Why is it, exactly, that the mental hospital’s policy dictates that all their freed patients must be dropped off at Wal-mart? On Saturday? At noon? Is it the law now?
Wal-mart seems to be under the impression that the finest way to participate in the holidays is by setting up a separate Holiday ShopCorral with aisles the diameter of Twizlers and two body-doubles for Corky from Life Goes On as the cash register attendants. In case that wasn’t going to draw every obese and frantic patron in a 50 mile radius, they also thoughtfully announced free pictures with Scary Santa (I call these freaky versions of St. Nick, “Scantas”), whereupon there was a fucking stampede holiday parade to the plant shop. By the by, who in the name of All Fucking Holy puts Scanta in the flower shop?! He’s from the North Pole! Don’t put a fat man in a fat suit, red velour and an itchy beard in the midst of a GREENHOUSE. Surely this should be stated in their employee manual.
I entered the Corral to the cries of a nearby mother, bellowing, “Becky Jane! Git yer head outta that stocking box!” I had to look. Yes, there was a box of stockings, and it seemed to be swallowing a child. I then got glared down when I tried to edge by a mutant mullet lady wearing a shirt that said: “I am not A bitch, I’m THE bitch, and it’s MRS bitch to you!” She paired this tasteful ensemble with a festive Santa hat. To the tiny toddler also trying to edge her way past this creature’s cart, I bent down and whispered, “Don’t look, but that’s the lady who ate Rudolph.”
My favorite was the 80-year-old grandmother with a comb-over who stood in the middle of the Corral and screamed, at no one and everyone, “What the FUCK is an Itunes?!” I mean, I knew, but I didn’t really want to tell her. She was brandishing one of those Christmas Story lamp ornaments, and I felt that making eye contact would just make her stabby. And of course, what is Christmas without frantic mothers screeching at their offspring to behave with the dire warnings about Santa not coming?
Though once they got a look at Drunky Scanta in the greenhouse, I have the feeling they’d be willing to take that chance.
This is excellent!
Yeah, I really just want to hide in my apartment until the holidays are past. I hate people.
@ PI: Thanks!!
@Kathy: Now, now. Not ALL people. Just mutant people. Remember that even David Berkowitz made a distinction between “people” and “mutants”
Did you really go to Walmart for a reason other than to find such excellent characters for this fine tale? If so, I MAY have to boycott. Oh, wait, you probably don’t have a Neiman Marcus down there. Somehow I pictured you being so sophisticated that Walmart, or is it now Walm-art, was below you.
You do make me laugh.
Well, then, I must be inordinately surrounded by the mutants.
@ Balc: I was in there buying the cheapest bottle of wine possible for my mother-in-law’s gift. It was a pure spite mission. So one might argue that karma got the better of my sophistication.
@ Kathy: That’s perfectly possible, I feel.
I just wandered by here and read this entry… and I just want to say HOW TRUE! Thank you for the laugh!
sweet jesus. happy birthday
Just by reading this post, I knew you must be from North Carolina because I recognized everyone you described from the Wal-Mart. I find it disheartening that the HR departments at these stores decide to go with the lowest common denominator when they make their choices to fill open positions. Thanks for giving me a chuckle.
@ Meli: Thanks! Come back and keep visiting!
@ JellyKean: Yeah, that boy is gettin’ OLD.
@ Tarheel: It’s gotta be somethin’ in the water, man. And I always wonder why it’s necessary, as a cashier, to have 8″ long fingernails that cripple one’s hands into claws, leaving them incapable of basic functions.