Networking at the Wal-Mart

Posted on April 28, 2009 by admin

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Had to take a trek out to the fabulous Wal-Mart today, though this time was different. This time, instead of picking up the mundane bullshit that the family requires, I got to hunt for networking supplies.

Yes, you heard me right: computer fucking networking supplies. At the Wal-Mart.

For real.

This is actually shit they have in stock, though, simple things like 5-port network routers, so no big deal, right?

Right…

So I pick up two of them, one for the office and one for my former boss at his warehouse (my former boss is yet a whole ‘nother story, one I have yet to get in to…).

So I take them up front, to the express lane.

There’s an elderly woman working, probably 120 at best. She slides the first network router across her barcode reader.

$29.95

Right. That’s what it said, bitch, move on to the next…

Then she picks up the second one. She looks at it, examines it, feels it, strokes it; she passes me as seductive a look as she can muster up with that fucking hairy mole growing under her right eye, then says to me like no other woman has said to me before:

“You sure you need TWO of these, ‘hun?”

Shut the fuck up, bitch; if I need your fucking 200 year old opinion, I’ll beat the shit out of you for it!

Goddamnit. Thus computer networking at the Wal-Mart.

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WTF? A National Holiday?

Posted on April 26, 2009 by admin

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So it’s a national goddamn holiday here at the Wal-Mart. And nobody fucking told me.

Apparently it’s national “Get-the-Fuck-In-This-Poor-Schmuck’s-Way-So-That-He-Can’t-Get-to-Anything” Day.

Stupid motherfuckers. They’re like “Oh, here comes that poor idiot, move the cart sideways so that he can’t get through to grab that elusive box of tea.”

Or “Here he comes again, let’s Parcheesi him with this hispanic family of 12 so that he can’t get his box of macaroni and cheese. Poor bastard…”

Fuck ‘em. I’ll move on to the next goddamn aisle and get my fucking loaf of bread THEN come back to pick out my Wal-Mart warez. But Christ on a crutch, there’s a fucking woman in a fake Wal-Mart wheelchair blocking the entire path to the Holy Covenant that is bread. Not because she’s sick or anything, but because she’s too damn fat to walk on her own. Bastards.

I turn the cart around violently, knocking over coffee tins on the shelves to show my disgust at the idiocy of these people that have no regard for anyone else’s valuable time that’s being wasted at the Wal-Mart.

Back to the macaroni and cheese: Now there’s a goddamn family of five wearing no shoes, soles of their naked feet as black as their souls, looking at the green beans. The “husband” (and I use that term loosely as they’re probably too poor/stupid to have gotten a marriage certificate) argues with the “wife” about how little Billy Joe “won’t eat them thar beans with that thar salt in ‘em,” while she’s complaining that the “blonde one” (neither of their daughters actually looks blonde, but perhaps if you took them outside and hosed them off) won’t eat anything BUT the ones without the salt.

Jesus fucking christ, they’re green beans! These kids are like two and three years old! Buy the ones without salt, add it to the ones who do like it, or better yet, tell them to shut the fuck up and eat the goddamn green beans! They’re youre kids for christsakes – You’re the parents!

Violently turn the cart around a second time (clearly, I’m not going to be scoring any macaroni and cheese tonight), nearly knocking over an elderly woman who has blocked me in right behind me. Stupid bitch.

Swing back over to the bread aisle. There’s two, count ‘em, TWO, fucking housewives wearing hockey goalie masks, making goddamn sure I’ll never see that loaf of bread.

Fuck it… Over to the beer aisle and pick up a six pack for the 5 minute drive home. I’ll try this shit again tomorrow.

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Me vs. Beer vs. the Wal-Mart

Posted on April 26, 2009 by admin

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So I’m standing in the local Wal-Mart, drunk off my ass on a Sunday afternoon at 4 p.m. (drunk off my ass is par-for-the-course in terms of how you’ll find me in the Wal-Mart regardless of what time of day it is). And I’m in the beer aisle (again, par-for-the-course; send me to get peanut butter, I come home with bread and a 12 pack. And no peanut butter.).

As an aside, It’s a damn good thing they’ll let me buy beer here again. You see, in the not-so-previous past, I was guilty of letting my drivers license expire, to the tune of about 3 years; so suddenly ol’ Sam Waldon enacts this fucking policy whereby you have to have a valid drivers license or ID to buy goddamn beer. A FUCKING VALID ID. Twats.

So anyways, for a good year or more, rather than simply going to the DMV to get my license renewed (which is a whole story unto itself), I just went to some hack convenience store that didn’t really give a shit what age I was, evidenced by the many hispanic high-school aged patrons in front of me.

But I digress…

So there I am, in the beer aisle, deciding what my poison will be tonight. Of course I can’t find the goddamn Miller Genuine Draft 64 that my wife requires, when something odd #1 strikes me: They have no Miller products, save for Miller High Life in 12-packs. No Miller Genuine Draft, No Miller Lite, no Miller anything. Which is no skin off my nose, that shit gives me gas for some reason. But odd.

I procede to find what I’ll be partaking in tonight, or more what will be partaking me. I find Newcastle in 12-packs, which seems peculiar for the local Wal-Mart to carry; presumably, it’s years old because no one here knows what it is. But there’s nothing else drinkable at the Wal-Mart, so I turn my attention back to the Newcastle. Year old 12-pack? Hm. Well, what about just a year old 6-pack, I think to myself. As I grab for one, I notice a 6-pack of Amstel Light that’s brown. That’s odd thing #2.

What? A dark Amstel Light? Must investigate…

Turns out someone has replaced the Amstel Light bottles with the Newcastle bottles.

After further investigation, I determine it was some cheap ass that didn’t want to pay 50 cents more for the Amstel, so they switched the bottles. Sounds like late night drunken revelry to me. Good for them!

Until I realize that it’s the other way around – 50 CENTS MORE for the Amstel.

Why would anyone do that? Idiots. Amatuers.

I reach behind and pull out the REAL Newcatsle 6-pack, then leave, but not without my bandaids that I originally was sent off for.

As I arrive at home, my wife asks where the shampoo is that I was supposed to get. Goddamnit, I’m going back to the Wal-Mart…

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