To start… a “Best Of…” blog post

One of my least favorite things to do is taking the inevitable trip to Wal-Mart. In my mind, it ranks just south of cleaning the toilet. For whatever reason, it seems that no matter when I go in there, I’ve arrived during what I like to call the “Discourteous Power Hour”. I call it the Discourteous Power Hour because I have a lot of time on my hands and I like to be creative.

Without fail, you will find the person in no hurry, who likes to check out everything on the shelf. I call this person Mr. or Ms. “Sunday Driver”. They have to make sure that every part of the barcode on each product is there, the new brand of Cheez-It is out on the shelf, and the same number of bottles of Aquafina are on the shelf for the entire 20 minutes that it takes them to pass the water aisle. Not only do they have the inherit need to make sure everything is in its proper place, they also have to make sure they are taking up just enough space that a perfectly time passing maneuver is next to impossible. And, I’ve made quite a few awesome passes in my life time. For a big ‘un, I’ve got adept skills. Ask my sister… she’s been around for a number of most excellent passes.

You will also tend to find Mr. or Ms. “Oblivious”. They are oblivious to the fact that this is an international megastore frequented by tens of thousands of people an hour. Mr. or Ms. Oblivious can not be bothered by the fact that they are actually shopping in a store and not on the Internet. Where are home, they can stare at hours at the bottle of Pantene that they just have to have, and they can also hit the back button if they happen to like the Head and Shoulders better. In real stores, though, they seem to need to not endure some sort of separation anxiety, so they must act exactly the same as when they are at home. I will not be surprised the day I mosey into a store (and I do mosey), and I find Mr. Oblivious there in a mustard stained wife beater and boxer shorts trying to decide on his cracker du jour.

Tonight, I met a new character in this menagerie of dysfunction, Ms. “I Think He Might Work Here”. Typically, when I get the nerve up to go to “The Mart”, and usually it’s not as much nerve as it is necessity, I usually will dress up for the occasion. Tonight, my costume included a hockey jersey and sweat pants (it’s chilly). Granted, this is not the attire you want to wear to meet Miss Right in the “All Things Pickled” aisle, but it’s comfortable (which is key when enduring this kind of pain) and if you have to throw the inevitable body check, you are dressed for the occasion.

So, tonight, I am drifting down the water/chip aisle, when I am blocked by what I feel is Ms. Sunday Driver. Fortunately, it was stocking the shelves night at “The Mart”, so there was enough space for one cart at a time. So, as I am trying to find if there are any 24 oz. bottles of Aquafina to be had, I make eye contact to Ms. Sunday Driver, which of course, is always a mistake. Eye contact to me means I am attempting to be polite, but to others making eye contact means that there might be an iota of interest from the other party. As we make eye contact, Ms. Sunday Driver, all 90 pounds of her, is trying to clean and jerk a 6-pack of Ozarka water from the pallet that is conviently and solidly wrapped there in the middle of the aisle. Finally realizing that her efforts are futile, she looks at me and asks me am I going to unwrap this. She does not ask me if I could help her or do I think it’s okay for her to go ahead and rip into this mound of cellophane and Ozarka water. No, she asks me when I am going to unwrap it.

In the nanoseconds that it takes for the human mind to process such a request, my mind floats out of my body to take a look at what on my person might think that I am employed by the mighty Wal-Mart Corporation. Was it my outfit? Possibly. It could have been extremely casual Monday. Was it my festive name tag? Well, my name is on the back of the jersey, but it was hard for her to see that exactly, unless she had x-ray vision. Was it the cart full of groceries? I don’t know about where you work, but obviously in the place when she works, shopping is okay during work hours. I guess it will remain one of those mysteries of life, like who built Stonehenge, how does Ted Kennedy keep getting elected, or do they still make Smurfberry Crunch.

Welcome to the world, Ms. “I Think He Might Work Here”. It’s a pleasure to have you here. We’ve already decided that you will have Mr. “Sunday Driver” for your Secret Santa. Ms. “Oblivious” would have been in that mix, as well, but she is too busy deciding whether she wants to buy the new Hannah Montana CD or the iPod Shuffle.