Today is Chuckweasel’s birthday (happy birthday, you old bastard!), so what better way to celebrate than to thoroughly insult and disparage “his” Walmart?
To begin, let it be understood that Chuckweasel’s Walmart (also known as “this fucking Walmart!”) is the one that is closer to his apartment, whereas “my” Walmart is closer to my apartment. Yes, in WBGV, we have Walmarts about every 10 miles or so to make sure you’re never without access to crap. Now here’s the thing — BOTH the Walmarts in question were built back before Walmarts sold groceries (a dank and dismal time WHICH I HAD TO LIVE THROUGH, thankyouverymuch!), but here’s the thing: MY Walmart chose to remodel and expand to accomodate groceries, whereas Chuckweasel’s Walmart…. did not. So they’ve just got shit jammed in any ol’ where, and it makes not a damn bit of sense!
For example, in MY Walmart, pet food, cleaning supplies and paper towels and such are all at the back (where you’re supposed to start, but I’ll cover that later), right before you get into the serious grocery section. Therefore, you can get all your stuff that is relatively LARGE (cat litter, toilet paper, etc.) before you buy small things like eggs and capers. Then you move through soft drinks, bottled, water, and liquor… see the size progression? This makes SENSE.
In Chuckweasel’s Walmart, pet food is in the center aisles near the front, right behind birthday cards (WTF? “Happy Birthday Grandma! Here’s some Friskies!”). You then go through some of what can only be called “weird shit aisles” before reaching paper goods and THEN cleaning supplies… but the cleaning supplies are arranged in some kind of psychotic order having nothing to do with the way they are used. Then you are finally at the back of the store to begin filling your cart with cases of Coke and flats of water, but you CAN’T, ’cause YOU’VE ALREADY HAD TO PASS EGGS AND MILK and they’ll get mooshed in the cart! This DOES NOT make sense.
Of course, the reason this upsets me so is that I HATE to backtrack in the store. I make my grocery list in order of the way “my” store is arranged, and making me go to the fucked-up Walmart fucks up my EN-tire list! Dear Sweet Mama trained me from birth to start at the back of the store (Cokes, etc.) and move forward, only backtracking to pick up meat (which you get LAST, right after frozen food — duh).
CHUCKWEASEL DOES NOT KNOW HOW YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO SHOP.
So he’s all willy-nilly all over the place, backtracking to and fro and coming back to meet me — because he knows where I’ll be BECAUSE I FOLLOW THE SYSTEM. Swear to GAWD, that boy ain’t right. Maybe he’ll get wiser with age?
Anyhoo, happy birthday, you crazy fuck! You know we love you! : )
PS — Yesterday was Poor Ol’ Dad’s birthday, but I can’t say anything bad about him. Number 1, he goes to MY Walmart, Number 2, he found me a good therapist, and Number 3, he has a gun. But happy birthday, Poor Ol’ Dad!