Lost Behind the Wal
My local Wal-Mart now has those automated check-out lines, where you go through, you run your groceries across the scanner, you sack them, you pay for them, and then you take them out to the parking lot. What a great idea this is! I was so thrilled to get that "working at Wal-Mart experience," when I was finished, I stocked the shelves in housewares and then mopped the cosmetics aisles before rounding up the buggies in the parking lot on the way to my car.
The people these stores hire to check out your items are paid by the company, and most of the time, they still don't have any idea how to do it correctly. Why should I have to do their work for them?
I figure Wal-Mart thinks if they can just get us to ring our own groceries up, they can fire the rest of the night shift, replace them with underage illegal aliens smuggled in from Cambodia as indentured servants to the Sam Walton Foundation For Global Economic Control, and then generate nothing but profit.
And I posted about my "Trolling" game, going to Wal-Mart late at night and trying to find one single person that you would sleep with and admit to later. To take it a step further, I actually like going to Wal-Mart late at night. It raises your self-esteem like no diet or new wardrobe ever could.
When I feel like I need to lose weight, or I don't feel good about myself, I just stroll through the doors of Wal-Mart about one a.m. and take a good look around the store and think to myself, "My God. I am the most attractive person in a two-mile radius."
"I could have any woman in this Wal-Mart right now. That woman so big she's using the handicapped wheelchair, wearing the giant stained t-shirt with Tweety on it that says '51% Angel, 49% Bitch'? Even with all of my faults, I could literally be the most attractive person she's ever seen. That meth-mouthed woman with the pointy teeth and the skin stretched across her bones? I could rip that NASCAR t-shirt off her right now, and take her on this big pile of 'Ol' Roy' discount dog food. The woman with the muumuu, and the misspelled tattoo? Mine, all mine."
Who needs Atkins, when you've got Wal-Mart to boost your self-worth?
1 Comments:
Too funny. The clientele in there is always good for a chuckle. My husband always makes snarky comments about the stuff people try to push through the 12 items or less register. We're talking enough crap to furnish whole homes. Of course, he's louder than he thinks he is, so I'm waiting for the inevitable Wal-Mart smackdown.
Post a Comment
Links to this post:
Create a Link
<< Home