Now, I'm not even going to delve into the clothing thing; there are whole websites devoted to people of Walmart and their fashion choices. I have seen various degrees of undress as well as grown adults looking like they just left a slumber party. What amazes me even more than the fact that someone considers fleece SpongeBob pajama pants suitable attire for shopping are the personality types I seem to always encounter.
I have observed a little bit of everything on these weekly
What is it about Walmart that seems to make people amorous? You know the ones, the lovers standing in the middle of the aisle, leaning into each other in some sort of sheer, white trash bliss--the vertical version of spooning, if you will. I had to break up a magical canoodling moment on the deodorant aisle last week between a young couple who seemed on the verge of a full-on make out. I have no idea what it was about the Speedstick that had them so titillated. It did not have the same effect on me.
Then there are the fighters. I can certainly understand where this one comes from; navigating a big box mega store with your significant other in tow is a harrowing experience. I do, however, try to limit mine and Clint's spats to looks that will kill or deep sighs and eye rolls. This week I overheard (they were almost yelling, so it was hard to avoid) a couple venting some agitation. And I quote, "What are you gonna do, just beat her ass?" to which the lady--and I use that term loosely--hotly replied, "That's exactly what I'm gonna do. I hate it when you talk sh*t like this." People, the jolly Green Giant is not Judge Judy. He is interested in broccoli florets, not mediating domestic disputes. Grab that bag of frozen tater tots you came for and keep moving.
The UK shoppers are those folks who are apparently not from around here and are unaware that the norm in this country is to stay on the right side when walking/driving/shopping. Instead, the UKs shun conventional cart etiquette and drive their carts on the wrong side of the aisle, fish-up-stream style. Maybe they are looking to buggy chicken fight--either way, all I want to do is get in, get out and get this over with. I like to greet the UK shoppers with a "Cheerio!" as I pass. They have no idea what it means and it's good stress relief, since calling out moron or a-hole might incite violence.
Mama mia! Here we go again! My, my, how can I avoid you? The Mama Mias are those moms who, either from exhaustion or ambivalence have given up and are letting their kids wreak pure child havoc through the store. The little darlings are screaming, throwing cereal boxes galore into the cart, running in front of other carts...in general, just creating joy wherever they go. Especially if they will go away from me. Is hit and run with a shopping cart a prosecutable crime?
And of course, dragging along smack in the middle of the aisle, always in front of me, is Slowly McFartsalong. This poor soul appears to be in some sort of haze/daze/comatose state and is moving with all the intensity of a snail crawling through quicksand. I assume it is to savor every glorious moment of the Walmart experience, or to give me chest pains from the torture of it all. The Slowlys are oblivious to their surroundings, so no amount of huffing or puffing or sighing or praying the ceiling will fall in on them and remove them from your path will make a difference. You will have to wait until you can see a cart-sized piece of daylight and shoot past them. Or you can stay behind them and take full advantage of Walmart's 24 hours of operation. I personally have never had the burning desire to die of old age inside a Walmart, so the Slowly McFartsalongs are a particular thorn in my low price loving side.
So take a deep breath, pack your patience, and grab a cart with one broken wheel that squeaks incessantly. We're about to roll up our sleeves and brave the Walmess. They say it takes all kinds: I say I know exactly where to find them.