Wal-mart, the entrance to the mouth of hell

I went on a search for a new bicycle yesterday. I love my old 'granny bike' with the wide-ass comfort seat, but it has no gears and, frankly, it's just too much work going up hills or against the wind. As I was doing my comparison shopping, I decided that in order to make a proper sweep of the city, I should check stock and prices at Wal-mart. I don't know why I do this to myself. I don't like Wal-mart. I don't like what it stands for....the whole lie of the "more for less" philosophy. And I certainly don't like the fact that they're now a grocery store that specializes in nothing but processed, pre-packaged foods. But what really hurts my soul (and causes me to vow, every time, that I will never return) are the people that shop there.

I continue to be astounded at the number of fat people, women mostly because they are still the shoppers in the family, who are piling frozen dinners and other assorted 'bargains' into their shopping carts. And let's be clear, the majority of these bargain-seekers are not a little chubby. They are obese. They are fat enough that they have given up wearing anything but elastic-waist pants and slip on shoes/sandals. Their faces are set into a permanent frown from the weight pulling the corners of their mouths down. Those that have finished their shopping are gathered outside, lined up against the wall of the store, smoking and waiting for taxis or husbands to ferry them away. Making one's way to the front door is to navigate the chaos they create, a death-maze of shopping carts, baby strollers and ragged children darting in every direction screaming an endless litany of "I want, I want, I want...".

Those that are not the XXL shoppers fall into 3 categories: the frighteningly skinny, the terrifyingly old, or the tragically normal. The skinny are generally women who, for some reason, tend to favour a poofy hair style, even though this makes them look like a Q-tip with arms. A smoking Q-tip with arms. A smoking Q-tip with huge, circular eye glasses and arms.

The old are usually just that. Old, old, old. Now, I've often been criticizing for criticizing the old, being chided with, "Now, you'll be old one day too." That's true, I will be, as will we all. But I won't be old and clueless. I know plenty of old and older people with a pulse, a quick wit and an awareness of what's going on around them. The Wal-mart Old shuffle through the aisles unaware of anyone or anything around them. They drive their shopping carts into your ankles much in the same way that they drive their overly large cars into the rear-end of your economy, gas-saving, hybrid at a stop sign. They stop dead in front of you, blocking your progress, for no apparent reason. Much the same as they do in their cars. They hold up the cash line for ten minutes, digging through their change purses looking for those two pennies that will save them from being tipped over by the weight of the .98 cents in change they might get.

Sprinkled throughout this potpourri of human horror are the normals, those individuals who don't think that The Bay or Sears are over-priced, but shop at Sqaul-mart because they feel obligated to save a few cents. They have succumbed to the false barrage of "Save, Save, Save" which inundates them daily. Occasionally, I turn a corner and spot one these 'normies' and breathe a sigh of relief. Then, I start to wonder if just being in the store itself, the entrance to the mouth of hell, is what might eventually turn them into a gigantic-food-consumer or a shuffling zombie. How many visits will it take before any trace of normalcy disappears forever and their life becomes an endless search for the cheapest possible made-in-China-crap or a two-for-one sale in frozen, deep fried food? It is usually at this point that I run for the parking lot, swearing never to return and checking myself for signs of white-trash infection.