I Know Why People Go Postal

As many of you know, I have been spending a lot of time this year working on my stress level. I find it very helpful to talk about my problems instead of bottling them up, letting them fester, and then getting so frustrated that I end up punching holes in things (like walls, car windows, and people).

Having said that, I'd like to talk about a recent trip I took to Wal-Mart. I think that if I talk about it, the urge to blow a small city up will (hopefully) subside. Here goes...

Maggie's Octopus anxiously presents...

THINGS THAT HAPPENED AT WAL-MART

First things first. I don't make a habit of going to Wal-Mart. I find that whenever I am inside, outside, or within a two mile radius of Wal-Mart, I start to develop small hives on my arms, legs, back, chest, and face. However, every now and then I go temporarily insane and decide that it's a good idea to venture inside Wal-Mart. I don't know why. Maybe it's when I am feeling guilty about something and I feel like I need to be tortured for a while. I have no clue. In this particular situation, I did have a semi-decent excuse: I needed shampoo, I was early for a doctor's appointment, and Wal-Mart was right down the street from the doctor's office. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

So obviously my first major mistake was to even drive into the parking lot. I get it. But anyway, I did, so just deal with it. Surprisingly, I managed to find a pretty decent parking spot with very little difficulty. I started to pull in, but then had to slam on my brakes because the person in the spot next to me opened up her car door (right into my space). Fine, I thought. No big deal. However, it soon became a big deal when the person left her door open for about a minute. NO JOKE. I'm not just saying a minute to be dramatic or to exaggerate...you know...like some of your friends do when they are trying to make a story seem way more ridiculous than it really is...like when you get a frantic call from a friend, and she's on the other end of the phone screaming "HELP! HELP! I am being attacked by TEN coyotes!" so then you drop everything, run down the street to her house, and it turns out she is only being attacked by like two or three. I hate that kind of shit.

Anyway, back to my story. I really mean it when I say THIS BITCH HAD HER CAR DOOR OPEN FOR A WHOLE MINUTE.

She finally got out of her car and closed the door, allowing me to pull into the spot. I threw her a peace sign as I pulled into the space. She didn't see me.

I got out of my car and headed into the store. I walked through a group of employees smoking cigarettes. They were approximately three feet away from the entrance to the store. Isn't there some sort of fire code (or common sense code) that says these morons shouldn't be smoking so close to where customers have to walk? It was one of the many moments in life I wish I carried a fire extinguisher with me.

Once I got inside, I saw the typical collection of dregs and lowlifes walking around aimlessly. Some of them had teeth; others didn't. Whatever. Some people think having teeth is too much of a responsiblity. Their choice.

About three seconds after entering the store, I started feeling that Wal-Mart anxiety creeping up on me. I should have turned around, but I decided to push my way through it. Thankfully there were some great distractions to help fight off the tightness I was feeling in my stomach, chest, head, and fists. For example...

I saw a man wearing a shirt with lots and lots of pictures of Santa Claus on it. He was very big and tall and kind of looked like Santa from the back. At first I thought to myself, “Hey. Maybe that is Santa!” but then I realized that I was in Wal-Mart, not to mention that the man walked with a limp, smelled of dirt and alcohol, and was most likely homeless. I concluded that this man was not, in fact, Santa.

Don't believe me? Judge for yourself.

In another part of the store, there was a man standing around a DVD display. It was one of those bargain displays that feature the worst possible DVDs on earth that NO ONE would ever buy...shit like:

Mighty Mouse in Space

One Day at A Time, Season Two

The Three Stooges Workout Video

The XFL's Funniest Bloopers

Anyway, this movie buff was walking around the DVD display, reading the different titles out loud and laughing to himself. I only watched him for about a minute and he had already done about three laps. I decided that on the fourth lap he would probably start chewing on his own skin (or mine), so I made the choice to leave that area of the store before it could happen.

Sadly, I checked the time and realized it was time to go. I had two items: socks and shampoo. That was it. However, the “Speedy Checkout Line” looked like the line at the Social Security Administration, both in respect to the speed at which it was moving as well as the collection of dirtbags that made up the line. I decided to avoid that section entirely.

Instead, I was fortunate enough to get into a line that was being manned by a kid who looked like a cross between Jabba the Hutt and a moth ball. Sadly, he smelled more like Jabba the Hutt and less like a moth ball. And yes, I do know what Jabba the Hutt smells like, so just shut up.

PS—he smells very, very bad.

What this young fellow lacked in moth ball smell, he more than made up for in moth ball intelligence.

OK, so back to the line I was in. It was slow as hell. I was third in line, which I thought might not be too bad, considering most of the other lines had about 38 people in them. Whatever. I guess when the person in the front of the line has 3,299 items in her shopping cart, it kind of makes up for the lack of actual people in front of you.

Considering all of these factors, you can imagine I had plenty of time to stare at the people standing directly in front of me in line. Let me draw you a mental picture:

Person #1 was an old lady. She had a cane hooked to the front of her shopping cart. She was buying Depends. Correction. She was buying Wal-Mart brand Depends. Lots and lots of Wal-Mart Depends. I didn't catch the name of them, but I imagine it was something clever like Wal-Pends or Depenz. I have no clue. I soon found out that Person #1's name was “Nana.” But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Person #2 was a kid...probably around 14 or 15 years old. Let's call him Spanky. Spanky was drinking a Red Bull. Every time he took a sip of the Red Bull, he made a face like people make when they take a shot of something really nasty, like Southern Comfort or cough syrup or lighter fluid. However, he continued to drink the entire Red Bull. I'm not really sure why people drink Red Bull, but from what I understand, it's supposed to give you energy when you are feeling lethargic...right? Well let's just say little Spanky really REALLY didn't need Red Bull. Either that, or Red Bull must kick in INSTANTLY because the kid was bouncing around the checkout area like a pinball. It was rather annoying. And every two seconds, he would say something to his Nana like, “Nana you're next. Nana put your items up on the belt. Nana move your cart forward. Nana here is your credit card. Nana watch out. Nana don't forget your coupon.” I wanted to ram my cart into the kid...not so much to hurt him, but more to have the same effect as when you smack the side of a record player to help it move past a skip.

You know, because I often do that when I'm listening to my records. On my record player.

While Nana and Spanky were being rung up, I decided to start loading my (two) items onto the little belt thingy. And, seeing as neither Spanky nor Nana were thoughtful enough to put that little divider stick after their pile of diapers, I had to reach over and grab it myself. In the 2.3 seconds it took me to reach over, grab the stick, and put it on the belt, the customer behind me pushed her cart forward, leaving about three inches between my cart and hers. Seriously WHAT? What the hell is that all about? So as I turned around to head back behind my cart, I realized there was nowhere for me to go.

CORRECTION: There were about three inches of space for me to go. And considering I have a four inch waist, there was clearly NOT enough room for me to fit. So....instead of just looking at me, then realizing her fuckup, and moving her cart back, the customer just stared at me.

Just. Stared. At. Me.

And these, my friends, are the moments in life when I completely empathize with those folks who go “postal.” In fact, not only do I empathize with them, I am brutally jealous of them.

So, after saying “Excuse me,” because obviously it was MY fault for encroaching on her shopping cart space, she finally moved her cart back (about three additional inches). If it were not for my tennis elbow situation, I totally would have lifted her cart over my head, thrown it across the store, and then punched the lady in the neck.

Stupid tennis elbow.

My therapist has encouraged me to stop typing now.