Image courtesy of angelfire.com
The last time I went, I should have sworn it off. Truthfully, I should have sworn it off years ago because this happens all the fucking time. But I live in a town that gives me one option and that option is Wal-Mart. Last month, I filled my cart with ridiculously low priced items and I had filled it too full for the express lane. No one likes that guy. So I ambled over to one of only three regular checkout lines and patiently waited. And waited. I scanned the shit mags for news about people I couldn't care less about, threw in a hundred packs of gum I didn't need and contemplated my lip balm situation. Did I need some in my car? Had I scraped the bottom of the one in my makeup case with my pinky nail? Unsure, I grabbed a couple Burt's Bees for the road. And I waited. The trio in front of me looked to be furnishing a new home, stocking up for a weekend of beer pong and redoing a wardrobe. All in one night. Here's where it gets dicey. One of them made a point to keep the checker talking and laughing the the entire time she was ringing in their items. It raises red flags for me because I'm a dick and I assume they are trying to pull one over on someone. That someone ended up being Wal-Mart. The other two misfits were chatting about the how expensive it all was and making plans for payment. Their total was a whopping $739. Now, before we go any further let's talk about who can afford to spend that much money at Wal-Mart in one evening. No one. No one that lives in my town, no one who wears slippers to the store, no one who actually works for their money, no motherfucking one. The female in the group is chosen as the payee and when she swipes her first credit card, it is declined. As is the second and the third. By this point, I have been in line for 32 minutes. There are three horrendously full carts behind me and all my shit is on the belt waiting for it's turn to be handled and beeped. After her fourth card attempt, she informs that cashier that there must be an issue with the bank, so she will just call them. It's 10:30 PM. On a Sunday. Just a guess, but I don't think they are answering. The cashier looks at me and utters these exact words "She is calling the bank, so you may want to find another check stand." To say that I was in a rage would be an understatement. These hooligans were trying to pass off stolen credit cards and holding up the fucking line while Ms. Checker Bitch allowed phone calls in the middle of a rush. I vowed to never return.
Then I returned. Tonight. After a month of not using soap and telling my kids it was okay to use vodka as a mouthwash, I finally gave in. Mr. 7 and I had a wonderful time pulling Made In China items from shelves and throwing them in the cart. At one point, he wanted to smell the body wash and we ended up with watermelon gel all over the cart. I kept breathing. As we made our way to the checkout, I dubiously counted our items and realized that once a again we were over the limit. The sparkle lanyards, that were a must have item had, put us over by three. I jumped in the shortest line. And by shortest, I mean the longest and the most painful. We waited. Mr. 7 asked for a limited edition push pop, I declined. We talked about gum and the benefit of eating chocolate before bed. I said no. And we waited. The young couple in front of us had a cart full of groceries and a multitude of WIC checks. I'm not going there, so chill the fuck out. That is for another day. Nothing would ring in. The checks wouldn't work. The checker had no idea what to do, so we waited. Someone brought new items. We waited. Someone else checked the validity of the checks. We waited. Mr. 7 needed to pee. I pointed him towards the restroom and made him promise to not talk to anyone and to scream if anyone looked in his direction. The bathroom was under construction. I wearily looked at the gentleman behind me.
"We aren't going anywhere anytime soon. Take him to the bathroom and I'll pay for your stuff if you don't make it back." he said.
I promised it wouldn't come to that and Mr. 7 and I raced through the maze of 3XL tanks and Duck Dynasty tumblers.
"Pee fast. Don't wash your hands." I hissed.
Yes, it was that kind of excursion.
As we made our way back, I was out of breath and on the verge of a mommy meltdown. Mr. 7 wasn't faring well either. There had been no progress made with the WIC couple and I wanted to cry.
"If I have to wait for 15 more minutes, I'm freaking out." said Mr. 7.
There hasn't been a truer statement made. Ever.
After 35 minutes of waiting and swearing under my breath, we were finally getting checked out. I was sure karma was going to really stick it to me and decline my debit card. Thankfully, no. When we finally made it to the car, I couldn't find my keys. Or my phone. They were in my jacket pocket during the bathroom marathon. "Oh my God, karma. Why? I can't handle this."
"My keys and my phone are gone, buddy. We need to go back in and search the store."
Mr. 7 calmly looked up. "I have your phone, mom. You gave it to me so I could play a game."
I felt my keys in the bottom of my purse and the world was right again. Until karma comes back. And I know that bitch is just waiting.
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