I don’t know where I was on my creation journey when the shopping “gene” was handed out to female embryos. I suppose I was at the table picking up the organization gene or something else useful. Or not.
Could have just been hanging upside down, sucking on my thumb snoozing away. Either way, I cannot stand shopping.
Hate is not a strong enough word for how I feel toward shopping. Despise, find disgusting, find repulsive. Icky poopy time is what it is! Give me root canal or give me watching paint dry. Just don’t make me go shopping!
Did you know shopping comes from Old English sceoppa, treasure house? One person’s treasure is another person’s TRASH!
However, I have picked up some useful rules if you still plan on shopping the Mart of Wal.
Rules for shopping at Wal Mart:
I don’t even know where to begin to inform you of what to wear. :sigh: Entire web sites (the original, Wikipedia and a music video) are out there for your pursuing inspiration. Basically, put on your dirtiest wife-beater tee. Remove your bra. Pull down your pants-a bit of crack is welcome there. Thong or no thong, shoes or no shoes are the only questions you need to answer prior to entering the building.
Keep in mind some basic safety guidelines:
Keep your head down, do NOT make eye contact. If you do make the mistake of catching someone’s eye-be sure to look down quickly and slink slowly past. Gaping your mouth open wide helps you blend back in.
Walk slowly, slighltly slouched. Now is not the time to get noticed from your new power-walking prowess. If you walk quickly you run the chance of the others thinking you are pray-at discounted prices!
Repeat after me (in your head of course, speaking is only allowed if you are on a cell phone, no more than 2 syllables per word with plenty of umms or variations of f**to fill the space and at a volume of a minimum of 150 decibles) keep the gaze and gate low and slow.
Basically, pretend you are an extra for Resident Evil. Channel your inner mind-missing zombie
Back to my horrific shopping excursions:
I hate driving to the store. I hate finding a parking space and getting stuck behind the person waiting for the closest one and the person in the space has forgotten how to put the vehicle in reverse. I get peverse joy out of laying on my horn at this point. Mr. B slinks down in the seat, hoping nobody notices what his insane wife is doing. If I get the opportunity to test my horns endurance, it will be the only smile I will get out of this entire shopping fiasco. Dodging the idiots in the parking lot who seem to think the rule of the parking lot game is to cause as many heart attacks as possible to the hapless victims of the pavement. Next, having to choose between automatic doors (the height of laziness and one of the reasons chivalry is dead) or touching the handle of the manual ones (one should not be allowed to leave a public restroom without first washing their hands. Lock the door, don’t let them leave). Choosing a cart that magically has the worst wheel and zero control. Touching the handle. Ick.
Hopefully my shopping list has made it from my car to the cart. Not always. :sigh:
Time to find the items I need/want as quickly as possible. Wait, the store has completely changed since the last time I was in. Time spent looking and sometimes not finding. I don’t mind the walking, it’s the endless searching without results that irks me. Wait! There is hope. One item I came to pick up is on sale. Hurray! I will buy two because I can use them. Maybe this shopping stuff isn’t so bad after all…
Finally, I get to cruise to the check-out lines. Where, of course, there are at least three people to a line, only 3 lanes open and each line has at least one person who appears to not have been out shopping in the past six months. Time to stock up! A baby is screaming in one line, another line has a blinking light (we all know what that means) and another has someone with a receipt in hand pointing angrily and the checker has a look that seems to say “this is so not worth the small pittance I am being paid, maybe I could sell my organs for an easier gig…”So I take a few (more like 3 dozen) deep breaths, check out the in-store decoration, smile at the people around me (who do not smile back, in fact, I think they just got angrier).
Inevitably I get behind the person in line who hasn’t stepped into this century yet and it still writing checks. Hand writing. Slowly and legibly. What is the date? Who do I make the check out to? How much is the amount? Nevermind we have been standing in line for at least 5 minutes, plenty of time to sign the check, write the info in check ledger as much as possible. (better yet, get the kind of checks that leave a copy behind). Or behind the person who still carries change-as in pennies, nickels and dimes but doesn’t quite know how to count out the correct amount. Pocket lint, sticky coins, balled up bills. Oh yes, it’s all there folks.
Finally my turn is up. I place my (few) items on the counter, the clerk rings them, my plastic is swiped and I am ready to go! I am running towards the light. Get me out of here!
I am blinded by the bright sun of the day. I forgot where I parked my car. More endless searching. There it is! Parked between a mini-van and a small ugly vehicle. They are parked so close to mine I wonder how they exited their vehicles. I end up going in through the back seat. I pause to take a breath, take out my reciept and…
Wait! I looked at my receipt and the items I thought were on sale, were not. Sale: FAIL.
I entertain the idea of going back in to get something to calm my nerves. Sugar, yes sugar will do the trick nicely. Prior to entering the store I had every intention of buying only what is on my list, avoiding the sugar and packaged crap. But now, they are calling my name. I need one to calm my nerves. And look, they are coming right up near the register! I…must…have…chocolate. Maargh. My mouth gaps open, I begin to drool on myself. My gaze glazes over.
Now I am primed and ready for Wal-Mart