Fair Warning

This is going to be one of those "People disappoint me in so many ways" posts.

I went to the Wal-mart after work. I had no choice - I realized this morning while packing my little lunch that I was, after I packed it, out of several necessary components. And taking a lunch tomorrow is not negotiable, because it's my busy teaching day, and I don't have time to go home. (And getting something out is out of the question - except for Subway, which I kind of loathe, most of the restaurants that take less than an hour to eat at all serve deep fried greaseballs).

So I had to go.

It was 4 pm when I got there. Worst. Time. Ever.

First of all - at my local wal-mart, several of the 'aisles' in the parking lot are narrow and are designated one-way. No biggie, I can deal with that. I pulled into one that was known for having places even when the store was busy (as I know it would be).

And I wound up behind this guy. Guy in a big pickup. Just sitting there. Blocking the aisle.

Now, people do this a lot and I admit it's something that infuriates me - they vulture over a space that MIGHT come open in the next 10 minutes, where the person's unloading their cart, strapping kids in car seats, stuff like that. I don't have a problem with it if you're pulling in a lane and you see someone's backing-lights come on - that's fine and good. I do that myself. My problem comes when it would be FASTER for you to stop blocking traffic and take that space that is open some 30 feet down the aisle.

Look: If you are impaired physically to the point where walking an extra 30 feet is a hardship, apply for a handicapped permit. There are always approximately 82 empty handicapped spaces at the wal-mart, no matter how full the lot is otherwise. Get the tag, park in the handicapped space, and leave the aisles open for the rest of us preparing to drive out to Siberia to find a spot to park in.

Otherwise - suck it up and walk the extra 30 feet. It will not kill you, I can assure you of that.

Anyway, this special snowflake had to sit, blocking the aisle, waiting on a space - but I could not see any space that was apparently forthcoming. No guy with 10 bags of Ol' Roy he was shuffling into the back of his pickup, no mom hustling to get her three kids belted or car-seated so she could go home and cook dinner.

No, special snowflake was just sittin' there.

I don't THINK his truck had broken down; it was idling and the hazard lights were not on (but hell, no one uses their turn signals around here, so probably people haven't even heard of hazard lights).

I sat there for several minutes, stewing (I have a LIFE to live. Or some semblance of a life. Or, if you want to believe that woman writing that thing in the Atlantic about single women needing to "settle" on the first XY creature that is demonstrably human, I have my pathetic uncoupled existence to return to so I can cry myself to sleep over having made the wrong choice with my life.) Anyway. Mr. Special Snowflake (and seriously, that woman writing in the Atlantic? I'd like her to come here and look at some segments of the dating pool. I think she'd retract her comment about "just settle.") continued to sit there.

So finally, fed up, wanting to just get my damn skim milk and my damn plain yogurt and my damn bag of navel oranges, I decided to attempt a stupid and risky maneuver that I know would make me curse at the person doing it if I saw someone attempt it in front of me: I backed up out of the lane, and VERY CAREFULLY pulled back into the main strip of the parking lot to try another aisle.

(Special Snowflake was still sitting there).

And I nearly got hit by a person coming up the wrong way, yakking on a cell phone.

And I got behind yet another Special Snowflake waiting on his Extra Special Spot.

But I finally got to a place - a goodly distance from the store - and started hiking up.

I finally got there, grabbed a cart, and set off for the dairy section.

And a woman pushing a cart and talking on one of those perishing Bluetooth devices nearly ran me over. Hey, lady, I exist, okay? Shut up with your invisible friend long enough to see the people you're running into.

And then I had the experience of waiting while a woman parked her cart right in front of the glass door I needed to open for my half-gallon of skim, while she stood and read every single stinking milk carton.

Okay, I get comparison shopping. But there are big shelf-tags that you can read from 5 feet away. And yeah, maybe the different brands differ. But the time to do a detailed comparison of the merits of Borden vs. Wal-Mart-reprocessed-milk vs. Springdale is NOT at 4 pm when half of the town is out trying to buy food for dinner. Come at 7 am on a Saturday and do it, please, then pick a brand and stick with it.

Finally got my milk, my yogurt, my fruit, a couple other things I needed, some frozen blueberries (I'm getting very sick of the fresh fruit choices; this is not a good time of year to be trying to eat healthfully). Got in line. Got behind a guy who was buying his month's food supply. I don't have a problem with that. I don't even have too much of a problem with the fact that he basically grunted at the cashier. I do have a problem that he threw his money at her. She's a human being, too. It's not HER fault food prices have gone up.

I did have to stare at a creepy, Children-of-the-Corn-like photo of the Olson twins on one of those checkout rags. And I had to stare at a sad-making photo of Britney Spears (seriously? As much as she irks me, if she's really mentally unwell, I hope she gets the help she needs and gets some semblance of peace in her life) on Us magazine.

And of course, there were the Valentineurs. The men slumping around trying to decide what would make the woman in their life happy, the women bitching with their Invisible Friends on the Bluetooth about "Why do *I* have to buy *him* something, anyway?" Moms griping about the price of those darn little cheap-paper Spiderman valentines that their son has to buy enough for EVERYONE in his class of.

You know, my standard comment applies here: If it is so much of a drag for you to celebrate a holiday, just don't. Just give it up. Just don't buy the cheap paper valentines if it's such a pain and a hassle. Just don't give your man anything from the wal-mart. Sure, there will be disappointment and sadness but is it really better for you to put on a smiley face but resent what you're doing deep down?

It is not unAmerican not to celebrate Valentine's Day because it bugs you to be forced to buy stuff for the people you love, I promise it isn't.

(I sent my parents a box of Aplets and Cotlets. [my dad is on a salt-restricted diet and those are one of the few low-sodium candies that's very special]. It did not take long at all to order. I was happy to be able to do it.)

Anyway. I finally paid for my supplies and (and this is my last gripe) had to walk halfway across the lot to find a "cart corral" (Seriously - there are fifteen of them within the closest 20 feet to the store, and NONE out in the back 40 where a lot of us wind up having to park. That is Not Right.)

But at least I'm home now, and I have the ingredients for my sorry little lunches for the rest of the week.

(I really wish some place locally sold the Greek "Fage" yogurt. It's expensive but the whey crap is drained off of it already. And that whey really creeps me out.)

If I ever say "I hate Wal-Mart," it is not for their corporate policies, or how they treat their workers, or any of that. It is for how people believe once they get there.

I try to be nice, I try to be polite. I make an effort to put aside my belief - which we all have, really - that I am a Special Snowflake deserving of better treatment than everyone else. But I would like to be able to negotiate the parking lot or the store without taking my life into my hands.