Our Wal-Mart is new. It's been beautifully remodeled, with new floors, paint...you know--the works.
It is very, very nice.
Going there is not.
Now, I love shopping as much as the next woman, but there is just something about this place that makes me want to either set my hair on fire or rip it all out within five minutes of walking in the door.
I've been facebooking about dreading my trip there today. I certainly survived--thanks in a major part to my friend Jen, who so lovingly entertained all three of my littles while I went--but I was definitely sucked of at least part of my ability to function for the remainder of the day.
It's always something--always a different adventure. I've talked about it before. I feel fairly confident that it will come up again.
I thought I'd give all concerned parties an inside look at today's happenings:
**Within two minutes of walking in the door, I had already been nearly run over by a large woman in an electric push cart who obviously did not know how to work the thing. Good thing I had my cart to shove in the gap, or I seriously may have been a goner. The 'clink' was not pretty....but all parties walked away with no major damage.
limped walked over to the front of the building, and began waiting in a line behind six people at the customer service desk with a return. One cashier. Moving about as fast as I do after I've consumed a gigantic meal. Not at all friendly. And not at all smiling, like the ones you see on the posters plastered all around the customer service desk.
**Then, I spotted a Coinstar machine that read: "Turn your coins into CASH!"
Umm.....Since when are coins not cash? Did I miss something here? They do still accept those little metal circle things as form of payment, do they not? And, furthermore, why on earth would anyone pay this machine a percentage of their money, when every single bank and credit union in our area will perform this service for free?
**Then it was off to the jewelry counter to buy watch batteries. I own several watches, and three of them decided to quit working on me this week. The lady behind the jewelry counter took my watches and began switching out the batteries. All of a sudden, she turned around and politely informed me that she had "accidentally pressed too hard!" while putting one of my batteries in, and she broke the face of my watch. My most favorite one that I own. The one that I had specially designed at one of those in-home jewelry parties. The one that was not at all cheap.
While I know she didn't mean to, I was waiting around for the part where she said that they would fix it for me for no cost and have it back to me in a jiffy.
What I heard instead was, "We can send it off to a man in another state and it should be back in four to six weeks. That's if he doesn't have to get the crystal for the watch face overseas."
Do you mean to tell me that watch faces are made nowhere in America?
So, I politely gave her my information and made sure to tuck my copy of the receipt into a secure location in my wallet....'cause I just have this gut feeling that, four to six weeks from now, this sweet little lady isn't going to know a thing about my watch or where, literally, in the world, it is.
**It also never helps that I need everything from stuff in the garden center to batteries to shampoo to band-aids to Brita filters to BBQ sauce to yogurt to potatoes when I go there. I am, truly, in every corner of the store. It's exhausting.
**Then, I get to the pop section. It's towards the end, so I was encouraged.
*Almost done, almost done, almost done.*
While I don't drink much pop anymore, I do enjoy an occasional can of Diet Coke made with Splenda. The whole pop section had just been filled. Filled with every single kind of pop that they sell at The Wal Marts. A whole aisle, down both sides, devoted exclusively to SODA. Can you imagine? They have every kind known to mankind. Except the kind I wanted. *sigh*
**I was also subjected to hearing Billy Ray's Achy-Breaky Heart streaming over the airwaves. Not once, but twice, actually. That's how long I was in this forsaken place.
**To top it all off, the girl at the checkout counter--also not one of those smiley-cheery-poster-people but rather a grimacing, eye-rolling version of one--informed me that I was--no kidding--a "pain in the neck" and "her most work of the day" because I had price-matched a few items, had some coupons, and had actually brought my own bags to the store. God forbid I try to save some money or be somewhat earth conscious and not let her use 138 plastic bags to pack up my groceries. I'll be sure to remember that next time so as not to inconvenience anyone.
I love love love the money I save at Wal-Mart. I do. I'm grateful that I have a store decently close that has such a variety of items at really good prices. It's what keeps me going back.
But now you see why I can't go very often. I simply don't have enough hair on my head.