Wha’ ha’ happened?!

by somyroommate

Okay, Christmas happened, right? Time to use those gift cards we all got. #awsum!

Welp, my sister-in-law and brother got me a gift card to Wal-Mart. #problematic

The nearest Wal-Mart to my current location is 45 minutes away… it’s also in one of the most…. trashy urban fabulous… areas.  I know what you’re thinking, just shop online.

But, I’m cheap. I’d rather not pay full price and pay for shipping. They always have those stupid ass sales that nobody celebrates, IE:  It’s Gradma Shat Herself Day. Prices are dropping faster than grandma’s grasp on reality.

Bam. sale. Totally gonna cash in on this card.

Anyway, so I made the trek to this cesspool of struggling human intellect, hoping for some bargains. On my way in I got stuck behind a four year old (ish) tottling along saying “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…” as his parents laughed. Definitely a good sign.

I figured I’d scurry off to the food section. Maybe I could snaffle some cheap sustenance.  If there’s anything in life that understands me, it’s a stick of butter. The food was poisoned. Some pube of an employee had put moth balls under the aisle separators… presumably to rid the store of a bug infestation? But, it only served to make the whole food section reek like old lady carpet. For the love of God. Need. Air…. and a bath

I made way to the furniture section. Hoping for some clarity to bolster myself enough to find something to buy with my damn gift card. I ran into some trailor queen and her cigarette hero stealing a lamp. The fuck people?! A lamp?! An ugly lamp too? Uuugh. Trash without vision. At least Oscar was pimp.

By this point in my venture, I’m too embarrassed by my own species to function. So, I grabbed my own lamp and beasted my way to the check out.

Got stuck behind a 45 y/o guy with track shorts, a headband, and a wind breaker. People of walmart are real.

As I’m waiting in line, the floor manager sees somebody he knows behind me. So he swaggers over and greats his friend with some form of language I don’t understand. Followed by a “dude, dis front is mine. I could smoke a bowl up in here, if I wanted to. Ain’t nobody gonna stop me. This my area.”

Apparantly all it takes for you to manage a the front of a walmart is some facial tattoo’s, a strong swagger, and a mild marijuana addiction. Why did I get my bachelors? Why?

Never. Going. Back.