My son and I were walking back to our car which was parked way out near the street when we heard a squealing of tires and a crash. We looked over into the next row of parked cars to see a woman in a midsize green car pushing a parked car as she turned left. She pushed the parked car into the next 3 cars in that row crashing them all together like dominoes. Then she moved to the cars parked across the aisle and hit one of those pushing it into another 5 cars before she finally stopped. Making a total of 10 wrecked cars from one crazy WalMart driver (11 if you count hers). I grabbed my seven year old and ran away from the area. In case she started going again I didn’t want my son to be injured.
One Walmart experience among many – I am trying to get to the dog food aisle with my cart to grab a 40 lb. bag. Of course there is a giant pillar in the middle of the aisle and pallets of food are strategically stacked to make one’s shopping experience the “total Walmart package.” The “Round Family” barrels towards me. Pa, in his overalls with no shirt on underneath and more hair on his back than Cousin It, leads his brood past me 3 abreast shoving me into into the dog food racks. I SARCASTICALLY say, “Excuse me!” Ma turns to me and grunts at me while whackin’ at little Cletus, and says, “No problem.” I respond, “You clearly don’t get sarcasm, do you?” She says, “You’ll have to ask someone who works here where that is.”
Having spent my entire life in Texas with the exception of 7 years in Arkansas, I used to think that there was no way I would ever see displays of ignorance or idiocy akin to what I’d experienced in “Bill Clinton Land,” after returning home to Texas. Well, one fateful night at Wal-Mart in my home state, I was proven wrong.
Shortly upon entering the store, I’d noticed a rather large woman, who was visibly economically impaired. She had with her 4 children, 2 of them in nothing but diapers, and she had them all sitting in her buggy. The youngest of the babies was probably about 7 months old, and because it was close to 11 at night, the poor little thing was cranky and exhausted, not unlike his siblings, and understandably, the mother herself was rather frazzled and short tempered. I wanted to point out that if she had her children at home in the bed at such a late hour, she would probably not be in that situation, but I held my tongue because perhaps she was a working mom who just got off work or something, and had to go to the store for milk or other various necessities.
I was soon proven wrong on this, however, because I saw her a few minutes later in the beer and wine section, with cartons of ale and bottles of wine shoved in the basket in the available space not taken up by her children. And the littlest baby had decided that enough was enough, and was squalling so loudly it could have woken the dead. I felt sorry for the poor thing, and remembered that I had a brand new pacifier, still in the package, in my purse for any tantrum emergencies for my own baby. So I went up to the woman and said, “You must have your hands full. I have a new binky in my purse, it hasn’t been opened yet, you are welcome to it if you’d like.”
The woman blinked and said, “Oh, no, I don’t let my babies use those things. It’s bad for their teeth, and I think they need to have other ways of soothing themselves.” I shrugged and walked away to the dairy section, leaving behind the screaming baby, and a minute later I noticed the baby had stopped crying. Curious, I scanned the aisles to see what she had done to quiet him down. Well, the woman whose children were too good for pacifiers had given her child an unopened bottle of beer from one of her cartons and he was happily sucking on it. Go figure.
I was working the register after zero training, and the customer line was long and getting longer. I was receiving quite a few insults about how slow I was on the register, and reaching the end of my rope with the whole thing when a woman in line took pity on me.
“What would it take to shut down this register?” she said quietly.
“A real disaster” I replied.
She winked, and casually swept her arm around so it knocked a big glass jug of wine off the belt to shatter all over the floor. She apologized over and over to both me and the supervisor who ran up, and my register was shut down for safety reasons, much to the dismay of the line of customers, for whom I had no sympathy.
The best part was an old man in ratty jeans and a t-shirt filled with holes ran up, knelt down in the puddle of wine, and began running his fingers through it and licking the wine off his hands.
I quit 30 minutes later, when the supervisor told me I’d have to stay late to help with the leftover customers because since the wine had broken on my register, it was partially my fault.