Finally(after nearly 3 weeks) got the email yesterday saying that the CD was in. Of course it would come on a busy day. Considering they're only open 10am til 10pm, even though the store is open 24 hours and that makes zero sense, I decided I would stop tonight and pick it up.
Let me rewind. The day was quite hellish for me and I had several issues, so I thought that finally getting the CD I've been waiting for would make it better. Errr, nope.
I was in a mega hurry because I had to watch my twin nieces, so I book it in there and run to the depths of Hell, which is the back of the store where there is a room comprised of one half the glamorous (read:ghetto) site to store area and one half the extra bathrooms that employees use. You know who else uses these bathrooms? People who are embarrassed to go number two in the front of the store bathrooms. Sorry, but it's true. It smells so funky in that back area, but we will get to that later. (Stoked right?)
So conveniently there was no one at the desk back there. I pressed the button for assistance on the touch screen, which then told me someone was coming to help me. While I waited I read about twelve missing children posters. That was pretty uplifting.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
Employees are walking past me and yet no one is coming out to help. I think surely this man, who clearly looks like a manager of some sorts, will question if someone is helping me. Nope.
More time passes.
So much time has passed that the screen has gone back to the standby which says something like Need Assistance? Press this screen. Pressed it again.
A few families come in to use the bathrooms all at once, probably some kind of family bonding that only Wal-mart can bring about. Heart warming stuff there.
Literally a dozen employees have passed me now and NOT one asks if I need help. I see some who have gone in the back, come back out, and then pass me for a third time. My face is projecting that fine line of emotion between complete meltdown and intense cynicism.
Oh and the screen is back to Need Assitance? Well, this time I borderline punch it. Felt pretty sweet.
A new family has come in to the area and they were some classy looking Wal-Mart shoppers. I'm kidding, of course. One of them is an employee who has to go in the back to get her stuff to leave. Surely they will say something. Haha, that was a joke.
By this time I am walking out into the toy section to find the closest employee I can to witness my epic meltdown. As I am scanning, the family of the employee looking for her stuff continue openly talking as loud as possible about taking legal custody of so-and-so's son because the mom is a junkie. Yes! Life is complete.
Probably 15-20 minutes have now passed and I have given up hope that anyone is coming. I see people that are skeeving me out and smell poop. Yes, poop is now permeating the room. Then Spikey Hair comes out and as nice as can be says, "Can I help you?"
I thought he may be a mirage at first and that the poop smell was causing delusions, but he was real! He goes back and disappears for another five minutes. Comes out with my package and asks if I want to open it to make sure it is correct. I almost said no, because had it not been correct, I can assure you someone's physical health was going to be put in serious jeopardy. Mine or his. Either.
Amazingly it was actually right and he gave a half-mocking 'woohoo' type cheer, but I was too emotionally drained to come back with anything.
That was that. And so I am saying right here, that it was the last time you will catch me in that store. I would rather go hang out in a crack-house. I would see the same kind of people and smell the same kind of smells, but at least I'd be so blitzed out of my mind it wouldn't bother me as much.
PS-Just listened to the CD and got emotional. Partially because it was so awesome, but also because I thought of the crap I went through to finally have it in my possession. Once again the top song from it:
1 comments:
they are consistent with their extreme awfulness, so youre right, i must give them that at least.
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