Almost word for word out of Rush's mouth a week ago. Bravo. Wonder how often his fat ass actually walks inside a WalMart though...
The battlefield pisses me off. I hadn't been inside one of their stores for three years when I learned about that though. So nice try, but once again it ain't that simple. Someday you'll figure it out...with me it is NEVER "that simple".
As far as fast service, think again Lamb Chop. First you park approximtely 17 city blocks from the door (after circling the lot for thirty minutes, wasting how much gas again?). You embark on a 3/4 mile hike to the front door. That's why they have them greeter fellers there, ya know...they couldn't give a rat's ass how you're doing today, they just need somebody handy to call 911 to remove all the people who pass out from the hike.
So. Now you're inside. Naturally, the one item you can NOT live without is located...you guessed it...far back corner of the store. Wonder why that is? Maybe so you'll have to walk past the Doritos and the floor cushions and the 714 kid themed pieces of Taiwan crap your kids start screaming for to get to the Fix-A-Flat? I think it might have something to do with it.
Uh-oh...roadblock ahead. Two 340 pound Myrtles have their buggies parked blocking the aisle. Quick detour through the candy NO NOT THE CANDY AISLE I GOT THE DAMN KIDS!! Too late...4 bags of Snickers.
OK, men's wear. Just 12 blocks to go now. Aw shit, not another roadblock. What's this...three anorexic civic club bimbos chatting about the charity softball tournament. Nice ass on the redhead though...hmm...lemme just check out these $3 DVDs for awhile and kinda...oh look, Starship Troopers. And Nell. Damn, what else we got in here?
OK, I had those 8 DVDs coming. I haven't bought anything for myself in months. Now, Fix-A-Flat...which way was it aga..Oh yeah, back there past the shoes. Huh? Oh, you gotta go pee. OK, come on.
So as you linger outside the ladies room trying desperately not to look like a pervert, your eyes are drawn to the blank CDs. Hey, I think we're almost out of those at home, might as well pick up a...ooh, and printer cartridges, need those. NOw was it a RM-6 or RM-26 cartridge? Who's working back here anyway?
Enter daughter, fresh out of restroom with soggy hands. You decide not to ask.
As you seek out the associate assigned to the computer department, your wife is trying on shoes, your older son has a bicycle down off the rack and is currently re-enacting the 1986 Daytona 500 in the Auto Repair bays, and your mom (Mom was with us?) is buying Christmas ornaments, a roasting pan, 12 Anniversary cards, a bottle of Old Spice (for Jacob) and something that looks vaguely like PVC pipe but smaller. Again, you decide not to ask.
Finally, an associate walks toward you. You start to ask about the printer cartridges when you are abruptly informed that she id on her break but will call for an associate to assist you.
35 minutes later (nothing ever came across the overhead speakers except a Muzak version of "Doctor My Eyes") you spot another telltale blue vest. Eagerly you chase it until the wearer turns...and your heart sinks..."Hi My name is Achnujimidadistanican". Nervously you lower your hand before he interprets your posture as a threat to Allah and goes Jihad on your ass right there beside the fish food (better grab some of that too.)
Forsaking the printer cartridges, you push your buggy (when the hell did I get a buggy?) toward the last place you caught a glimpse of your wife. Not there. Figures. So you turn around and start searching. Oops, another road block...two senior citizens with dead hearing aid batteries looking for Cream of Wheat in the underwear aisle. But this time, you're blocked in. Some overweight teenaged girl with acne wearing pajama bottoms and combat boots with a Lynyrd Skynyrd tshirt 3 sizes too small is intently peering at the bras. Finally she selects one, puts it on over her shirt to make sure it fits, sees you, asks you if it fits, pops her gum, then stuffs the bra inside her pants and winks knowingly at you. Now you're a crime witness.
And a hungry one. You spot the McDonald's outlet and decide to have some fries while you wait for your wife.
Uh-oh...now the boy has to piss. If I told him once I told him a hundred times, lay off them energy drinks, they ain't good for you.
From approximately 1000 feet away you catch a fleeting glimpse of your wife with her buggy (when the hell did she get a buggy?) and instinctively shout her name.
45 minutes later you convince store security you are not trying to cause a disturbance and offer them the bra stealing airhead as bait to get out of the office.
By the grace of God, you find your wife about 10 minutes later carefully sizing up an exercise bike. After she reminds you that YOU have DVDs, why can't SHE have something, you relent. We'll just put it on the Visa.
Checkout time. You roll your convoy to the front of the st...ROADBLOCK!!
You roll your convoy to the front of the store and decide that the line at register 33 will be the way to go.
1 hour later, you approach the cashier.
After a price check on the jelly beans in your buggy (jelly beans?) you wince with fear as the high school dropout before you presses the TOTAL button. $381.58.
Plus the Teen Magazine your daughter "forgot" she was reading. Your seven year old daughter. Make that $385.12.
Naturally on your way out Harv has to review your shopping experience with his yellow highlighter to make sure you didn't steal anything. As he methodically goes through each plastic bag, you spy the bra thief riding off in a 1977 Buick with what is likely an illegal immigrant driving, and you look at your daughter again. You start to cry.
Harv finally ascertains that you indeed are not Clyde Barrow and wishes you a great afternoon (afternoon? We got here at 10:30!) and thanks you for shopping at WalMart.
After the mandatory stop at the drink vending machines for six of those cheap-o Sam's Club sodas, it's off to the car, which no one remembers where it was parked or even what kind of car it was.
Later that evening, basking in the love of family and friends, it hits you.
You forgot the damn Fix-A-Flat.
