EdFred
Taxi to Parking
From e-mail:
I like the variety of food at Whole Foods; I do not like, however, having to climb over the herds of patchouli-drenched hippies, weed-smelling college cruisers, and the trust-fund freaks with stained scalps from bad dye jobs, just to shop there. That store attracts every stereotype imaginable, and they converge on it in their Volkswagons, Volvos and other annoying vehicles that are plastered with stickers like "Save the whales," "Hug a tree," "Paper products are evil," "No war for oil," "Fur is bad," "Share the road with bicyclists," blah, blah, blah.
If I had a store, all the bumper stickers in my lot would read things like "Whales are tasty," "Bicyclists = Roadkill," and "Your bumper sticker sucks."
Wait, I'm describing the parking lot of Super Wal-Mart.
I like Super Wal-Mart (heretofore known as SWM because I'm ridiculously lazy and don't want to type the full name each time) simply for being a melting pot of everything people have loved for years but were never able to get ALL AT ONCE. A sample grocery list to SWM might read something like this:
- tampons
- lightbulbs
- deer rifle and ammo
- beer
- camera film
- an entire outfit of camoflauge
- 6ft tall lawn Santa
- yarn and knitting needles
- fuzzy toilet seat cover
- flip flops
- fish food
- bananas
- diapers
- Prozac prescription
- eggs
- oil change
- underwear
And while you're there you can stroll over to the MacDonald's and get your cart monkeys, a.k.a. your children, some fries. You can also do your banking, have photos taken, and get your taxes done during tax season by some poor 'tard whose makeshift office, for the next couple of months, is located between the giant Dale Earnhardt, Jr. promotional beer cutout and the orange juice section.
But there are downsides. Just getting into the SWM is an ordeal in and of itself. You must deal with a variety of human challenges: Car Sharks -- the people who slowly cruise the lot aisles so it looks like they're tailing people (which they usually are) are fierce competitors for empty spots. You also have to keep an eye out for the people who are indecently large and stay that way due to their fear of parking any further from the store than the spot RIGHT AFTER the handicap spaces.
Some of the most dangerous people are the old ones. The people who are too old to go on living, or even care, so hey, why not HOP INTO A CAR AND DRIVE? Their heads stick no higher above the dash than the top of the steering column, but they putt around the lot anyway with a slow, but reckless, abandon. The only reason they all don't perish in ghastly accidents is because their lack of speed allows others to avoid certain death. Watching them try to fit their Lincolns in the handicapped spaces is like watching a toddler trying to force a square shape through a round hole. I've watched them come 'round the aisle the wrong way before, opposite to how the spots are angled, and hit cars trying to wedge themselves in. When they get out they're completely unaware that a group of people are now watching them with gaping mouths, saying, ¡§Holy S**t!¡¨.
Another dangerous type to beware of when maneuvering through the parking lot of SWM -- a skill equal only Anakin Skywalker's pod race in Episode I -- are the Receipt Checkers. These people suddenly stop -- right in the middle of the crosswalk INSTEAD OF BY THEIR CAR -- right in front of your moving car -- to look over their reciept.
There is also the Mother Duck type who has an overflowing cart and a gaggle of various-aged kids trailing her. Just when you think they've all passed and it's safe to go -- WAIT! There's ANOTHER kid, a straggler, who would have been taken out as prey in the animal world for lingering so far behind mama.
When you actually do get inside the SWM, you play chicken in the too-small aisles with other shoppers to see who will get out of the way first. If you have toddler cart monkeys with you, you get your legs continually kicked as you make your way down the aisles. If you have older kids with you and they are bored, they will try to see how many stupid things they can throw into the cart when you¡¦re not looking. I've discovered a box of denture adhesive, stool softener, a package of the big granny maxi pads just under the "adult underwear" classification, and more all in my cart at checkout. However, if you keep the cart away from the shelves so as to avoid this, you get exaggerated sighs and indignant HOW DARE YOU PROCREATE glares because you and your spawn are hogging the whole aisle.
I hold nothing against SWM, in fact, it's downright handy to be able to perform the "gatherer" aspect of my sex's job more efficently, and I like that I have the option of wheeling like mad over to McD's to shove fries in my kids' mouths when they start bickering.
Just pack properly for the checkout.
You will need bottled water and several changes of underwear for when you CRAP YOUR PANTS at how long the lines are. And under any circumstances, are you NOT to "experiment" and try the automated self-checkout with frazzled nerves and crabby kids. I found myself shouting "I did too! I ALREADY PUT IT IN THE BAG." at the cool female voice emanating from the machine which kept repeating "Please put the scanned item in the bag. Please put the scanned item in the bag. Please put the scanned item in the bag."
That's when you know it's time to leave Super Wal-Mart.
I like the variety of food at Whole Foods; I do not like, however, having to climb over the herds of patchouli-drenched hippies, weed-smelling college cruisers, and the trust-fund freaks with stained scalps from bad dye jobs, just to shop there. That store attracts every stereotype imaginable, and they converge on it in their Volkswagons, Volvos and other annoying vehicles that are plastered with stickers like "Save the whales," "Hug a tree," "Paper products are evil," "No war for oil," "Fur is bad," "Share the road with bicyclists," blah, blah, blah.
If I had a store, all the bumper stickers in my lot would read things like "Whales are tasty," "Bicyclists = Roadkill," and "Your bumper sticker sucks."
Wait, I'm describing the parking lot of Super Wal-Mart.
I like Super Wal-Mart (heretofore known as SWM because I'm ridiculously lazy and don't want to type the full name each time) simply for being a melting pot of everything people have loved for years but were never able to get ALL AT ONCE. A sample grocery list to SWM might read something like this:
- tampons
- lightbulbs
- deer rifle and ammo
- beer
- camera film
- an entire outfit of camoflauge
- 6ft tall lawn Santa
- yarn and knitting needles
- fuzzy toilet seat cover
- flip flops
- fish food
- bananas
- diapers
- Prozac prescription
- eggs
- oil change
- underwear
And while you're there you can stroll over to the MacDonald's and get your cart monkeys, a.k.a. your children, some fries. You can also do your banking, have photos taken, and get your taxes done during tax season by some poor 'tard whose makeshift office, for the next couple of months, is located between the giant Dale Earnhardt, Jr. promotional beer cutout and the orange juice section.
But there are downsides. Just getting into the SWM is an ordeal in and of itself. You must deal with a variety of human challenges: Car Sharks -- the people who slowly cruise the lot aisles so it looks like they're tailing people (which they usually are) are fierce competitors for empty spots. You also have to keep an eye out for the people who are indecently large and stay that way due to their fear of parking any further from the store than the spot RIGHT AFTER the handicap spaces.
Some of the most dangerous people are the old ones. The people who are too old to go on living, or even care, so hey, why not HOP INTO A CAR AND DRIVE? Their heads stick no higher above the dash than the top of the steering column, but they putt around the lot anyway with a slow, but reckless, abandon. The only reason they all don't perish in ghastly accidents is because their lack of speed allows others to avoid certain death. Watching them try to fit their Lincolns in the handicapped spaces is like watching a toddler trying to force a square shape through a round hole. I've watched them come 'round the aisle the wrong way before, opposite to how the spots are angled, and hit cars trying to wedge themselves in. When they get out they're completely unaware that a group of people are now watching them with gaping mouths, saying, ¡§Holy S**t!¡¨.
Another dangerous type to beware of when maneuvering through the parking lot of SWM -- a skill equal only Anakin Skywalker's pod race in Episode I -- are the Receipt Checkers. These people suddenly stop -- right in the middle of the crosswalk INSTEAD OF BY THEIR CAR -- right in front of your moving car -- to look over their reciept.
There is also the Mother Duck type who has an overflowing cart and a gaggle of various-aged kids trailing her. Just when you think they've all passed and it's safe to go -- WAIT! There's ANOTHER kid, a straggler, who would have been taken out as prey in the animal world for lingering so far behind mama.
When you actually do get inside the SWM, you play chicken in the too-small aisles with other shoppers to see who will get out of the way first. If you have toddler cart monkeys with you, you get your legs continually kicked as you make your way down the aisles. If you have older kids with you and they are bored, they will try to see how many stupid things they can throw into the cart when you¡¦re not looking. I've discovered a box of denture adhesive, stool softener, a package of the big granny maxi pads just under the "adult underwear" classification, and more all in my cart at checkout. However, if you keep the cart away from the shelves so as to avoid this, you get exaggerated sighs and indignant HOW DARE YOU PROCREATE glares because you and your spawn are hogging the whole aisle.
I hold nothing against SWM, in fact, it's downright handy to be able to perform the "gatherer" aspect of my sex's job more efficently, and I like that I have the option of wheeling like mad over to McD's to shove fries in my kids' mouths when they start bickering.
Just pack properly for the checkout.
You will need bottled water and several changes of underwear for when you CRAP YOUR PANTS at how long the lines are. And under any circumstances, are you NOT to "experiment" and try the automated self-checkout with frazzled nerves and crabby kids. I found myself shouting "I did too! I ALREADY PUT IT IN THE BAG." at the cool female voice emanating from the machine which kept repeating "Please put the scanned item in the bag. Please put the scanned item in the bag. Please put the scanned item in the bag."
That's when you know it's time to leave Super Wal-Mart.
Of course, that was in 1975.