pen's pseudo-shame

I'm a girl, I'm fickle. Subject to whims. And the other day on the way to the grocery store, one such whim overtook me, a whim laced with dread, curiosity, and a touch of hope. Partly the whim stemmed from my lifelong quest to Always Find the Best Deal, to Slay the Dragon of Commerce. Put a sword through his blackened little heart. And partly, that post from the other day was blinking in my brain and suddenly I decided to go to the Wal-Mart.

I haven't shopped, really shopped, at Wal-Mart in years. I have been occasionally to Wal-Mart, mostly with the company of more seasoned and brave and loyal Wal-Mart shoppers who are convinced it is the best store in the world. I, it is well-known, am a Target girl. I used to go to the Wal-Mart, a long time ago, used to love it. I used to go with friends on a Friday night wearing pajama pants and shop for chocolate and crafts. Yeah, I was one of Those Girls. Then Wal-Mart started seeming very ugly to me. The lights, the sheer volume, the people. I became a total Wal-Mart snob. The nails in the coffins were as such: reports of violent crime in the parking lot. A 600-lb, wheelchair-bound man using food stamps to buy ice cream. Waves of screaming children crashing through the aisles at 10PM on a Friday night. The air. The lights. The rising feeling of panic every time I stepped in the store. The inability to breathe properly. Perusing the aisles, realizing on multiple occasions that what I needed to finish up my shopping list was Back There, on the other side of the store, in an aisle I had already been to twice.

Wal-Mart. I know they have deals there, that in particular it is the best place to buy canned goods, and baking goods. Bread goods. Probably all the goods. But I had decided long ago that the emotional cost of shopping there far outweighed the financial rewards.

As I say, though: whims. Suddenly I am navigating the parking lot, trying to find a spot within half a mile of the store entrance, preferably close to a shopping cart dropoff. I find a spot. Load up the kids in the cart and go. I stick to the Grocery Side, block out the RestOfIt. Pick out some produce, make our way over to the meats. Decide to tackle the aisles all in order, because I don't yet know where anything is. Only get lost a few times. Only Have Words with K.Lo a few times. She says the word "bike" a million times, in a little voice like it is a question, and I respond as such: Yup, it's a bike. Say Hi, bikes. Look at the bikes. No, no bikes. We're not going to look at the bikes. We can ride by the bikes. Hi, bikes. Tires and streamers on the bike. Bye, bike. Another day, bike. No, we are not going back to the bikes. We cannot look at the bikes. Sit down, we are not looking at the bikes anymore, bye, bikes. Here, eat some Oreos at 10 in the morning and stop talking about bikes.

Why, in the fucking Dairy Aisle, are there bikes.

An older man, possibly nice, possibly a freak, suggests that K.Lo is weird, can't say any words other than "bike." They talk about it. She gives him A Look. We move on. They don't sell large containers of Scotch Guard as I expected them to; Wal-Mart is falling short. Salsa, though, is uber-cheap. As is sweetened condensed milk, all the cereal, yogurt, and margarine by the tub. Pasta Roni is priced regularly like it is on sale at The Other Grocery Store. The kids are being only marginally whiny, and we're doing this, making our way through. We are still alive and only a tiny bit panicky here in the Wal-Mart. Some fellow shoppers are even friendly, smiley, say hi to my babies. Some are surly, with a level of hostility you just don't find at Target. At least not on a weekday. If you're lucky. Some things are priced the same as all the other stores, not so impressive. The cart fills. We'll get this and this and this and this, too, so we won't have to go Anywhere Else for the next week or two. Since they have it here. Since they seem to have everything (except bulk containers of Scotch Guard) here at the Wal-Mart.

We check out. The cashier is sort of friendly, sort of not. The cashier/bagger on the next aisle is ranting like a Brickyard Preacher, totally for show, except he's complaining about Whatever, not preaching, and I try to ignore him, try to breathe regularly. Kind of hate Wal-Mart. Kind of am impressed by Wal-Mart. Wish the carts were bigger at Wal-Mart. Wish the carts were bigger everywhere, not just at Wal-Mart. But $89 would not have bought me this much at any other store.

We live. We went to Wal-Mart.

I give it 3 stars, out of 5. I might go again. Yeah, I would probably shop there again. But would I tell you, would I brag about it, would I say I am a Wal-Mart shopper. No. No, I couldn't. It seems like that would be going too far.