I hate Walmart 

Going to Walmart after my run in with the daycare was probably not the best idea.  Going to Walmart after showing my $&@-justifiably so–at the daycare was definitely NOT a good idea. 

In December I paid the day care for a full 2 weeks that my daughter didn’t attend the after school program. She didn’t attend because hey- there was no school. She is in an after school program. Not daycare which is full time but after school. 3:30 to 6ish for $70. Having her attend full time when there is no school cost extra. I signed a form saying she wouldn’t be attending daycare during the break.  

There were lots of inane points made during the explanation of why I had to pay for after school when there was not school.  Being told I didn’t understand business  was my favorite though. It didn’t sit so well then and it didn’t go any better today when they charged me at extra $30 because she didn’t go for 2 days!!!! Oh-sorry-I didn’t call in time to tell them she wouldn’t be there 2 days. I won’t bore you with the details of the conversation. I did manage to exclaim,”I’ve paid you more in the past 2 months for you NOT taking care of her then I have for you to take care of her.” There was also the barb,”consider me old school but I like paying for services I actually GET,” and I did manage to add, “you make it awfully hard to stay a customer.” There was more. But this probably gives you the general idea. 

The first time I had some decorum and made my point while agitated bit calm-ish. Today not so much. 

And then I want to wal-mart. Not a good idea. I needed to print the valentines, get French fries and suckers. I needed to do it tonight because it was Going to take all of Tuesday and Thursday to get short attention span little one to actual write the names and her own on each valen-time.  I had no choice. And believe me I tried to come up with another choice. So mu French fries, suckers abs pictures all needed to be done tonight. What a combo. Where else can you get all those in one trip but the dreaded and nasty wal-mart. 

I hate wal-mart. Walmart after my $&&*^ a switch has been flipped is even worse. 

Lug boat and I make our way in to the grocery section. There is a candy asile in the grocery section. We go to  this  candy asile. A candy aisle where there is no valentines candy. Really-because what sense would that possibly make? The valentines candy isn’t in the grocery side with the actual candy. It’s on the other side is the store. The total opposite side of the store. Alrighty then.

Towards our trek to the Valentine candy asile far, far away from the real candy asile we get to the photo center. I check into the photo center to ask about that instant photo printing machine. He takes a break from his photo processing to show me where the machines are—outside of the photo lab itself. 

There I have to download an app. But to download the free app I have to update my payment information with my new debit card data. Since my glasses are on the car that takes a while. Finally get that done only to discover I have to Download the right wi-fi. That works but the code on the machine doesn’t. So I find a machine that the code actually worked on. 

A few tense words later I had my printed valentines and a piece of paper showing the number of pictures I had just printed. Now to the opposite aside is the store to get suckers. 

Suckers. Check. We scurry to the checkout area where, out of 30 registers, 2 are manned.  In those 2 manned aisles are people with gargantuan buggies of tv’s and boom boxes and peanut butter and cases is God knows what—in the same buggy.  I have French fries, pictures, bananas and suckers and okay-maybe a Reese’s to counteract the stress. Self-service it is. 

Once there I scan my items and start to scan my pictures. The paper I am holding-the paper I got out of that machine that printed my pictures has my bar code. I try “no barcode” look up. Nothing. I flag down the self-service dude. He waves back. I. Am. Not. Saying. Hello. Dude. 

I abandon my machine and go to self-register man dude. I show him my receipt without the bar code. He looks confused. He probably looks that way all the time but at this moment it irks me. Shockingly he doesn’t know how to ring up pictures. He will call someone. 

To appease antsy child I let her look at that valen-times pictures we just printed. 

He proceeds to help everyone who had even remotely considered self-checkout. Antsy amplifies. Little girl gets restless too. So restless that she  starts doing the buggy wiggle. I wait. And wait. And wait. 

Confused man comes over and ask to see my pictures. I refrain from asking why and start to gather the pictures now laying all over the bottom of the buggy. The same bottom of the buggy that wiggle girl has been wiggling on. With the bananas. Pieces coming together for you yet?? Let me help. My pictures are all now covered in mashed bananas. I gather them and hand them to him. You wanted them-you got them big boy. He has the audacity to look horrified. “Where is the envelope?” No envelope I explained. I printed these in that instant print machine I explain. Again. He is going to call someone. Again. 

Daughter is crying because I am mad. Or because it’s 7:39 and she eats linch at 10:30 and gets soda crackers and water at the freaking daycare. I try and assure her hike adding another log size Reese’s to the cart. A girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. 

Confused boy brings over management. I know this because she has more buttons on her vest. She looks at my paper. She asks to see the pictures. What is it with you people???????? I hand them over chucking a bit internally as she recoiled slightly. Then she says,”ohh. This isn’t the recipet. You have to get the receipt from the photo center.”

“I use the instant photo machine to instantly print pictures,” pause. “The machine prints the pictures. The machine prints this recipet like paper,” she’s nodding. “But then I am supposed to take this piece of paper that looks like a receipt,” I am losing her,” this receipt like piece of paper…I am supposed to take this back into the photo center to the man at the counter. That man gives me a REAL recipet  and obviously an envelope for the pictures I’ve just printed out. And all that has to happen before I can PAY?!?” She nods. 

I am not proud of myself at this point. 

“And to pay you for these pictures I now have to get out of line and go all the way back to the back of the store to see the guy that I didn’t ask to print my pictures in the first place. At the very, very back of the store.” Had she not cheefully nodded I might have been okay. Probably not. 

“I. Hate. Walmart,” I said. Outloud. To her, again. I am not proud. I am honest but not proud. I. Do. Hate. Walmart! And daycare. And smashed bananas on pictures. And Walmart. And Monday’s. 

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