A Reformed Addict

I used to be a Walmart fanatic. Shameful as that is to admit, I used to derive joy from its sweet sales, cheap seasonal merchandise, and one-stop-shop allure.

Back when I shopped like it was my last day to do it, when I nearly melted my credit cards from all the swiping, when I could convince myself that I needed anything - like the time I came home with a jewelled fish aquarium...because it was on sale. Never mind the fact that I had to buy fish, food, plants, rocks, and all the other crap to go along with it, thus canceling out the sale price.

Since those foolish days I have done a complete 180. I am now reformed, and would almost rather throw myself in front of traffic than have to walk through those automatic doors and fake a smile at the 87 year old greeter nearly getting trampled by the herd of 13 year old skanks heading for the lip-gloss section.

I guess I just began to notice that the staff was always pissy. Acting as though you asking for help with something was surely going to rob them of the 3 most important minutes of their life.

I began to notice that really, the sales weren't that fantastic. When Safeway has things cheaper, you know there's a problem.

I began to realize that nearly everyone else shopping there was incredibly rude. I was constantly having to jump out of other people's way, apologizing for someone else running into me, or feeling guilty for taking longer than a millisecond to grab something off a shelf.

And, though I had always realized this before, I began to get really, really annoyed at the fact that there were 4 out of 19 tills open, and a minimum of 8 people standing in each line.

I think it was around Christmas 2004 that I eventually snapped. I freaked out so bad that I threw everything I was holding on the floor, let out a string of expletives, then yelled something along the lines of "God forbid you open another till when there are twenty-five thousand people in this f*cking store!", and left the husband standing at the tills with his mouth hanging open while I stomped out.

I had to go there today to get diapers...it was all I could do not to punch out the lady teaching a 12 year old how to work the till. You could tell she was on a power trip; how else could she block out the sound of Ellery screaming bloody murder, ignore my death stare and the matching ones on the line of people behind me, and continue explaining that sometimes they put security tags on bathing suits - even though I wasn't buying a bathing suit - then stopping her again mid-swipe, to explain that sometimes they even put two security tags on, and that one is usually in the crotch.

This is one addict that won't relapse.