Oh, and the choices. My goodness. Wow. Whee! Golly. An umbrella with a large...
logo on it. Yeah, like I would really walk around with one of those. I already snuck into the store as it is. Lord knows, I don’t want to advertise the fact that I even know that Walmart exists. After all I’m like a cool artist hippie tree-hugger/chick who wears wiccan jewelry. What would it look like if I walked into a goddess meeting with a freakin’ Walmart umbrella? So I surreptitiously grabbed the other “free” prize. It was a....
Its a....ummm... ehhh. I thought it was a screwdriver when I picked it up, but when I got it home there is no screw driver thingie on the end. And then I tried to unscrew it, thinking there was like secret multi-sized screwheads inside, but it doesn’t unscrew. And then I briefly thought it might be a meat tenderizer, but alas, it was merely a useless piece of crap. But dammit, thanks for the gift Walmart.
Soon my mom and I were wandering the vast caverns of the new Super Walmart. This one even had a supermarket, which the other ones in town don’t. As we were walking I really started to notice several things. There are two types of women who shop at Walmart. Skinny blondes with highly veined forearms filled with tattoos. And extremely overweight women in tee-shirts and stretchy pants. Sure this is a generalization, but dammit, it was certainly accurate. I have never seen so many truly obese women using those electrified carts to get around in. I felt like I was walking the greens with Tiger Woods, because virtually every aisle had a woman scooting along on a mini-golf cart because she weighed like 500 pounds.
Now I am not a thin person, and recently I just started watching that show called “Hooking Up” about cyber dating. Its a reality show which follows 11 New York City women through the triumphs and foibles of the cyber-dating world and lets just say, that the reality of the situation, thus far, has been mainly thumbs down. But the reason I mention this show is because I keep hearing this phrase from the men on the show who keep referring to a woman’s ass as “junk in her trunk”. One guy was worried because he had only seen a woman’s head shot and was afraid that she might have “junk in her trunk.” thus, I guess rendering her unacceptable in some way.
I find that a little offensive. Although my ass is pretty damn spectacular. Michaeangelo would have wept, if he could have sculpted it. My "junk" however, is settled in my abs and stomach area. So what would that make me? “Flab in her Abs”? Not really sure.
Anyways, I guess if we have to debase women and demote them to some testosterone driven catch-phrase, Walmart was totally filled with Junk in her Trunkers. It was a regular Junk in her Trunk-a-thon. I felt positively waif-like while I was there. People kept stopping me and asking if I was Kate Moss. It was great! Thanks, Walmart.
But the other thing that really annoyed me about Walmart was the people they allow to speak over the loudspeakers. Oy. Like where do they find them? Pig calling contests? It seemed like the more annoying their voices were, the more likely it was, that management would ask them to pull up a microphone. Who knows? Maybe they aren’t real people. Maybe the people on the loudspeaker are really digitally remastered voices created by someone who took fire sirens, screaming two year olds and cows getting slaughtered and somehow slung them together into a voice designed to make Pavlov’s dog commit suicide. Who knows? I think I actually kind of scared my mother, because I had been telling her how annoying they were and then when one voice came on asking for assistance on aisle ten, I started screaming (yes, actually screaming) in a high screechy voice saying, “Prozac on aisle ten, please, we need prozac on aisle ten.”
Oh, good times at Walmart. Good times.
But dammit. I did end up buying stuff there. Toothpaste. Soda. Meat. And my yogurt was almost 30 cents cheaper. We checked out at Bob’s checkstand and let me tell you, Bob was a babe. He had an earring in his ear. Wow! A gold stud. And a
But then something happened. Something really, really terrible. I paid for my toothpaste, soda, meat and yogurt and Bob had to close out his register to let a new girl come on. I watched as he started to walk across the Walmart concourse with his register drawer in hand and you know who he met half way? The gay Benjamin Bratt guy who had taken my credit application. And their attraction was immediate. He smiled really warmly at Bob and they walked really close as he headed to their secret unknown Walmart register drawer disposal location.
Fuck, wouldn’t you know it...I finally find the man of my dreams, and he’s the only gay cashier at Walmart.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty