Wal-Mart

Oh yes... Wal-Mart. The almighty low-price megastore. I HATE Wal-Mart. I hate going there. I hate thinking about it. Even the uttering of the name makes me quiver. It could only be me or the particular Wal-Mart's I've been frequenting, but these are the reasons why, if given the chance, I would give Sam Walton a kick to the testicles so quick and hard that it would actually force them explosively from his mouth.

136 aisles, 5 are open

I will be the first to say that is probably isn't necessary to open, realistically, all 30-something lanes, but only 5 or 6? What really pisses me off is when I get there, seeing that there are only a handful of cashiers checking out, and people are lined up to the main center aisle. Then you have all of the idiots with 7 weeks worth of groceries going through the "20 items or less" lane. Sometimes I talk loudly about these people while they're a few feet in front of me in hopes they realize their shopping faux pas.

The Wal-Mart Shopper

I don't want to cross any lines here because I know we all shop at Wal-Mart at some point, and again, this could have much to do with the Wal-Mart's I shop at, but these people are idiots.

It all starts when I pull into the the vast asphalt desert that is the Wal-Mart parking lot. I pull up the center aisle and BAM! Slam on my brakes! Why? Because this Wal-Mart shopper feels the need to wait 10 minutes for Granny to put her groceries in her Cadillac to get her spot because it might be 5 feet closer that the very vacant spot three spots down. I have found to prevent this from happening, I will sit in my car and wait until no one is waiting on the spot, then leave. If someone is behind me and there is an equally accessible spot in close proximity, I'm waiting them out, and I will win.

Then I make my way into the store and am trying to navigate through the aisles when I am halted by someone that feels the need to stop in the middle of the aisle and look for what they need on shelf, rather than scooting their buggy to the left or right to allow me through. The Wal-Mart shopper is so rude.

Continuing on my pleasant journey through the white and blue aisles of torture, I remember that I need something off of my wedding registry, so I go to the jewelry counter to print one. What? Out of paper? What now? I go to the counter to ask the 16 year old female texting if she can fix it. It was literally like I asked her to perform open-heart surgery. She went through the same steps I did, as if I was completely incapable of pushing buttons on a screen, then determines I WAS right. She proceeds to tell me how the girl that works the shift before her should have done it and it wasn't her fault. I don't care. Fix it.

This isn't happening as much anymore, but t still annoys me when I see the kids skating around the store on the shoes with wheels. I've thought about tripping them a couple of time when the parents were away (which is the problem), but I can't bring myself to do it. I did however see a boy try to skate from the inside of the store to the outside and when he did, he fell on his back. I don't know if I've ever felt so happy to see someone fall.

I'm adding this after this post was submitted because I thought of a couple other things about this amusement park of torture that I forgot to mention. Have you seem the plethora of carts left in the parking lot?! Why are people so lazy? I watch people every time upon leaving the store, they will just push their cart between 2 or 3 cars and leave it. *Insert loud scream here.* These are probably the same people using the fat carts in the store. Then there are those people who drive the wrong way up the lanes looking for parking spots. I like to call them douche-bags. They're usually a very small woman driving something like a Ford Excursion or an elderly person at least 103 years of age, either way,  they make my Wal-Mart experience at least 54% less tolerable.

Fat Carts (see like-named post)

I can't even talk about this anymore because if I did, I think my brain will explode.

In closing, I have a hatred for Wal-Mart that burns inside of my like the fire from one thousand suns, and now you know why.

Peace.