Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Which circle of Hell is Walmart on?

Like many people (translation: suburban moms), I have a complicated relationship with Walmart (translation: I hate it). But what's a mother to do when her tween daughter announces she needs a white t-shirt for a social studies project, like NOW? Well, if you live in the burbs, like I do, and the nearest Target is half an hour away, and you're actually trying to get some work done and don't really have the time to drive all over creation, you grit your teeth and drive to the Walmart just down the road during lunch. (The things we do for our kids.)

The fun begins in the parking lot, which, I am pretty sure, was designed by a sadist (or stock car driver) -- and always seems to be full, except for one space in the second-to-last aisle near the end (i.e., away from the store), which you have to carefully wend your way across the parking to get before some jerk busy yapping on his/her cell phone doesn't kill you/beat you to it.

Once you've completed the parking lot challenge (the first circle of Hell?), you enter the second circle of Hell, the store itself. (Seriously, someone should make going to Walmart a video game where, like in Dante's Inferno, the book and now the video game, you have to navigate the circles of Hell, or, in this case, the parking lot and aisles of Walmart, in order to claim your discount merchandise and return home to your loved ones).

Now maybe it's just me, but it seems like every time I go into our local Walmart (which, granted, isn't that often, but still), they've rearranged at least a third of the store, so you can't find anything. And then when you do finally find whatever it is you are looking for, you discover they have it in every size, except the one you need. Happens. Every. Time.

Now at this point (i.e., having not found exactly what it was I went there for/needed), I know I should turn around and leave. (Or in the words of Gloria Gaynor, "just go, walk out that door.") I know this, and yet I cannot. So I wind up aimlessly cruising the aisles that seemingly go on forever, looking for... I don't know. But somehow I wound up at the checkout 30 minutes -- 30 MINUTES?! -- after I entered, with enough stuff to fill two bags.

I know! Or rather, I don't know. But I am now the proud owner of a pair of NY Mets pajama shorts (no top because they didn't have one in my size -- typical), three boxes of Zone protein bars, a package of boys (L) white t-shirts, white ankle socks, and a container of Olay Regenerist Night Cream (the last item I actually needed).


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I hate shopping! Pretty sure I am girl, but that gene seems to be missing!!