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Friday of the week from Hell
Friday of the week from Hell
This morning I got up to the wonderful sight of a clogged toilet. Well, not really clogged, it just couldn't flush. It could, if I really felt it was the best way to mop my floor, but that's a tangent I'll go down later.
I want you to understand, this particular writer is media challenged. I live in a valley, at the bottom, in front of a swamp. Little comes in here by way of television, unless you have cable, and I just don't think often enough of turning it on, anyway. Don't listen to the radio, all those blasted commercials tick me off. Seems you can't go anywhere without someone trying to sell you something. The newspapers just tick me off, and I have this thing about impotent rage. When I check the classifieds, I go to the library, and usually return and/or take out a book.
So, dearest reader, I had to visit America today. Yessir, I braved the wilds of Wal*Fart. My grandfather (one of the many things I've heard about him) was a labor organizer. He's probably doing cartwheels in his grave.
I parked in their parking lot in front of the store. I'm from California, where it's get out the way, or get stampeded. People here in Ohio have no concept of out of the way. The worst thing happens to you here, get a cart in the butt. People don't have a problem with walking in front of a car.
Back to Wal*Fart. I parked in the parking lot after doing the pedestrian slollum, and bravely walked in. Some woman with bottle black hair handed me a cart and really welcomed me to Wal*Fart. Though I think she called it Wal*Mart.
I start walking through the store. Lord, there's lots of genuine garbage for sale. The Darth Vader Halloween bucket. The Christmas kitsch. Though I saw a sweater I liked.
I'm there for the septic cleaner, cat food, and chocolate. I found the septic cleaner without incident. Then headed to the pet food. What a mistake! I was heading past what looked kind of like a Christmas no-man's land, when I got startled out of my skin by a Black santa made of plastic with an Uncle Remus voice, Telling me I need to get in the spirit of the season (there isn't enough pot in the world) by singing Christmas songs. Little plastic personage, about a foot shorter than I am. Read: Too friggin close to my ear. Started with Jingle Bells, may the author rot in hell. Well, I sang, too, about beat up chevrolets, walking round in women's underwear, and going to the mall on Charlie's Harley, then walked away.
I got my catfood, then thought I'd stroll around the mostly closed garden center. Looked at amarylis bulbs, wished I could start some bulbs now for Christmas. Start heading toward the check out, when I pass our faux Santa. He's still going at it, singing stuff I didn't have alternate lyrics for. That time of year again. Yeesh! I didn't like it last year, I gotta live through another?
Safely to checkout, I got behind the woman just getting checked out. She found a bunch of stuff in the closeout bin, and some of it shouldn't have been there. Sigh. I open my bottle of coke, and start drinking it, leaning against the belt, and talking to the woman, who is apologizing. I figured I was paying for the cutting of Christmas cactus that, uh, fell on the floor.
It took about 10 minutes. I just saw it as a breather, I could ignore the magazines and stuff. Though that's where I got my chocolate. Bag of peanut M&Ms. Finally, I'm getting checked out, all done, making my getaway to my car, I'm at my car, I'm putting my bags in the back, and realize I should have 2 bags. And I don't count. SFDPH.
Got the receipt in my purse, I go back, check the cashier's. Not there. Ask the person with the carts, no I didn't stoooopitly return my cart with one of the bags in it. Maybe my septic system was giving me a warning this morning, and I should be happy I had a flooded bathroom this morning. If that wasn't a warning of a crappy day, what would be? ARRRGGGGHHHHHHH! This means I have to pass the plastic horse head Barbie thing, and singing Uncle Remus. The Pop Tart case that looks like a chocolate Pop Tart (say, I wanna be seen with that), and the 100% brain candy books.
I had to go to customer service first, they sent me to the manager. I ask the manager what I should do, I had to collect up the stuff again. So, I go get the stuff again, and I passed astrological Barbies, canned mashed potatoes, and some stuff I wasn't certain was food, but it was obviously being marketed as such. Little cakes that glowed in the dark.
Okay, I make a second trip through the shop of horrors. Take my stuff back to customer service, only then to find someone had turned the bag in. Yeesh! I'm gladdish, in that my faith in humanity has taken a beating this week, but, man, why'd I have to go through that? Hyped, shiny, cold,fakery. Shopping for the shallow end of the gene pool.
I took my stuff back to the car, and sat there with my coke and my M&Ms. This is what we've come to? My God. I am home, safe, can't get the top off the septic cleanout, so I guess it's hope the toilet won't flood tonight. Maybe I'll pour the stuff down the shower drain.
I have to go feed the beasts.
11/6/2005 8:42 am
I try to avoid wally world at all costs.....they are just to squeaky sweet for me .....some vague Orwellian hell......|
nope I shall not consume according to their schedule....hell I'm going to avoid them at all costs....Join with me in a chant,...Wall*Fart is the Beast