I Hate Wal-Mart

Yesterday was definitely another day for the record books.  Tradd looked at me last night as we headed down the hall to tuck the girls in bed and said, "Tonight was hell."  Yes, very eloquent indeed, but he was completely right.  It was hell.  And what, you ask, prompted this living hell in Beaufort?  What else, but Wal-Mart.

Let me just start out by telling you all how much I absolutely hate Wal-Mart.  I honestly have a difficult time finding just the right combination of words to describe the deep-seeded passionate loathing I have for Wal-Mart.  For at least the past six months, every time I have had to go there for something, the girls and I sing the I-Hate-Wal-Mart song.  It is a catchy little ditty that we made up on the way to one of the many despicable outings.

Since my vile disgust of Wal-Mart has done nothing but blossom, I sometimes give a pep talk to myself and the kids ahead of time.  Usually we do this in the parking lot, before opening the truck doors and jumping into the viscous, bubbling lava.  Because then we will be too caught up in the glowing, molten flow that leads straight into Satan's gaping mouth as we enter the pits of Hades, otherwise known as the front doors of Wal-Mart.  Okay, so maybe that is just my child-like imagination catching up with me, but we really do play the lava game, just like I did when I was a kid.

Anyways, this past weekend was no exception and the ground rules went like this, "Girls!  Listen up.  Cameron will be in the cart.  Kacy will be in the cart.  Storm, you will walk with me and help me grab the things I need and throw them in the cart so that we can speed-race through the store and get out as soon as we can.  No one will say anything or do anything to slow us down.  DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"  Now, you may think that I was scaring the kids and their only answer would have been wide eyes and abject nods, but actually the answer was a collective, and robust, "Yes Mommy!"  And of course a squeal and a smile from Cameron who is too young to form the words, but whom completely understands everything.  (Really, everything.  It's creepy sometimes.)  The final verbal order or threat was, "No one will have to pee on the way through Wal-Mart!  I will NOT stop for anyone to go to the bathroom!  I don't care if you are on the verge of wetting yourself or if you have urine running down your legs and squishing out the sides of your shoes, we will not stop for you to pee in this nasty, disgusting place!  DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?"  At the conclusion of the instructions/pep talk, I put my hand out and said, "Who's with me?"  Storm and Kacy each put their hands on mine, but Cameron refused, so we went ahead without her.  I should have seen that as an omen.  I counted down, we all shouted, "I HATE WAL-MART!" then jumped out of the truck, piled in the cart the way I instructed and the lava swooshed us right between the gnashing, blood-stained teeth of the great Wal-Mart Satan.

Once inside, we executed the mission just as planned.  Kacy complained, but stayed in the cart and stuffed items into Cameron's shopping cart cover in a desperate attempt to get me arrested for shoplifting before I made it back to the truck.  Cameron, who discovered Kacy's secret hiding places, found a small, scented candle that I had put in the cart to purchase.  About a week previous, at a teaching supply store, the big girls had found some soft light-up balls, that when thrown on the ground screamed for Halloween.  They had thrown them a couple times before Cameron caught on.  She joined in the fun by picking up a hard plastic ball of some gooey stuff and throwing it on the ground.  Of course, it smashed into pieces and we bought the gooey stuff.  Apparently Cameron had not forgotten this durability test and decided to test the glass candle.  She did not just drop it over the side, or push it out on accident.  Nope.  She took the candle, pulled her little rocket launcher back until her elbow was behind her ear and threw it as hard as she could against the ground.  The candle barely missed Storm's and my feet and smashed into a thousand pieces on the Wal-Mart tile.  It failed the durability test miserably.  Storm's guess was, "It's probably made in China."  So, Storm and I kicked glass shards against the pillar at the end of the pillow aisle and decided the best course of action was to tell an employee about it.

We tried to find an employee close by, but none were to be found.  Big surprise.  So, we continued on our trek through the black hole and finally saw an employee skirting between displays down empty aisles in order to avoid customers.  Storm spotted her and ran her down though.  She politely told the woman that her sister had dropped a candle and it broke, so we moved all the pieces out of the way, but left them where they needed to be cleaned up at the end of the pillow aisle.  The kind employee's only response to my child was en eye-roll and a disgusted shake of her head as she stomped away.  I doubt she really cared in her heart about the candle though.  I tend to think her stellar behavior was more a sign of her disappointment that Storm had tracked her down, breaking her current record of Zero Customers Served for the Week.  I guess she really wanted to win that award this time.  So, by the time we finished that day, the time spent in the check-out line was equal to the time spent shopping.

I was disgusted enough that bad memories of previous Wal-Mart trips flashed through my mind, nagging at my happiness the rest of the day.  My personal favorite was the time I was shopping alone.  (I know, hard to believe, right?)  There was only one register open with no one at it and eight others with lines of people.  Taking the obvious choice, I went to the lady who was standing there picking her finger nails.  When I pushed my cart up, her greeting consisted of, "Ma'am, this lane is for 20 items or less."  I looked up, saw the sign and realized that she was right.  I looked around at the other open registers and saw that only one of them was a real register, and the wait there was about ten carts deep.  The other open registers were self-check or 10-item lanes.  The conversation continued like this...

"Yes, I see that now," I said.  "There is no one in this lane though and all the other lanes have long lines at them," I said this politely and was trying to continue on, but she said again...

"Ma'am this lane is for 20 items only."  Okay, so now I knew I was dealing with a genuine brain trust.

I said, "I know, but there is only one lane open that takes anything over 20 items."

"Yes ma'am, but this lane is only for 20 items or less."

After a couple deep breaths, I continued on by proposing a solution.  "Okay then, how about since you're not busy, you move to another register that accepts over 20 items.  That way you will be helping the customers and your fellow cashier by taking some of the now 12 people waiting in her line."

"Ma'am, I can't do that, but this lane is only for 20 items or less."

I decided the best thing to do when pushed at Wal-Mart was to push back, so I continued to play Tetris with my groceries on her tiny counter space.  I balanced them well until she again spoke.  "Ma'am, this lane is for 20 items only."

My patience was all spent at this point, so I leaned into her and asked, clearly, "Does this mean you are not going to check me out here?"

"Ma'am, this lane is for 20 items or less."

"Are you refusing to check me out then?" I asked again.  I was hoping either for the confirmation that yes, she indeed was refusing to serve the customer, or that she would give in.  She finally chose to check my 30 items out, after saying, "Whatever," and grumbling under her breath the entire time.  Of course, I told her to have a great day when I finally walked away.  I knew she would, since some of the suckers from the other line had been watching this and were now in her line, piling their groceries onto her counter too.

So, onward we go to last night.  It was a Thursday evening, which I thought was a fairly innocent time to delve into Satan's belly again, especially since Tradd was with me to assist.  During our shopping trip, I was unable to find at least four of the items I had intended to buy.  As we worked our way up the aisles from the dairy section, I was shopping from the shelves, Tradd was in charge of the cart and the kids, and Kacy was playing her typical stash-to-get-Mommy-arrested game.  Cameron, again, found one of the hiding places and discovered the butter.  I figured this was innocent enough, so I left her with it.  She was quiet and content, so I was thankful.

A couple aisles later, as Tradd and I were both searching the shelves for the missing product, I glanced at the cart and noticed that Cameron was licking her fingers.  I hadn't fed her anything.  I knew Tradd hadn't fed her anything either, so I kept watching her to see where her tasty ticklers were headed next.  She reached down to the butter box and came back up with a handful of yellow slime to plop onto her tongue.  The little snot had actually opened the end of the box, carefully unfolded one end of a butter stick, and had her hand shoved to the center of the stick, gleefully licking each finger before returning her hand to the center of the stick for another scoop.  I shrieked, lunged for the butter, wrenched it from her greased-up hands, and stood there looking at Tradd while he looked back and forth from the baby to the butter.  Cameron decided it was an appropriate time to do her best Mommy-done-me-wrong scream to attract the attention of people from three aisles over.  Tradd and I just stood there dumfounded, trying to decide separately whether we should laugh, cry, or just make for the exit.  I guess, somehow we both came to the same conclusion that laughing and continuing was the best option.  Yep, we were both wrong.

When we finally made it up front to the produce section, we knew we were in the home stretch and let our excitement get the best of us.  That's okay though.  Our dreams of a sudden escape were squashed while searching for our typical fare of bruised apples and pears, smushed between the rotting fruit-fly infested ones.  The place where these tasty delectables used to be, was now home to bins of dried beans, onions, tomatoes and all other salsa fixings.  What?!  Disgusted and annoyed, we decided that to divide and conquer would be the best course of action, so Tradd shuffled around the non-English speakers in search of spinach, while I looked for the gray haze of swarming fruit flies in the air that signaled the fruit section.  I half-expected to find a Lord of the Flies style display with a face carved into a rotting apple and set on a stick amid the pile of putrid "fruit."  But then I remembered that no one else at the Wal-Mart level of intelligence would have any idea what that even means.

We were finally fully stocked with items from all over the store.  Kacy was well-pinned to the cart by three gallons of milk and carefully holding the box with a half-eaten stick of butter, so we headed for the check-out.  As we approached, it became clear to me that I was about to turn into Crazed Mommy, complete with glowing red eyeballs, smoking hair and flames shooting from my mouth each time I had to speak.  Here's why.  Anyone who has ever been into a Super Wal-Mart knows that there are at least 20 registers, right?  Well, apparently the management at this Wal-Mart does not understand that all 20 are actually functional.  They never have more than three real registers open at once, no matter how many people are in line.  Now, by real registers, I mean ones that actually have a person checking customers out and accept more than 20 items.  There were only two of these type registers open last night.  TWO!  Since Wal-Mart stores are always laid out the same, you will also understand how bad it was when I tell you that in order to join a line, I had to maneuver my cart through the women's clothing and sit among the sweaters and pants behind the poor sap who had just been at the back of the line before I walked up.

After ten minutes, I'd had it.  Kacy was complaining non-stop that she could no longer feel her legs.  Cameron was repeatedly trying to commit Wal-Mart induced suicide by using her butter-fingers to grease up the safety straps, wiggle her butt out of them, and dive head first out of the cart.  Storm's moaning and whining about how her legs hurt from standing too long really didn't help either.  I left Tradd in charge and marched up to Wal-Mart's "Customer Service" department.  Now that phrase is an oxymoron if I've ever seen one.  "Customer Service" and "Wal-Mart" should never be placed together.  I asked to speak to a manager.  Once she arrived, she hollered at the girl behind the counter, "Who wanted to talk to me?"  I was standing two feet in front of the manager, staring at her while she hollered this past my head, so she could have easily looked at me and been rewarded with an answer.  Since she didn't, I figured I'd play her game, so I also turned to the girl at the counter and waited beside the manager for the answer.  The girl looked at us stupidly, kind of pointed a finger, and said, "This lady."

The manager finally looked at me and that look was the complete welcome, hello, can I help you, that I got from her.  Since I was obviously being handed the baton, I figured, what the hell.  I'll run with it and just jump straight to the point that they need to open more registers.  As soon as I finished the first sentence of my request and before I could continue, the thoughtful manager shouted over my head, "Susie, train her and get her on a register."  Susie rolled her eyes and walked off with the new hire.  Great.  As if that solution was really going to help.  The manager then turned on her heels and told two other women, who were honestly standing around doing nothing, that they needed to get on registers.  She then crawled back into her mirrored-glass, locked lair.  I assume, to sit with Satan and laugh at all the pissed-off peons making their miserable way through Wal-Mart hell while continuously taking it up the tail pipe.  She left me speechless though.  Actually, I found that entire sequence of events to be an incredible display of how management can manage to completely avoid interacting with and serving the customer while standing directly below a sign that reads, "Customer Service."  I was truly in awe of this woman's ability.

So, the three new registers managed to move our waiting spot in line to the front of the clothing racks on the edge of the 15-foot walking aisle behind the registers.  After another ten minutes, I was so completely crazed that my hands were shaking and flames were actually escaping my mouth even when I wasn't speaking.  Tradd slid a sideways look at me and asked, "Are we done now?"  After receiving heat-charged confirmation vibes from me, he yanked Cameron and her seat cover out of the shopping cart, I unearthed Kacy, and we pushed the full cart up to Customer Service.  Tradd told them, "We're done."  I said, "We have to get out of here some time tonight, the lines are going nowhere, and no one is willing to help.  I want a customer complaint number."  The girl at the register looked around dumbly again (I'm thinking this is just normal for her) pointed at the back wall where the Store Manager's name and telephone number were and repeated the numbers to me.

We had spent a total of 40 minutes shopping and 40 minutes in line, while still not even making it to a point even with the register displays, which were all in Spanish with Spanish movies, Spanish music, Spanish TV shows, etc.

After this fun trip, we went to Beef O Brady's for a quick dinner and a calm-down session.  It took about 30 minutes for me to stop shaking with anger and actually mellow out some.  It's funny though, because they say that prayer helps everything.  As we bowed our heads and Kacy sang her prayer at Beef's, I felt an immense sense of peace come over me.  Really, I did.  Of course, once I'd found peace, it also helped to remember that somewhere in the bottom of that shopping cart was an Imperial margarine box with a half-eaten stick of butter in it.  I had to laugh at this.  My best guess is they'll probably put it back on the shelf anyways.

After dinner Tradd stopped by BI-LO for Storm and me to run in and grab just the things we would need for this morning.  When we entered, we found shopping carts that actually were clean and rolled well.  Their produce was bright, crisp, and clean too.  Their items were priced well and as we strolled down an aisle, we heard one of the cashiers come over the loud speaker and announce that she is open on register five and will help the next person in line.  It was all such a shock to our systems that Storm and I didn't know how to react.  We walked up and down every aisle, collecting the things we had left in the cart at the front of Wal-Mart, then proceeded to the register, where we were each looked in the eye and greeted with a smile by the very nice and helpful checkout girl.

I told her how happy I was to discover how much I like our local BI-LO and how they will now have all of my business after my experience at Wal-Mart.  By this time, another lady had placed her items at the register after me.  She was a BI-LO employee doing her shopping after her shift ended and she said I was the second person to tell her that same thing that night.  She said a man had been in there about an hour before me and said that he had pushed his cart into the Customer Service area at Wal-Mart, left it and come to BI-LO to do his shopping.  If he had been in there an hour earlier that would have been about the same time I abandoned Wal-Mart forever.  I wonder if I started a trend for the evening.  A whole pile of irate customers leaving Wal-Mart; what could be better?  I really hope so, because I know people were watching us.

Anyways, I have now taken an oath NEVER to shop at Wal-Mart again.  I strongly urge everyone to do the same.  I know that not everyone will, but I definitely prefer to give my business and money to local grocers, clothing stores and sporting goods stores that actually care about the customer, cater to US citizens, and appreciate our business.  Local and online shopping are now going to be my sole source of our weekly supplies, gifts, and anything else we need to buy.  I've already been on a Made In the USA kick.  Now my avoidance of Wal-Mart and their Made in China products will help my previous mission, too.

So...who's with me?  Hands in!  ONE...TWO...THREE...I HATE WAL-MART!!!