Rude Isn’t the Word for It

Prepare yourselves. I’m about to cut loose with one of my famous rants.

Why?

I was stupid and went out on government check day which was also Good Friday.

Now, I truly realize why gov check days are so hectic. People on any sort of fixed income are out of everything by the time their next deposit or check arrives, so they rush out to buy what they need. They also pay bills that day, fill their cars up with gas, and so on. This is why I avoid doing my shopping during the first of each month. This particular time of the month turns everyone into raving lunatics—myself included when I have to deal with the anal behavior of said people.

All I had to do was go into Save A Lot and then Riesbecks, our local family-owned grocery chain.

Simple, right?

Wrong!

My two youngest were with me on Good Friday. I warned them that it would be busy and to stay close and not lollygag. They helped me in the store, and before I knew it, we were done with our shopping. I thought, wow, this didn’t take long and it wasn’t crowded at all.

That was until we started toward the front of the store to check out. People suddenly came out of the woodwork. It was like flipping on a light and watching cockroaches scatter in every direction. I stood there thinking, did someone shout “free money!” at the front of the store or what?

Worse, they were all elderly folks and another couple who were stupid like me and went out on the wrong day.

Steeling myself for the worst, I approached the check-out—and only one was open, of course. An elderly couple stood there finishing up their order. The conveyor belt was empty. Let me repeat: EMPTY.

I started putting my groceries on the counter halfway back from them so I wouldn’t disturb them or make them feel like I was trying to push them out of the queue. The old man shoved in between me and his wife who was paying for their stuff. He kept shooting me dirty looks.

Then is wife takes out a check book. Lord have mercy and give me strength. I kid you not, it took her ten minutes—count ‘em, ten!—to write out a personal check, when, I might add, the register had the auto-print feature. All she had to do was sign her name, but no, she stood there ten minutes writing the check out. What took her so long? I have no idea unless she writes that slowly or she didn’t have her glasses.

The elderly gent then began pushing backwards, sticking his rear out slightly in an effort to force me back.

Okay. That did it. I’m all for respecting my elders, and I adore elderly people, I really do; however, blatant rudeness? Hell no! But what got me is my mouth. I controlled it…for once. I nearly killed me, but I did it!

However, the urge to snap, “Move it or lose it, Grandpa!” almost made my teeth explode.

I glanced at the cashier, and it must’ve been the look on her face but she in turn glanced at the old man, a strange expression of “Oh, sh**” on her face, and motioned for him to move. Surprisingly, he did.

And because they took so long to write a check and refused to move so the line could advance, said line was backed into the food aisle! They had to open two more registers.

Okay, deep breath. I can do this. I can buy my groceries, pack them, load them in my Blazer, and get the hell out of Dodge before I lose my ever lovin’ mind.

Well, it wasn’t quite so easy. Save A Lot doesn’t carry our brand of coffee, so I had to drive a few yards up the strip to Riesbeck’s. The kids waited in the Blazer for me. After all, I was just running in for coffee, right?

Fifteen minutes later, I staggered out of the store and fell into the driver’s seat.

“What took you so long, Mommy?” Wee Man asked.

One woman was having a fit at the 8 Items or Less register because she was told she had to buy four of the sale items she wanted to get two free. So the stock boy drove to freaking Alaska to check the shelf and got lost on the way back!

Pant-pant!

So I move to the 10 Items or Less register, where another woman’s total came to $37.06. No, no! Don’t do it! Woman, I command you to hand her another dollar bill—but no! She digs in her wallet for five wonderful hair-pulling minutes for a nickel and a dime!

Pant-pant! Oh, but it gets better!

Since Wendy’s is at the end of the parking lot, I buzzed through the drive-through and got the kids sandwiches. On the way out, the one entrance farthest away was busy, so I went back through the entrance that leads into Riesbeck’s lot to exit that way. It’s a three-way stop with two stop signs within ten yards of each other, followed by either turning left to go out the proper exit where there’s a right-hand turning lane, or go straight into the parking lot. I stopped at the one sign, then stopped at the next, and sat there to make my left-hand turn to the third sign…and sat there…and sat there….

Elderly people were leaving the lot and would not let me out. Hello? Does right of way mean nothing to anyone? It has been my turn to go next for five minutes now. Hey, lady! Do you know what the brake is? You jerk! You don’t get in the damn right-hand turning lane to turn left! Finally, my turn! I edge out beyond the sign and—WHOOSH! This old woman with blue hair and who could barely see over the steering wheel, driving an SUV worth every bit $40K, left a trail of fire behind her to cut EVERYONE off and make it to the exit.

After I sat there for minutes on end, I let loose with a string of expletives and mashed the gas peddle, weaving and bobbing, baby! Weaving and bobbing!

Oh, and the air over the parking lot was a lovely shade of sapphire blue.

But I had to cross the entire lot and exit through the service entrance because no one would let me out at the stop sign so I could exit the normal route.

By the time I got home, I stuffed groceries wherever I could find room and then crashed into my chair utterly frazzled.

I’m buying a taser to use in the stores AND a big monster truck with a cattle catcher on the front of it for those rude-beyond-comprehension ijits in parking lots.

Anyone else enjoy a day out on Friday? Hmm?

C-Section In the Cereal Aisle

Okay, it’s time. It’s here, and we can’t avoid it. And personally, I’d rather be beaten with a wet whip. Even though the OFFICIAL holiday shopping season does not begin until Black Friday—the day after Thanksgiving—we all know that it has already begun. How do we know?

Because it’s not hard to figure out when you walk into Wally World and see jack-0-lanterns sitting under a damn Christmas tree, that’s why! Crap—one holiday blends right into the next these days. I don’t know why they don’t just have one big room with one big tree sitting in the center decorated with Christmas lights and little Easter bunnies and turkeys, toss in a mix of leprechauns and hearts, some July 4^th sparklies, and then just lay all the pumpkins under the tree year round. Makes more sense. They could call it the Holiday Room or something like that.

Okay, if anyone sees this happening anywhere, let me know cause it was MY idea first and I want royalties of some sort for coming up with it.

By the time Christmas actually rolls around, my spirit has gone out the window. I’ve seen all the tinsel and lights I care to see. Even the town where I live has already wrapped the street lamps with red ribbon and bows and put up the wreaths. Yep, already. It comes earlier and earlier every damn year. What happened to anticipation? And you know what? It really did come earlier this year than it has before. I honestly think that it did. Why? Maybe because the stores are so concerned about the economy they are “gently”—yeah right—reminding everyone they NEED to spend money with them earlier this year cause it might run out before Christmas—their money—not the merchandise.

And along with holiday shopping comes the usually piss-me-off situations too. People are just plain rude. But that’s the way it is at Wally World year round, isn’t it? When I turn my cart down an aisle and see that it’s busy, do I park my cart in the middle of the aisle or turn it so it’s sitting crossways? Nope. But you can bet your ass there is always someone on that aisle who’ll do exactly that. And when you say “excuse me”, you’ll have to say it several times because they are either enjoying a nice long chat with someone or they are pretending to be deep in thought when they are really just ignoring the eff out of you cause they don’t want to be bothered. Asswipe—where’s the toilet paper aisle?

What about those people who are in front of you pushing their cart at minus fifty five miles per hour. You know the ones—out for a Sunday stroll—Wally World is ALL the entertainment they have in their lives and every damn thing in sight simply fascinates them? Well, maybe they’re shut ins and don’t get out much but—I DON’T GIVE A HAPPY RAT’S ASS—GET OUT OF MY FREAKING WAY WHY DON’T YA?

Oh, here’s one for ya—kids. Mamas who cannot/will not control their snotty-nosed kids should be banned from shopping. If your kid is NOT ready for prime time, get him a leash, please! And the best thing to do is to drop him off at Granny’s. I do not want to listen to you scream at your child. I do not want to watch said child swinging on everybody’s shopping carts or touching everything in sight with his dirty little hands that I MIGHT just want to buy. And please, take the kid to the bathroom the moment he starts doing the damn pee pee dance. I don’t want to slip on a yellow puddle either and most certainly DO NOT want to smell said puddle or the kid’s wet pants after YOU didn’t take him to the bathroom. God, how can a person continue to shop when they know their kid is soaking wet in piss and has got to be miserable?

What about the sales associates? Have any of them ever actually helped you? Do they really have a clue? First off, can you EVER FIND ONE? And when you do, it’s always someone else’s responsibility isn’t it? Someone else knows and no one knows where to find that someone else. I imagine them hiding behind stacks of boxes in the warehouse waiting until I leave and the all clear is given.

And why is it what I want is always on the very top shelf?

Now let’s talk about Black Friday. Do you go? Are you that brave? I’m not. NOPE, won’t go. Never. My sis went again last year. Said the place was packed at the entrance and had a line that stretched to the end of that big ass parking lot—people wearing nightgowns and curlers, men in shorts and no shirts—uh huh—lots of hair sticking straight up. And when the doors opened there was an absolute stampede. She was ready for it, though. Her first year she got spun around several times and almost trampled. So she figured out how to stick out her elbows and stand firm while she ran with the rest of the pack. I kid you not. She demonstrated her technique for me too.

So she got inside and went running to electronics where the computer was that she wanted. Nope, Not there, it was stacked over in the grocery section—so she and like ten or twelve others go running to the grocery side of the store—not a short distance. Once there, they all sort of slam on brakes. Why? Because there is a pregnant woman—about eight or nine months along—big damn belly—spread out over the boxes of computers—each foot is touching a computer, each hand touching a computer, her ass is sitting on one, and her legs are covering at least two each. And she’s looking at everyone and saying: “Anything I’m touching belongs to me.”

My sis said she was sorely tempted to give the woman a C-section right on the spot. Cutlery aisle please!

But Sis got her computer anyway—yes, they were all gone by the time she got shoved to the rear of the pack but Sis—not to be taken lightly, ever—went to the manager to complain. And as it turns out—the manager is ready for just about everything. He always holds back a couple of items it would seem, for customers who are ready to kill, and I KNOW Sis had murder in her eyes. She called me from the store and used all kinds of nasty, vile words at five fifteen in the morning to wake me up!

Have you ever been to the People of Walmart site? You gotta go. http://peopleofwalmart.com

You’ve seen those pics on groups. You sit at your comp with your mouth wide open and shake your head, don’t ya? I do. Honestly? I’ve never seen a lot of that at my local store, but occasionally, someone does stand out.

But I look at these people and think: THEY ARE NUTS. I mean, don’t they know people who should say to them: “DON’T GO OUT IN PUBLIC LOOKING LIKE THAT” ? Seriously, wouldn’t you tell them not to go? It’s kind of like American Idol only for clothes and general appearance. I mean, all those people who show up for Idol who CAN’T sing and you think: SHOULDN’T SOMEONE AT SOME POINT HAVE INFORMED THEM AS TO THEIR LACK OF FREAKING TALENT???????

I know for a fact that if I ever dressed up like any of these people or had a hair style that looked like someone should take a weed whacker to it, one of my kids would sit on me and NOT let me go anywhere until I’d had a serious makeover consultation—and then I’d better be fixed too.

And wouldn’t you think that Wally World would give the greeters a button to push alerting the men in white coats to bring their nets? You can’t tell me that someone who goes out in public dressed like a fool is NOT crazy. They are definitely crazy. It’s okay to walk to the beat of a different drummer, but shit, shouldn’t ya bring the sticks?

One more thing before I close. Do you ever play the parking game? You know the one—where you ride around the parking lot for what could be only a couple of minutes and up to thirty or more looking for a parking space. And along the way you end up giving someone the finger at least once?

Okay, Wally World has garnered enough of my attention today. Got any horror stories? Any shopping tales from HELL? I’d love to hear them. I don’t want to feel alone. Truly don’t. Is it just me, after all?

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