6's & 7'S
and all things crazy
I avoid Walmart like the clap. The attraction of buying cheap crap that I don't need wore off about the same time my pet rock died. But once a week, I have to make an appearance, because even I can't resist the 3 cents a can I save on dog food.
I often wonder if the clusterfuckory of checking out is even worth it. Fifty customers, their carts overloaded with enough junk to save the economy of a small nation, vying for two checkout lanes. But lately I've discovered a reason to enjoy the experience: disgruntled employees.
A few weeks ago, Honey Badger was my checkout clerk.
I looked at my two dozen cans of dog food and asked, "Do you have to ring them all up separately?"
"Oh, yeah. Inventory, you know. For lack of a better word, they're Nazis."
I sorted my cans on the counter by flavor. "Well, I guess it wouldn't make sense to actually create a few inventory jobs."
"Oh, no. They'd much rather hire more of us out here to deal with all the customers and their attitudes. I can smile and be nice all day long and nobody cares. Let's face it, no one comes to Walmart for the customer service," she said as she flung my cans haphazardly toward a bag.
"I guess not."
I paid her and thanked her for being so entertaining.
She shrugged, rolled her eyes and said, "Whatever."
Honey Badger don't give a shit.
Last week, my check out clerk was Chatty Cathy. Not disgruntled, mind you, but annoying, just the same.
"Oh, Secret deodorant. A lot of people use this. Oh, dog food, you must have a dog. Oh, Twinkies! I used to eat these all the time!"
No shit, I have a dog, and do you sniff pits randomly to determine anti-perspirant choices? As for the Twinkies, by looking at your ass I'd say you still eat them all the time, fried and by the cartload. I am tempted to put a box of Magnum condoms, a tube of Anal Ease and an industrial size can of Crisco in my cart just to see what Chatty Cathy would say.
Tonight I got the Bitch-That-Can't-Be-Pleased. "It's raining outside," she said through gritted teeth.
"Really? That's awesome!" Did I mention we live in a desert? Getting even a drop of rain is like, well, getting rain in the desert.
"Well, it BETTER not be raining when I leave here at 11. If I get wet, I swear I'm going to lose it!" Trust me, Elmira, you aren't going to melt, and unless they are having a wet T-shirt contest in the parking lot, no-one is going to care if you lose it. Geez, buy a bra, for Christ's sake. Cathy over there can surely suggest one for you or at least tell you what everyone else is buying.
"And I've been here for TEN HOURS today!" I pulled out my compact and looked in the mirror. No, I did not have my fake 'I-give-a-shit' look on my face. Just my usual 'why-the-fuck-are-you-talking-to-me' look that everyone seems to ignore.
I noticed a wedding ring on her finger and quietly said a prayer for her husband.
I walked outside to a raging thunderstorm. Instead of rushing to my car, I stopped, lifted my face to the sky and let out a deep sigh. Another week before I have to hear those three little words that make me smile and cringe at the same time.
Welcome to Walmart.
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