Seen on several trips to Walmart. This Week.
A few days ago, before work, I went to the Walmart closest to my house. It's open twenty four hours.
As is my custom, talked about in an earlier post on parking, I just parked the taurus out in Eastern Mongolia and started hoofing it in.
Now, I think of myself as someone who tries to think ahead, to plan, even as I do things. I knew that I was just getting a couple of items, so no buggy would be necessary. When I know I'll have a load, I intentionally park fairly close to one of the PLEASE-please-bring-the-buggy-back-here places. I usually take buggies to the right place, because hey, I feel guilty when I leave a buggy in the lot by where my car was parked. (In some ways I'm a swell guy.) Looking for ways to lessen guilt is a constant theme in my life, too.
Anyhoo, the other day, I'm thinking "light load" so I park out there and start walking in.
Now it turns out that there was a PLEASE-please-bring-the-buggy-back-here place not too far away (just in case, I look for it) and then about three cars closer to the store from where I parked, a lady had unloaded her buggy full of groceries into her trunk, and pushed the buggy about, oh, a good thirty paces, and was trying to wrestle (RASSel, in Louisiana) the empty cart up over the curb and completely into a green area where there is a sad lookin' little tree they planted.
So, she has pushed that buggy, that distance, and then sits there a good minute or so wrestling with it. She must have been on her last nerve to get that frantic, that early in the morning. I mean, as soon as I took in what was going on I walked really slow and kept looking back to watch.
Thing of it is? She had pushed the cart over to a place that was farther from her car than was the PLEASE-please-bring-the-buggy-back-here place. Had she been a little more thoughtful, she could have saved both herself and the poor dudes that get paid to go gather the carts a lot of trouble.
Some people. Gyah! ( I say Gyah! with a y sound in it instead of the Napoleon Dynamite type Gah! that doesn't have a y sound in it.)
Then yesterday, I went to the one (Walmart) up by where I work. Now, the parking lot of this one wasn't thought out too well. Things are tight, and if you are a careful (read painfully slow) driver like me, you take extra care.
But as I turned into the lane I planned to try to park on, there was a white Grand Am waiting for someone to back out. No problem. I'll wait.
But I wait until even I run out of patience, and since the person who was to back out had made no move to leave yet, I finally just went around the girl in the Grand Am.
I drive all the way out to Eastern Mongolia. Park. Start walking in.
When I draw even with white Grand Am, the guy finally backs out of the space and Grand Am pulls in.
When I get to the doors, I look back, and Grand Am Girl is about forty yards behind me.
Yeah, that close-in parking place really was a benefit to her life, I'm sure.
Plus, she was walking and talking on her cell phone, but both arms are swinging and she has her head cocked over holding the phone with her shoulder. Huh? Her arms must not have been working too well yesterday, not being able to hold the phone with her hand and all. She looked like she just came from the Ministry Of Silly Walks.
And the final indignity, was that she jumped in front of me heading for an express checkout lane. No problem, I'm a ladies first kinda guy anyway. But what frosted me was that she had one, count 'em, one, item in her Walmart carry basket. When she gets up to the register, she takes her item out, and just puts the basket on the floor, right in the lane where all of us behind her are going to have to walk.
Of course, my conscience won't let me leave it there, and it won't let me say something to Grand Am Girl, so like the sheep I am, I pick it up and give it to the cashier.
Some people. Gyah!
And then there's me.
One day I wanted the 32oz (2lb) bag of shredded mozzarella cheese.
I walk back to the cheese section and everything is full. Except ONE area. Of course the empty area is where the 32oz bags of shredded mozzarella should have been. Gyah!
I see one of the poor souls who works there, plead my case to him and he ambles off good naturedly to see if they have any more of the the 32oz bags of shredded mozzarella.
So, while I wait, I proceed to prove my geekness. (As if the eight or so pens, pencils, and markers in my shirt pocket aren't screaming that already. Number One Daughter calls it the Festival Of Pens.)
I start doing the math on all the various sizes of packaged shredded mozzarella (and cheddar, just for fun) to see exacly how much I'm gonna save by waiting to see if they have more stock, instead of buying several small bags.
Even if I bought four, eight ounce bags, I would only save twenty cents. Now I like a bargain like the next guy, but twenty cents, man, I could have already been checked out and on my way by then!
But just as I realize this, the guy shows up with a massive box full of the 32oz bags of shredded mozzarella.
I feel guilty, but I only take one. It's all I need.
Some people. Gyah!
I would have made an excellent Catholic or Jew. If I can feel guilty over where I leave a shopping buggy... I have the whole guilt thing down cold. Maybe growing up Baptist, and all of that fire-and-brimstone, left me with some Arnold Schwarzenegger type guilt muscles.