Walmart song

Walmart attracts some unique birds. I am not sure where these people live, but they scare the hell out of me. I once saw a couple, with four teeth between them, haul a huge flat screen TV out of the store and put it in the trunk of their rusted car with duck taped windows. It was the dead of winter. Priorities? Apparently, there is only one way to catch the “falling prices” : You must be wearing filthy pajamas. The dirtier the better. If you can throw on a tank top and expose tattoos Billy gave you in the kitchen of his trailer that is even better.

It pisses me off. There is no reason to be dirty. I don’t care if you have to wash your vagina in the Walmart bathroom. Clean yo’self. My husband’s answer is, “Well, just don’t shop there then.” He can’t be bothered with my bitching. I am just trying to make a difference in the world one Spongebob pants wearing person at a time. Besides, I have to shop there. 1.) It’s cheap. There is no denying it, the prices are good. 2.) I feel like a supermodel.

There is a website dedicated to Walmart shoppers and now there is even a song. You won’t find these folks at (what my daughter calls) “the red store.”

It wasn’t me

I am not a fan of public bathrooms for obvious reasons. My children never have to go when we are home, but the minute they see a restroom sign it becomes urgent. I do have them trained to walk in like surgeons with their hands up in the air. They know not to touch anything. If they forget I squeal like Sharon Osbourne, “Don’t touch it!”

Well, today I was the one who couldn’t hold it. I had just finished a large coffee from Starbucks. After three kids you run the risk of wetting your pants with a sneeze. There was no way I could hold it until I got home. At this point I was inside Walmart. (Gasp!)

I knew the bathroom was going to be disgusting, but did not expect it to look like a war zone. There was toilet paper on the floor and walls. It appeared as if a woman fell to the ground while taking a shit in the first stall. There was a skid mark down the front of the toilet. How else could that happen? Another was clogged with green, mushy feces floating at the surface of the bowl. Too much information? Wait, it gets better. Horrified, I stumble out of the bathroom and nearly bump into a manager.

“Excuse me,” I said.

“Can I help you find something,” he replied.

“No, I just wanted to tell you that someone clogged the toilet.”

He gave me a look of absolute displeasure and began interrogating me, “Someone?”

“Yes. Someone It wasn’t me.”

“Okay,” he said in a doubtful tone.

“I mean, if it was me I would admit it now or I would have left the store by now completely embarrassed.”

“Okay ma’am.”

He wasn’t convinced.

“No, it’s not okay. It’s disgusting and it wasn’t me!”

I walked out of the store in a huff. As I stepped into my minivan I realized there was a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe. Awesome. Plus, I still had to pee.