reason #473 to not shop at Wal-Mart
Blogger has been the bitchiest sister I never had this week. It's eaten three of my posts. I originally wrote this last weekend. Rawr.
I didn’t leave my new job (which I will write about sometime when I figure out how to do it both safely and respectfully) until almost 8:30 last night, which is 2.5 hours after my usual ending time. I had a few things I wanted to buy and I knew at least one of them would be 10-20 dollars cheaper at Wal-Mart.
Sometimes 10-20 dollars seems like a lot to me, enough so that I try to talk myself into shopping at Wal-Mart to save a buck (I know, I know, Kelly, the Wal-Mart empire is built on the weak shoulders of people like me—except I never give them my money). I am never, ever successful at these attempts to convince myself. Like my mini-Wal-Mart meltdown in October, I just couldn’t do it. When I got inside the store, it was dingy and dimly lit and there were people EVERYWHERE. They were at least 8 deep at the check out lanes. There were hordes just blocking the aisles so no one could pass, largely because the big W insists on putting merchandise in the middle of its otherwise perfectly acceptable aisles. I fought my way through the crowds and finally made it to the item. I was right—it was considerably cheaper, so I tossed it into my cart.
But, just like in October when I attempted to buy a folding table and chairs at Wal-Mart that were fully 35 dollars cheaper than the same merch at Target, I was suddenly overcome with bourgeois guilt and a crisis of conscience. And so, like in October, I put my stuff back on the shelves and walked out having purchased nothing. No Wal-Mart blood on my hands, no sir.
As I approached my car, I noticed a gentleman waiting for passersby across the aisle. Hoping that my car’s beeping as I unlocked the doors from afar would dissuade him from trying to talk to me, I made a beeline. No such luck.
"Excuse me, ma’am?"
"Yes?"
"I’d like to invite you to a revival my church is having," he said and proffered a half-sheet flyer.
"I’m sorry," I said sweetly and with a genuine smile, "I'm not a Christian."*
He looked at me with part pity and part hopeful smile and said, "That’s okay. You can become one!"
At this point, I ducked into my car and though about the millions of ways I could respectfully tell this man that it isn’t that easy. No, it’s not that easy. It can’t be that easy. But I drove away, instead.
*I would like to note that this guy was really nice and in no way creeping me out. I like to think that his demeanor caused me to respond so nicely, since when Lauryn and I were walking to class the other day and someone from the PIRGs approached us and asked if we "didn't have a minute for the environment," we kept walking stridently while I called back, "Not today. We HATE the environment!"
I didn’t leave my new job (which I will write about sometime when I figure out how to do it both safely and respectfully) until almost 8:30 last night, which is 2.5 hours after my usual ending time. I had a few things I wanted to buy and I knew at least one of them would be 10-20 dollars cheaper at Wal-Mart.
Sometimes 10-20 dollars seems like a lot to me, enough so that I try to talk myself into shopping at Wal-Mart to save a buck (I know, I know, Kelly, the Wal-Mart empire is built on the weak shoulders of people like me—except I never give them my money). I am never, ever successful at these attempts to convince myself. Like my mini-Wal-Mart meltdown in October, I just couldn’t do it. When I got inside the store, it was dingy and dimly lit and there were people EVERYWHERE. They were at least 8 deep at the check out lanes. There were hordes just blocking the aisles so no one could pass, largely because the big W insists on putting merchandise in the middle of its otherwise perfectly acceptable aisles. I fought my way through the crowds and finally made it to the item. I was right—it was considerably cheaper, so I tossed it into my cart.
But, just like in October when I attempted to buy a folding table and chairs at Wal-Mart that were fully 35 dollars cheaper than the same merch at Target, I was suddenly overcome with bourgeois guilt and a crisis of conscience. And so, like in October, I put my stuff back on the shelves and walked out having purchased nothing. No Wal-Mart blood on my hands, no sir.
As I approached my car, I noticed a gentleman waiting for passersby across the aisle. Hoping that my car’s beeping as I unlocked the doors from afar would dissuade him from trying to talk to me, I made a beeline. No such luck.
"Excuse me, ma’am?"
"Yes?"
"I’d like to invite you to a revival my church is having," he said and proffered a half-sheet flyer.
"I’m sorry," I said sweetly and with a genuine smile, "I'm not a Christian."*
He looked at me with part pity and part hopeful smile and said, "That’s okay. You can become one!"
At this point, I ducked into my car and though about the millions of ways I could respectfully tell this man that it isn’t that easy. No, it’s not that easy. It can’t be that easy. But I drove away, instead.
*I would like to note that this guy was really nice and in no way creeping me out. I like to think that his demeanor caused me to respond so nicely, since when Lauryn and I were walking to class the other day and someone from the PIRGs approached us and asked if we "didn't have a minute for the environment," we kept walking stridently while I called back, "Not today. We HATE the environment!"
posted by Alison Inaz @ 7:35 PM
1 Comments:
At Thursday, February 09, 2006 2:53:00 PM,
Kelly said…
I bet the walmart parking lot is a perfect place to snag converts. I can't believe you've gone in and left TWICE. The best part about being all self rightous about walmart is not having to go there and deal with the pure schlockdom that lies inside.
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