Tuesday, July 22, 2014

A "Normal" Day at Walmart

I walked out of the house with a grocery list, a bad cough, and an even worse attitude. Somehow looking like death warmed over and sounding like three pack a day smoker did not give me a break from the ever present question - "What's for supper?" Rather than argue my case I dragged myself out of my chair with an air of disbelief which was totally lost on everyone else. 

Since our town is now down to only 2 grocers and Walmart is the closest to us I decided why not make this a sporting event while I was at it. 

What happened to the friendly AARP Walmart greeters? I do not think Sam would approve of the lady on duty. She was leaning over the check out line divider chatting up her pal about the latest church gossip. Meanwhile the rest of us were left to procure our own buggies from the line of those semi attached by visible child safety straps or mysterious invisible latches that eventually released themselves after several tries. All the while the "Greeter" had yet to acknowledge our presence, much less welcome us.

The store was mad. Had I missed a holiday or an impending weather disaster? The aisle to the bread was blocked by the carts of two folks discussing the recent death of one of their spouses. By the time I got there they were discussing the funeral service. I decided I would get bread on the way out. At the meat counter I found a young lady in her teens standing there holding up two packages of beef as if she were offering them to the gods. A closer look showed she was actually only chewing gum and clueless about what she was looking at. I politely excused myself as I reached beside her and picked a beef roast - that I could identify.

After getting fresh vegetables, jam, peanut butter, chicken, pork, Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, and nuts, I went back to see if the bread aisle was clear and indeed it was. 

I found a checkout line and started putting my items on the counter. The cashier was friendly and did not give me the evil eye when she saw my shopping bags. When I heard the screaming of children behind me I turned to see a very harried mother. I started counting the youngsters with her and I looked twice. There were eight under the age of twelve. And one could tell from her exhaustion and their shared red hair they were all hers.

As I gathered my bags into my buggy and thanked the cashier I watched as the youngsters were raising hell and the mother had that look somewhere between exhaustion and total resignation. Perhaps my life wasn't so bad. I walked out the door by the greeter who still did not feel the need to greet, past the bench with the little lady dressed in pink who was talking to herself, right by the card table of the Church of Bethel Chapel without leaving alms for the poor in Haiti, in front of the over-sized pickup truck with the confederate flag on the back window (I was warned by the horn playing "Dixie"), and behind two red neck women arguing over whether Jeff Gordon was gay or not.

My world and welcome to it. I'm going back to bed.

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