Rant warning: I hate WalMart!
September 6, 2016
Which is where this rant originally went. And while I’m not nearly as prone to ranting as I once was, every once in a while, it just bubbles up and boils out my fingertips.
Here, in its entirety, is my Facebook rant on WalMart, posted earlier today in response to some comments on my “I hate WalMart” facebook status:
Sigh. I should know better. I should KNOW not to shop there, Arkansas company be damned. It’s ALWAYS unpleasant.
This trip, I got to the self-checkout, which I always use to keep from having to wait in the eight-people-deep line, only to find out that one of my items does not have a tag on it. I check the rest of the stuff out, pay for it, and, clasping my receipt so I don’t get arrested for shoplifting later, I head back to the cleaning supplies aisle.
I hand my non-tagged dish brush to a clerk, telling her I want to give it to her to avoid someone else doing what I did, which is get to the checkout and discover there’s no tag on it, and she looks at me like I crawled out from under a rock and puts it back on the hook. I get a tagged dish brush, moving the one she just put there to get to it, go back up front to check it out. It’s $5.39. I put in two quarters and a $20 bill, so I won’t get back enough ones to make it look like I work at the strip club(y’all hush up; I don’t need your editorial comment), and it gives me back four quarters, two fives and four ones. I haven’t figured that one out yet.
Then on the way out, first, I breeze past one of those “people of WalMart” (forgive me, Lord) who has the WORST body odor I’ve ever encountered, and I’ve spent some time in football locker rooms. Then I’m in my car trying to leave, and have to wait as I drive past the door because a mother and daughter are coming out. Daughter walks out in the drive, turns around to look back at Mom, who is standing on the sidewalk putting on her sunglasses, and daughter just stands in the middle of the drive and waits until Mom just strolls across. (And sugar, if my belly looked like that, I’d be moving a little faster, trying to lose some of it. You shoulda bought a top big enough when you were in there. Again, forgive me, Lord.)
I’m never going back. I swear. Never.
You have to admit, that’s a pretty epic rant.
Look I’m an Arkansan, have been for 30-plus years. I lived in Bentonville for a while. (Never was so glad to get out of a place in my life, but that’s another story.) When my kids were small, I shopped regularly at WalMart; I suppose because either (a) I was younger and had a higher tolerance level, (b) I had kids and thus couldn’t afford to shop anywhere else, (c) it was the only place you could get a few groceries, poster board for the project due tomorrow, diapers for the little one, cigarettes, shampoo and a dust mop in one stop and it was better than getting them in and out of the van, or (d) I could stash the two little ones in the basket and keep them SOMEWHAT corralled (the oldest one was my “good child” and generally well-behaved).
None of those are the case any more.
I suspect I would have paid 20 percent more for my assortment of cleaning items and other assorted stuff (not to mention the two things I forgot because they weren’t on my list) if I had gone elsewhere. You know what? I can afford 20 percent. I cannot afford a stroke, which is about what I was headed for by the time I got out of their parking lot.
I don’t like Target, either, in large part because you can’t park within 9 miles of the door at the one up here. But I am here to tell you, Freds and Dollar General and Walgreens are about to start getting ALL my business.
You ‘n y’mama ‘n ’em can have my share of all the WalMart angst out there. I’m gone.