On Fits

Sammy Boy,

You saw me at my very worst this Sunday. My. Very. Worst. And this is one of those childhood memories I hope you  conveniently forget. I pray when you sift through your schema as an adult, this one slips through and falls right down the drain.

Me at my very worst happened at Wal-Mart. We needed some things we couldn't get anywhere else. Granted, we could've traipsed over to Lowes for a shower head and then to the grocery store for some vinegar and yeast, and then back over to another store for dry-erase markers. But I figured it'd just be easier to hop over to the Wal and take care of all our business in one place.

You warned me, too. As we pulled into the parking lot, you said, "Mom, we're at Wal-Mart?".
"I know, I know." I sighed. "But we've got a list of some weird stuff and this is the only place I can think of to get it all."

You side-eyed me with a look that says "okay, but..."

I interrupted your thoughts with a "let's just get it over with before your sister wakes up" because she was still napping in the back seat. I heaved her out and put her, with a pillow, in the basket (classy - Wal-Mart classy). We pushed through the thongs of Sunday shoppers like the frogger in traffic, hopping from isle to isle, avoiding the onslaught and our imminent demise. We made record time, really - it was about 25 minutes, we stuck to our list, and we made our way to the front of the store.

I hope Wal-Mart is but a terrible thing of the past by the time you read this, Sam. But like an unsightly wart, I feel like the Wal is here to stay, unless surgically extracted. There's so much press about this chain - this superstore giant. They don't pay a fair, living wage, they buy cheaply made products from sweatshops in China and India, and they still pay women less than men. And I have so many reasons to hate this place. The reason I hate it the most, though? They give appearance of convenience and ease while existing in perpetual chaos and frustration? Case in point - the checkout.

There are about 30 checkout lanes. Sounds pretty good, right? People can move through quickly, no one is overworked or has to wait? Only, most Wal-Marts with these 30 lanes only actually open about 6 of them. On a Sunday.

The lines snaked and coiled around the front of the store - a nest of vipers, and the shoppers? They were all ready to strike.

"Sam. Sam? Come this way. This line is shorter."
"How can you tell? They all link together?"
You were right. In fact, I couldn't tell how to get in line. I couldn't see how to intersect and really, I couldn't even get past the cart to backside traffic to get into another line.

"This is crazy." I heaved. "I don't understand how this is even happening right now."
The woman I was  attempting to pass in order to find another line laughed a bit. Not like a "oh, I feel you girl" laugh. No, it was like a "don't act like this isn't a normal Saturday at the Wal-Mart" laugh. A "What do you think this is, Target?" sarcastic huff.

"I'm sorry, could we just get through. We don't want in your line, I promise." And I meant it. I did not want to cut in line or to have her line or whatever. What I wanted was to get out of that hell. What I wanted was to get into a time machine and go back an hour and do what I knew I should've done in the first place - NOT GO TO WAL-MART. But here we were.

I could've been graceful and thoughtful and used this as an opportunity to show you patience and camaraderie in a tough situation. But, of course, I didn't.

As the sarcastic sally moved her cart from the center of the isle so we could pass, giving us just enough room to squeeze through, another full-cart hauling, crushed velvet track suit wearing, scrunch clad madwoman darted through our cart slot like a bat out of hell, nearly clipped you and hit our cart.

"NO, please. We're obviously in your way." I don't think she was expecting me to say anything. In all truth, I don't think she saw us at all - the whole front of the store was so cramped it's possible she couldn't see us.

"Oh, I'm sorry" she whipped around. "I'm just trying to get through."

"Yes, yes. I think we all got that. So let's just be a little careful." I shouldn't have said but did.

And the sarcastic sally was now more elated than ever to have a Jerry Springer moment at the Wal-Mart. Wouldn't that just make her line time light up?

Now, Sammy if you've moved far from the the south, this little conversation may not seem as venomous as it actually was. But you see, we southern women don't argue with words - we let our tones do the talking. And trust me, people have tussled over stronger than these. Never forget - I'm pretty sure the Texas succession was all on account of somebody not sayin' "please" at tea.

Sure enough, however, I walked away, disappointing sarcastic sally and leaving the madwoman giving me the stink eye and mouthing things I was pretty sure you shouldn't hear.

We finally arrived in another line and thirty minutes later, we, the madwoman, and even sarcastic sally left the hell that is Wal-Mart.

And now, I should've apologized to you. I should've found some way to teach you something good and wholesome. But, of course, I didn't.

No. Instead, I chose to impart this wisdom:

"Sam." I sighed. "The next time mom says, 'Hey, buddy. Let's just go to Wal-Mart,' I want you to remind me that Wal-Mart is where dreams go to die."

And at six, you smirked at me and only replied "you got it."

I don't have any real wisdom for you here. I know I shouldn't have thrown a fit. I can't clean this up and make it look good. All I can tell you is that there are places and people who bring out your best self, and there's Wal-Mart. It may seem like a great idea to avoid extra stops and travels and just go someplace that advertises ease but let me tell you, it comes at a great cost to you, even if it promises low, low prices.

Find people and places that make you your best self, that advocate you being your best self. And if you find yourself lazily wandering back to the dungeons, have a travel buddy that'll remind you of the last time.