A cloudburst of confusion, annoyance and disgust began to form on my wife's face. We're next in line at Wal-Mart behind a grimy pair of customers checking out. "What are they doing?" asks my wife, as if directing the question not toward me, but instead toward the whole of human existence. The couple had loaded the belt to its maximum capacity with multiple boxes of frozen Texas Toast, pizzas, wrapped packs of ground chuck, cans upon cans of God-only-knows-what and groupings of soda bottles in varying sizes. This whole assortment was covered in newspaper ads and clippings from neighboring grocery stores. The clerk, steam-rolled by the pair, was quickly adjusting the price of each item based on claims that the said item was less expensive at another store: per Wal-Mart policy. 15-17 minutes later it was my turn at the register. Halfway through the transaction the clerk began, "I appreciate your patience." "Oh, no problem." I returned, as she slammed our items over the scanner. "No, you were about about to lose it. I could see it in your eyes."
Months prior at another Wal-Mart, I was leaning on my cart in the check-out line with my wife and three of her friends behind me. "If you're just going to stand there, you can get the fuck out of the way." muttered a fellow customer as he worked his cart around my wife and her friends and headed towards another checkout line. "You'd better watch your mouth, boy." I spoke in a slightly raised voice. The man stopped and turned towards me. He was confused and surprised that not only had I heard what he had said but I was also speaking in defense of a group of Thais. "I'll knock your teeth down your fucking throat." he managed. I stood unchanged, motionless, tense with rage and hatred flowing through me in a wholly unnatural way. I glared into the man's eyes while fantasizing about beating him with his shopping cart as his body lay in a heap of blood, beer and broken bottles. After a pair of heartbeats the man turned and walked away.
Now, if this clerk saw anything in my eyes, it could've only been regret. Regret for choosing Wal-Mart as a household supplier. Regret for expecting more out of people and being let down. Regret for funding the communist notion of "save more, live better." Regret surely mirrored by the clerk's own for suffering under a multibillion conglomeration who didn't trust her enough to purchase a $1.25 blue polo in order to separate her from the crusty, inbred hill-jack pieces of shit that permeated the shopping center every waking hour for the first three days of each month. We finished up without another word. While walking away from the register I told my wife: "We will never come to Wal-Mart again." "Never?" my wife questioned.
"No, never."
