A Trip to WalMart

I recently took my daughter to the local WalMart to purchase some school supplies. She was in desperate need of a "Sponge Bob" note book and some pencils. (She’s managed to loose all of hers and most of mine in the past few weeks)  WalMart is a place that should be visited at least once annually as a reminder to why high prices are not altogether a bad thing.  Upon entering the building if you listen very carefully you can hear a few IQ points gently falling out of your ears onto the floor to be swept away with the remnants of ruptured Pringles containers.  After running the gauntlet of marauding facially perforated teenagers and half naked free lance auto mechanics with tasteless tattoos peeking out from behind the scars and axel grease that festoon their overfed bodies we located the school supplies. The prize we sought was won, but our adventure continued as we made the perilous return trip to the front of store to find a check stand. I now know where the "stand" in check stand comes from. We stood, and stood some more. There, with the front doors in sight, so close that we could almost taste the freedom of the outside world, we waited. We waited for dozens of people with shopping carts crammed with cheap toilet paper, tacky lamps, and large pictures of Jesus, or dogs playing poker. I would have paid double or triple the cost of that note book to regain those precious moments of my life that are now gone forever, drowned in that sea of vacuous bargain hunters.

  HW

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