I like to shop. In fact, it’s one of my favorite pastimes to get me out of the house and into the world. I am discerning in my shopping, however. I don’t consider going to Walmart shopping, to me it’s a necessary evil for budget friendly food to feed the testosterone tornadoes that invade my house on a regular basis.
I know all the evils of Walmart. I do have a lot of guilt I need to atone for by choosing low prices on Popsicles and cheese it’s. I am very much out of place there, not just for my tendency to you know, lean left. The place sends me into sensory overload. The sheer vastness, the crowds, the noise-all provoke an anxiety reaction. I have to wear headphones to get through the ordeal.
And oh what an ordeal it is, generally speaking. I’m usually there on a Saturday, due to the fact it’s my errand day and that’s what the budget allows. It’s usually packed, and my heart is racing before I even get inside. I have a very detailed list of exactly what is needed, where to find it so as to maximize efficiency. Music on, cart and list prepared and I’m off.
I have to follow a set path through the store. Luckily, every Walmart is laid out pretty much the same. I probably have some sort of OCD because when I deviate from some of these behaviors, my anxiety skyrockets. The last thing I need is a full blown attack in aisle 9.
My other source of anxiety are the other shoppers. I have issues with shoppers in most stores I go to since they have a different agenda than mine. I like to get in, get out (with the exception of book stores, record stores and second hand clothing shops). Maximum efficiency with minimum energy expenditure. The shoppers in Walmart, in most cases seem to deliberately thwart any forward progress I am attempting.
It never fails, there are the folks who haven’t quite comprehended navigating a giant metal box on wheels through an overstuffed aisle. These people always seem to surround me, like a swarming horde. I always wonder how they function in everyday life, if they can’t handle the supermarket.
I’m sure that the vast majority of them are hip, happening people like me. It’s just walking through those doors, your IQ seems to plummet a hundred or so points. There are folks out there that can’t afford to lose any of their brain cells. Walking into the store, instead of a metal detector, there should be a neuron and synapse detector. It goes off, it would be too damaging to shop there.
Then, it would allow me to shop in relative peace.
Come on inventing geniuses, make my life easier.
As a young child, my grandmother imparted many nuggets of wisdom. Since she was a fashion designer in the late 1930’s, most had to do with clothes. She was a firm believer in always looking your best (she would be rolling over in her grave, if her ashes were buried, if she saw my messy bun and yoga pants), no matter the occasion. Walmart would have put her over the edge.
One of her favorite sayings was something to the effect that if you were to die in the clothes you were wearing, would you want to be haunting in them for an eternity? I hear her voice in my head when I’m picking my clothes each morning. Unfortunately, comfort usually wins out over class for me.
Like other Walmart shoppers. I however, have not crossed over into the realm of pajamas as clothes yet. Maybe with a serious depressive episode, but not right now. The other day, I wound up bumping into a young woman in hello kitty fleece pajamas was ahead of me at the checkout. I started day dreaming about what she might be like as a ghost.
Comfortable, because fleece and elastic waist band.
But, how can you take a hello kitty clad ghost seriously? That’s so not scary.
“Boo! I said boo! Aren’t you scared??”
“No! You look so fluffy and cuddly. Can I hug you?”
“I should have listened to my grandmother”, says the woebegone wraith.