What Grinds My Gears: The Wal-Mart Shopping 'Experience'

You want to know what really grinds my gears?  The Wal-Mart shopping experience, a pastime of blood-boiling proportions that's bound to rankle more than it does to satisfy one's attempt at an in-and-out shopping excursion (you try spending less than $50 bucks at Wally World the next time you shop.  I dare you!).  For as much as we like to avoid the wretched place, it's rife with goods and products we need at wholesale prices, but venturing the aisles of this corporate swinehouse leads us to believe it's rife with something else:  cluttered walkways, a Where's Waldo-esque search for associate help, encounters with nasty customers, and oodles of frustration worthy of a five-point rant that analyzes what makes shopping at Wal-Mart so damn exasperating.        

5. The Purchase of Powdered Baby Formula
Gerber products.  Apple juice.  Clothing, sizes 18 to 24 months.  Wipes.  Diapers.  Lotion. Wait...where's the Similac?  Ought to be around here somewhere...let me look.  It's right near the...cigarettes?!?!  That's right, folks:  if you're looking to purchase baby formula, you'll have to first inquire at the longest checkout line near the exits---the tobacco product queue.  And if, perchance, you happen to find a Wal-Mart that features Enfamil where it belongs, with the other baby products, you'll see that it's under closer watch than Jared Fogle at a chili bake-off.  It's no wonder more and more women are nursing long past the time those baby molars come in.  

4. The Clientele

As a former Wal-Mart employee (in my high school years), I, like many before me, have fallen victim to the old Sam Walton belief that "the customer is always right."  You wouldn't believe the amount of people that abuse said policy.  I once dealt with a murderous consumer that flung an Offspring CD at me because its lyrical content was too risque for his daughter's ears.  Or the old man who saw our sale on cat food in our flier and demanded he purchase cases of it at a time despite there being a 10-item per customer limit (I'm convinced old people claim they have cats as guise toward eating the liver and salmon Friskies variety themselves).  Then, there's the in-over-her-head mother who insists on grocery shopping with 7 kids in tow.  The 78 year old man who's convinced they still sell VCR cassettes in the Electronics Department.  The disgruntled yokel purchasing a fishing license, getting a key made, and walking away infuriated with neither when he discovers his local Wal-Mart no longer sells guns.  The droves of kids "staying after school" to play Guitar Hero.  The "do you need to get by" -minded customers who guard the card display and magazine case with utter disregard for your desire to browse the selection.  This is the Wal-Mart clientele:  human behavior at its "finest."            

3. Carts, Carts, Everywhere!

My first job at Wal-Mart was that of a "stocker."  No, I didn't stock the shelves (as the job title would suggest):  I pushed carts.  You know that phrase that applies to postal workers, "...neither sleet, nor rain, nor snow...?"  That very mantra applies to the cart pushers at Wal-Mart.  We pushed carts in every condition imaginable (especially in the sweltering heat).  Of all the jobs the corporation could thrust upon its employees, this is by far the most back-breaking position available, seeing as there are more customers coming in than carts coming out.  From the stocker's perspective, there's not a damn person that puts his or her cart away.  From the customer's perspective, there's not a damn person willing to get his or her cart away from other cars in the lot, just as there are those damn cart pushers that couldn't care less to remove their 50-cart line away from your backing the car up.  It's a mad, mad, mad world and there are too many carts out there to clutter it.         

2. Attempting to Access the Game Case

You can long for that copy of Gears of War all you want.  Stare at it; fawn over it.  Make your intentions known that you want that game in your possession.  'Cause not an associate out there cares to get that copy for you, unless you reluctantly ask yourself.  The sad thing is, there are likely 5 or 6 associates apportioned in the Electronics Department to "help out" customers.  And only one is keeper of the keys.  And that guy is likely out to lunch.  Seriously, is there a privilege to having those keys?  Is it a matter of rank?  Seniority?  Do employees row sham bow for them prior to each shift?  Or do they battle it out in the Thunderdome, "two men enter, only one man leaves" style for the right to carry them?  It's a wonder anything in that game case gets sold in a timely fashion.          

1. The Self Check-Out Innovation

In theory, the self-check out was developed to diminish the lines and push customers out of the store more quickly.  In theory.  When you need the self check-out most, say, at 9 PM, when the store isn't so busy, the option is not available to you, as each self check-out lane is closed.  Makes logical sense.  

Look at the typical exchange a customer at the self-check out endures:  customer scans a bottle of Dr. Pepper; *Please place the item in the bagging area*; customer does what's asked of him; *Unexpected item in bagging area*; befuddled, customer removes the item from the bagging station; *Please place the item in the bagging area*; irritated, customer repeats the request; customer scans a 96-ounce bottle of Tide (clearly, too bulky for the bagging area); customer hits the key "Item Not Bagged;"  note:  if customer does this more than three times, the associate has to enter a code to allow him to continue checking out; customer scans a DVD of the R-rated Pineapple Express; customer is prompted on the screen, "Are you 17 years or older?" ; only thing is, he can't answer this question...the associate, giving him the up-and-down, has to enter a code in order to do that for him, too; customer scans a package of Krazy Glue; customer is prompted on the screen, "Are you 16 years or older?" ; associate must come over to approve his age by entering a code...again; customer thinks to himself, "I picked the wrong day to stop sniffing glue;" customer, finished with his scanning, clicks "Finish to Pay;" in a bellowing voice (because that's what the woman through the computer has been doing with each request) asks, "Do you have any coupons?" ; customer clicks "No;" the booming voice asks, "Please check your cart for unscanned items;" customer touches screen to advance; *Please touch screen for payment options* ; customer, suddenly realizing his wallet is in his car, wishes to pay by check; associate must come over again to approve the purchase; customer, feeling the sensation of darting glares in the back of his neck from a line of other customers behind him, takes receipt and bagged items and leaves, realizing it would have made more sense to have his items checked out by a flesh-and-blood employee rather than a flawed machine that can barely function without the aid of an associate; customer heads for the exit, just as the security alarm lights up and beckons his presence; door greeter is either too old or too lazy to even care; customer realizes he could have walked off with far more valuables...maybe next time.            

That, in a nutshell, made me realize that I need to pick up toiletries before my Outer Banks trip on Saturday.  Where else to go but Wal-Mart?  Wish me luck...