Going Wally-Whirly
CBN.com There are two kinds of people in the world: those who love Wal-Mart and those who don’t. And then there is me: the one who is caught between the vortex of Walton’s tractor beam and the cry for a different, simpler life.
You Will be Assimilated
Part of me buys into the highly touted “everyday low prices” of my local Wal-Mart, or as my tongue-in-cheek brother-in-law affectionately calls “Wally World,” as a respectable penny-pinching American. The other half of me hates spending the almighty dollar at some company store that threatens to own my soul because they’ve got the best prices around and everything I need under one roof.
Plus, it’s the neighborhood commune, where Uncle Bocefus and Aunt Maime’s overburdened, meandering cart, along with their clan of clucking kids, are always thoughtlessly holding up my Indy 500 speedway shopping spree: in and out in an hour or less is my motto.
I wince at the thought of being assimilated into some kind of “rollback” robot, spending all day and all night cruising down the narrow, one-way aisles, racking up mileage as I graze at each departmental station – a feast for the eyes and for my shopping cart – only to depart hours later with glazed, bloodshot eyeballs and worn-out sneakers.
But beyond the philosophical issues that I have with the store, my biggest beef is that it simply takes forever to find anything.
Over-Stimulation 101
And part of the reason for that is what I call the over-stimulation effect. It’s that veil that comes over you the minute you are searching for said item in the sea of shelves.
What was I looking for, again? you ask yourself, still thick in the foggy trance. Oh, yes, toothpaste.
You coach yourself to refocus your eyes on the prize when whipping around both corners of your aisle come two cell-phone-touting, buggy-pushing women deep in conversation and effortlessly floating in your line of vision, grabbing needed products without missing a beat. They own no shopping list, whereas yours is glued to your hand lest you get distracted yet again, forget said item, and are forced to return to X marks the spot several minutes later to obtain the item. Perhaps I should try talking on my cell phone as a means of relaxing my mind while shopping. You secretly make a mental note, trying not to be jealous or disgusted by those high-powered multi-taskers.
As you sink into momentary introspection, you realize you forgot your supply of vitamin C lozenges in the cold medicine aisle. That was because that section had a sneezing man with no tissues and a hacking-like-her-lung-just-collapsed grandma – no wonder you “forgot” to pick them up. Germs are always a distraction. I believe forgetting is God’s means of self-preservation in this case. Ah, there they are. It might be wise to pop a lozenge right now; you never know what germs lurk in this place.
See how quickly you can get from a temporary mental fog to downright paranoia? They must be blowing something through the air vents.
A Real Pain in the Neck
I was hoping not to get a pain in my neck recently while shopping for a mission trip to Belgium – that’s why the innocent thought of owning a travel pillow seemed the perfect solution to travel fatigue, and what got me into Wally World in the first place.
I perused the pillow section, trying to remain calm as I hustled between aisles and avoided collisions with store pallets. Nope, not there. A little irked, I flagged down one of those “ask me” people -- you know, one of those individuals who works for the corporate big guy. Naturally, he had no idea where a travel pillow might reside. But not wanting me to turn my increasing wrath on him, he diverted me to the auto section. Logically, it made no sense, but I foolishly listened to that advice.
After several minutes of wasted time getting glares from the bicep-flexing guys in the auto aisles, I asked another uniformed gent. His reply caught me off guard a little. He just chuckled good-naturedly and told me, “They always point people to the auto section if they don’t know where something is.” Obviously, this guy didn’t think much of those they people. But I wasn’t falling for his plea for sympathy. Not when they and he were one and the same in my book. I can picture it now: Hey, lady, do you need toilet paper? Umm… try the auto section. A three-way light bulb? Try auto. A bag of ice for your company barbecue? Auto again. Ugh. I seriously don’t think I can buy that argument.
So once again, I was out a pillow. It would seem my travel pillow had decided to take off on its own trip… just not a road trip.
I practically goose-stepped it back to the pillow department, where the employees had congregated, to give a good tongue lashing. “Hey, by the way, just in case you didn’t know,” I said sharply so that all in earshot could hear my ire, “there are no travel pillows in auto.” I was letting them know they had been had. I had tagged them, and I was proud of roping the prize steer.
Feigning apathy, one of the young employees tried to mumble some apologetic reply. But I was beyond niceties. I had spent more than an hour trekking the store, and I was ready to bag the item and go home. “It’s a travel pillow, for goodness sakes! This item should not be this hard to find!” I challenged. For a few minutes there was no taker.
Then, an older employee quietly eased from the crowd and coaxed me down to the luggage section. He must have sensed the “I’m heading straight to your manager” tone in my voice and quickly took me to the correct section, where I found just the thing, a cheap and collapsible pillow for less than five dollars. I sheepishly thanked him, feeling ridiculous for getting so wound up about my own comfort – and while preparing for a mission trip, no less.
I had best skip anymore pillow talk at this point, I figured.
Soon my endeavors at Walk-a-Mile were over, and as I pulled out of the parking lot, I sighed deeply. I had survived my frustrating shopping excursion.
Round two, anyone?… Maybe not for a while.
