Wal-Mart. Say it aloud. Wal-Mart. It reaches the ears like a curse or an insult. The word itself elicits so many deeply buried memories of waiting in line, cheap hubcaps, dissolving clothing, and spoiled milk that frequent use of it can drive one into therapy. You're not just waiting in line to check out--oh no, if that were the case wal-mart would be just like any other store. No, here you have to wait in line to get into an aisle to pick out toilet paper. Here you can't buy bug spray without a group of hispanic men ogling you and making comments to one another in Spanish. While you pick out running shorts from randomly arranged selections of bright pink poly/cotton blends in sizes 2 to 56 you are serenaded by some helpless infant screaming her head off, cursing God for landing her in this hell we dare call convenience shopping.
I visited Wal-Mart this afternoon, I bought my $5 shorts and my moments-from-wilting broccoli, and i kept myself from screaming by reciting in my head, over and over, "what would the Fonz do? He'd be cool, man--he'd be cool."
1 comment:
wise. be cool, like the fonz, although don't resist the urges to smash the state too much - they can be useful.
My parents have gone away therefore I'm munted. sorry
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