I freaking hate Wal-mart. I guess there’s just something
about those stupid, antagonizing smiley faces and cheap plastic wares that
bring out the people who observe no semblance of societal rules. Now, if I
wanted to see hoards of people dressed in inappropriately sized clothing, or
say I enjoyed coming across a poopy diaper roll in the discount DVD bin, or perhaps
being blocked into an aisle by several adults and their combined 78 dirty,
screaming children having a conversation like they’re sitting on the porch, then
I would go every day. But alas, I do not
enjoy this. Not even a little.
Unfortunately I live in one of those little towns that
Wal-mart has killed. There is simply nowhere else to go for certain items. For
this reason I find myself, a head cold dampening my normally chipper attitude,
headed toward the giant blue W with a wad of tissues in my pocket. When we
arrive, the parking lot is nearly full. Terrific! I try to psych myself up.
“Now, Molly, it’s only going to be worse if you go in with a
bad attitude. Be calm, be patient and this will be over before you know it.” I
take a deep breath and head into the store. It is strangely empty given the
number of 15 year old minivans in the parking lot. Ok, so maybe this won’t be
so bad. I look at Dewie.
“What do we need?”
“Well, you wanted to get some garland and maybe another
string of lights and we need toothpaste in the big bathroom, you wanted to see
if they have that Diva Cup knock off thing here, and while we’re here we might
as well get bread and we’re out of butter.”
“Ok, so we make a circle? Get toothpaste first?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
As we round the corner into the toothpaste aisle, we
encounter a child, probably 9 or 10 (WAY old enough to know better) pulling
random toothpaste off the shelf and making a pile in the middle of the floor. His
name is Lamont. I know this because his father keeps saying it. His father has
his back turned, looking at the deodorant on the opposite side. Without even
turning around to look at him, he keeps repeating, “Lamont! You better not be
into anything over there. I mean it. (He apparently means it.) Lamont! Are you
making a mess? Lamont! Lamont! Lamont!” Unable to get the giant, probably unnecessary
cart through the aisle, I can feel the rage bubbling up from my guts. Dewie grabs the sleeve of my shirt and whispers,
“We’ll just go around.” But this is not to be. Evil Molly takes over my body.
Well, my mouth, anyway.
“AY! Lamont! You serious with this crap?” Lamont looks up
like he’s just come out of a trance and the dad finally turns around.
“Damnit, Lamont! Where is your mother?!” The man grabs the
boy by one arm and starts to pull him down the aisle. “RITA?! RITA!? Where you
at??!” It’s like a tic. He can’t stop repeating it. Loudly. The boy looks a
little shell shocked, shuffling behind with wide eyes.
As he passes, I can’t help myself from saying, “Ooooh.
Lamont, you in trooooouble. “ I know, sometimes I’m temporarily taken over by a
five year old. I’m working on it. Well, not really. I kind of like her.
We pick up our brand of toothpaste from the pile in the
floor and head over to the Christmas decorations. I found everyone. They are
huddled over bins of wrapping paper and crowded around shelves of glittery
ornaments. I stop dead in my tracks. I notice a couple of varieties of garland
on display on an end-cap, well away from “Santa’s Workshop.” I grab the best of
the choices. “I like this one.”
Dewie looks confused. “Thought you wanted something with
brighter colors…”
“I LIKE THIS ONE!!”
We quickly acquire the remaining items on our list without
incident and leave the bright lights and smell of corndogs behind us.
In a related note, if you’re female and menstruating, check
out the Diva Cup. It looks awesome. (I just lost 80% of my male readers right
there.) PERIOD!! TAMPON!! (Ok, there went the rest of them.)
