Wednesday, April 05, 2006

My mom made me take her to the new Super Wal-Mart in town. I think we have five or six of them by now, because gosh golly gee whiz, who would want to drive ten miles to one when we can clear cut and burn a gazillion acres of virgin forest (leaving three or four old growth oaks surrounded by asphalt).

It is a horror. Really. It made me want to vomit right there in the pristine parking lot. I was glad I didn't because once we got inside, I really wanted to spew on something. The McDonalds? The bank? The massage and fake nail shop? Oh, where to begin.

But the saddest thing of all, is that like a crack addict with a full pipe at hand, I know I'll take a hit. I'll go back. I'll hate myself the entire time and feel the need for redemption afterwards, but I know I'll go.

See, here's my rationalization. I grew up working class poor. To waste money was unheard of because we had no money to waste. I learned the difference between what you need and what you want. And still today, I want very little because I have so much of what I need.

But I still can't make myself go to some other chain store (what is Target except a wanna-be middle class contender against Wal-Marts lower class image?) Belks? Chain. Dillards? Chain. Sears? Chain. Penney's? Chain. What's the difference?

Unless I want to drive over to the-most-perfect-place-on-the-planet-to-live-yuppie-ville Mt. Pleasant and be treated like a cock roach running across the wedding cake at Gwynn's again (really they cared more what I looked like than whether or not I had money in my bank account, which I did, which I elected not to leave with them because of their completely snotty attitudes), where are the locally owned shops? Where can I buy my white good girl Hanes bikini cuts and my white tube socks for work? Where can I buy my collection of tee-shirts that make up 50% of my wardrobe (jeans=20% sweat/pajama pants=10% grownup stuff/interview/funeral clothes=20%).

I am mentally, morally and physically incapable of paying $20 for a tee-shirt that I could pay $6 for at a Wal-Mart sale. Sorry. I can't do it.

I'll donate more to charity. I'll set up a wildlife refuge in my backyard (oh, wait, it already is pretty much). I'll try to do good to compensate for my support of the evil empire.

2 comments:

Audra said...

I had the same experience while shopping at Gwynn's. I cannot wait to someday go back and have a
'Pretty Woman' moment.
Remember that scene??

JanetLee said...

Better yet, a friend of my mom's many years ago stopped by a car dealership to look at a car. He had been out on his boat and didn't look or smell too pretty. The salesman was so rude, he said he wanted to buy the car and talk to the manager. He had the manager confirm with the bank that his CHECK was good for the entire purchase amount, then said, "Oh, wait, your salesman was rude, I've changed my mind." And walked out.
Perfect.