I went to Walmart tonight.
I hate Walmart.
I hate the lights.
I hate the oblviousness you see in the eyes of people as they shop.
I assume they are thinking the same thing.
I assume, given they are not looking out of watchful eyes-- only glazed over ones, they have succumbed to hating Walmart a long time ago and have given up so...why fight it?
I try to go in to this store at a good clip. As if by bringing up a full head of steam, my chances of not coming out of there a pod will be greatly increased.
I steel myself in the parking lot, grab a cart and bless myself. Well sometimes I bless myself. Other times I scan the parking lot for the cars of people I least want to run into...this step varies and is dependent on my level of sleep deprivation, prolactin and other hormonal fluctuations brought on from hitting 40 soon. No matter the digression, I contend Walmart is the most likely place to run into people you least want to run into. It's some sort of universal truth.
Another universal truth about Walmart is that at Walmart I always see the same things.
Women screaming at their children with bulging eyes. Demanding that they "get over here right now!" Said children walking over and from their expression simultaneously wondering why they are being called stupid for not getting over THERE fast enough. Who walks up to a bulging eyed, madwoman for the imminent smack, willingly? That would be...like--stupid, but not nearly as stupid as the same maniac showing the love in front of 15 or 20 people assuming the whole time their invisible button is switched to ON.
I pass children in baby carriers screaming for their mothers, who with one hand mindlessly pat their foot, telling them "oh, you're alright" while with the other debate between the three pak of Irish Spring
or the six.
I wait behind people from church who stop in the middle of the aisle to talk about their Dillon or Courtney and why they are never going to leave the house or get out of jail or take care of their children as well as they do.
I pass racks of girls children's clothes which suggest that the age for general prostitiution has been lowered--a decision reached by some mysterious, unposted consensus and collectively forwarded to Walmart buyers.
When in Walmart I don't look up.
I am absolutely certain should I ever actually risk it, I will see the no hack dementors they have hired at a bargain outta Azkhaban to swoop around and suck the life out of people when they least expect it. I would bet the only problem HR had was getting them to wear the blue vests.
You can sell ANYTHING to the soulless.
Inevitably, no matter what pace I start the shop, it is a very short time in before the very air in that place starts soaking into my skin, wieghing me down.
Then there is checkout.
Just in case the dementors don't get you, Wallyworld architects leave the checkout lane all buffed up super duper and ready to recieve anyone on the brink of stuffing a feeling with candy or in sore need of escape from whatever bit reality they have managed to hang onto,"Holy crap is Brittney looking fat or what???Damn... I can't believe she actually lost her kids!!" As a matter of fact not only can it be a nice escape for some, but that kinda shit does much for self esteem.
I call checkout time my lala time only I don't stick my fingers in my ears. I also don't look at the flat screen tvs which discuss the merits of Slim Fast or at the big boxes of honey buns conveniently flat packaged so they can be slammed under a seat or bed to be binge eaten at a later time.
I concentrate instead on the people around me.
I make up stories in my head about who they are, I organize my crap on the belt and ready a check-- anything to convey how ready I am to get the hell outta there. I do whatever I have to do to avoid looking up and to keep from soaking up too much Wallyworld lest the dementors take a liking to me.