I hate Wal-Mart, not because it’s this terrible chain store that blasts itself on commericals with cheesy smiles (which i do actually hate,) but, because it’s always Macy’s at Christmas in there. No matter WHAT time of day you go there, it’s going to be absolutely mobbed, and I’m not patient. While waiting in line I glance down at my bottle of Coca-Cola zero, and notice the woman in front of me has apparently spent her life savings today. Not just because I don’t like waiting in lines, but if I was her, and noticed the girl behind me had only one item, while I had over 600, I’d let her go first. But of course not. She continued snapping her gum, telling her son he couldn’t have a pack of gum, which she eventually caved in upon. If I was that child, and I was screaming at the top of my lungs slamming my feet on the ground like a little demon, I most certainly wouldn’t be getting any gum for a long period of time.

This particular blog seems to be quite all over the place, which I guess, is what I was going for. Continuing onward with my hell journey in Wal-Mart I noticed a woman EXCESSIVELY putting Purel on her hands and chuckled to myself. We’re germ obsessive. I’m not saying I’m not, I’m guilty of hand santizer in my purse. Yet, she had enough for a small country in her hand. I was drowned by that stale smell of alcohol. But to the worst part of my trip. While I was waiting the 12 hours it took me to check out, I noticed a woman leaving the store with a cart packed with stuff, and two young children running a muck, struggling to get out the door. It was obvious she needed someone to open the door, and there was a man standing there, staring, obviously acknowledging the situation and just turned his head. When has holding a door for someone become such a difficult task? Like it was out of his way, and his busy schedule and all. I often wish, I was born 10 years earlier, when that was common.