Walmart: where employees are as slow-moving as brick walls.
For some reason, I’ve been pretty content lately. Perhaps it’s because I’m out of school for the year. Hm. One thing I can definitely rant about, however, is Walmart.
I have to admit: I kind of love the place. Such great prices; who could ever complain?? Me, that’s who. No offense to the few hard workers of the Walmart work force, but 97% of the staff is made up of the laziest people I have ever encountered. I waited in line, struggling to balance two bottles of acrylic paint, one roll of duct tape, a package of sponges, and a toothbrush—hey, at least I wasn’t as strange as old man with 3 bottles of laundry detergent, one heavy duty razor, and one box of tampons (maybe he enjoys cleanliness?)—for TWENTY MINUTES just to have the goddamn cashier tell me that she was “closed.” I, angrily, replied, “I have been waiting here for so long. Can’t you just check my items out, PLEASE?”
“I am done and I am go-ing home.” She enunciated each and every consonant, making sure that I heard her loud and clear.
What the fuck? I calmly collected myself and moved a few registers over to a friendly, middle-aged man with the name “Will” pinned to his front who greeted me with a “helloooooooooooooooooooo.” The woman in front of me was not so calm and collected.
“THERE IS NO WAY I’M GON’ STAND HERE FOR A HALF A FUCKIN’ HOUR JUST TO HAVE YOUR ASS TELL ME THAT YOU IS CLOSED. UNBELIEVABLE. FUCK THIS, I DON’T NEED THIS SHIT. I GIVE UP.” She smashed her full cart into the shelves of bargain candy and stormed away. That woman represented the beast dwelling within me. If only I had the balls to shove all of my purchases into that damned cashier’s face and kick her in the ovaries. Alas, maybe next time.
At least my new friend Will helped me out. After he bagged my items and took my bills, he said, “Thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.” He spoke as if he were continuously falling down a well of some sort. It was pleasant and I enjoyed my time with him.
“Have a nice dayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”
“You, too, sir. You, too.”
After forty five minutes of waiting in line, I left the store. Relief. The highlight of my adventure was witnessing a rather short, white, middle-aged man walk up beside me, turn towards the romance novel section, and yell “bagels!” Perhaps to a friend or family member… then again, perhaps not.
Oh Walmart—your bargains sinfully tempt me, your long lines and unmotivated employees infuriate me, your outlandish customers worry me, yet I keep coming back for more. Why is that, Walmart? Why is that?
I guess I’m just cheap.
I’m glad you want attention.
I cannot stand it when someone lies to gain others’ attention. ESPECIALLY when said person makes up a grand tale involving scandal and betrayal and whatever else have you. Is that a phrase or did I make that up? Whatever else have you. I think it is… ah, well, I don’t care. Anyway, FOR EXAMPLE, I heard today that there is a girl in my town who pretended to use cocaine so that a certain boy would have sex with her. That’s already absolutely ridiculous. The punchline? He rejected her because he found out that she actually isn’t a cokehead. I’m sorry.. what? What happened to the days when being hard-drug-free was attractive? Oh right.. those days never existed.. woops. There goes my conservative Catholic alter-ego again… Mary-Ellen, save it for confessional! Back to my own, UNexaggerated (not a word, but shut up) tale: Another person in my educational sphere, AKA my place of learning, made up lots of stories about how she performed fellatio in the back of cars and had near-intercourse (AKA nearcourse, for future reference) with many men. It was recently brought to my attention that this person completely lied about everything. I don’t understand people. That’s like bragging about being a prostitute who’s stupid enough to be robbed of pay after every performance. Bullshit. People disgust me sometimes.
Another thing, I don’t understand why anyone would ever consider being a slut. A slut is a prostitute without the money… how absolutely atrocious. If I were addicted to sex then I would definitely make money from having it! I would just be a very selective prostitute. Actually, I would be an escort. Sure, I’d have to deal with old man penises, but I’d get thousands of dollars a week, luxurious clothes, and lots of street cred. The street cred, I’m not so sure about. The thousands, yes.
Sigh. Here I am, an ornery, cantankerous young adult with unbelievably grand prospects..
What I hate: weather.
Today it was 200 degrees. Alright, not quite, but close. The air was as thick as an Olympic gymnast (not the Chinese ones, at least) and as heavy as my lard-filled, introverted, bitchy cat. Standing was an extreme hassle—my body couldn’t handle such an exertion of energy—and shade was nonexistent. The shade was literally an illusion.. simply the same abusive sunlight except a tad bit on the darker side. I bought a sandwich to eat for lunch and UNFORTUNATELY decided to put chipotle mayo on it… it melted into a pool of processed meat and goo and yellowed lettuce on my black, flimsy plate. What a bummer. I fucking love turkey sandwiches, but now I know that extreme, obnoxious heat and the meat of large, stupid birds do not mix well. I am the color of an embarrassed sea anemone right now. My pale skin is TERRIFIED of sunlight… I just can’t handle it. Unfortunately.. I think… I will never be one of those big, blond, tan beauties. Ha-ha, just kidding, if I was ever like that I would probably just shoot myself. I’m glad I’m interesting looking. But back to my main topic: weather. Why can’t the weather just decide whether it wants to be hot or cold and stick with that decision for a while (see what I did there?)? Honestly, what the fucking fuck. If all of this heat is due to global warming, I’m going to kill every fat republican who ever doubted Bill Clinton. Never mind, I know that’s not the real, main reason. I’ll kill those republicans anyway.. ha-ha, joke! Murder is a crime. And it’s also immoral. But mostly, it’s a crime that I can be punished for, which is inconvenient.
Anyway, if it’s above 100 degrees again tomorrow I will shank someone. The end.
All I want to do is have alone time with myself. People don’t seem to understand that! I want to have romantic dates alone and I want to relocate myself and get to know myself and I don’t want ANYONE ELSE involved. Having people on the sidelines is fine; I can’t be completely alone. I don’t want to close everyone out, I just don’t want anyone to get too involved in my life right now. When people try to push through my force field and barge their way into my life, I just feel crowded. I want to be able to run around, no commitment, no regrets, and do whatever makes me content. I don’t want to purposefully hurt anyone, but I don’t want to worry about the consequences of my actions. I just need time to rediscover myself and have substantial me time. I’m not a mean person and I don’t want to let anyone down or block anyone out or hurt anyone’s feelings. Sometimes—no, most times—I just can’t deal with people. I hate people.
I also hate writing papers. I honestly do not have the drive nor the energy nor the stamina to finish this demon by tonight.
I ABSOLUTELY DESPISE SMUG PEOPLE. Today I had to watch smug person after smug person get up in front of a large group of smug people and get a stupid fucking useless award with the words “Smuggest of the Smugs” engraved on its stupid, smug, metal front. And then each smug asshole would walk smugly back to his or her respective smug-covered seat with a stupid, smug fucking grin on his or her smug face.
“Oh, hey guys, I just got an award because I’m the best hahaha!”
“Look at me! I’m academically successful and extremely well-liked hahaha!”
“Hahaha I’m better than you hahaha!”
Fuck that. I don’t care how many stupid awards you get at any stupid high school awards ceremony; you will most likely lead a terribly mediocre life. Who cares about your stupid high school awards. They won’t get you a job in this shitty economy. Everyone you try to work with will be turned off by your fucking smug attitude. You will have no friends, you will never marry, and you will die alone. Or, you will have a few smug friends and hate them, marry someone smug and self-centered who doesn’t care that you exist except in the bedroom, and die unhappy, surrounded by your stupid fucking smug awards. Congratulations, Smuggest of the Smugs, your existence is meaningless.
I’m terrible at starting things.
I absolutely despise starting anything. I can never get inspired and I end up wasting time thinking of all the ways I can begin something without making any progress whatsoever because everyone knows that if you think about something too much, you weigh too many consequences and then you end up clouding your mind and you never get ANYWHERE. Anywhere. That was a terribly incoherent run-on sentence. Speaking of those, I hate people who have poor grammar or sentence structure. Like me sometimes. Hypocritical, but I don’t give a flying fuck.
I’m currently trying to start an English paper. It’s not going very well. I actually ended up skipping the introduction because even the idea of introducing a topic sends chills down my spine. I’m fabulous at ending things, especially relationships; that’s another topic for another night, however. I’m also really great at creating titles for essays, books, and blogs, etc. etc.
A Pickle With the Works: A Lengthy Attack on Today’s Society
The Spanish Armada: Doomed to Dwell on the Ocean’s Floor
I feel like the key to a great title is definitely a colon. Anyway, this is no longer a rant, so I’ll stop before I seem too personable.