The myth about Wal-Mart treating their employees like crap is true. I know this because Wal-Mart employees generally treat Wal-Mart
customers like crap (except for the greeters -- they are usually pleasant). So therefore, when you are treated like crap, you treat others like crap. It's just one big crap-fest by the time it gets to the bottom of the totem pole.
Anyhow. I went to Wal-Mart the other day because that is usually where I do my grocery shopping. Even though it's not the most posh place to buy food, Wal-Mart does have reasonable prices, I must say (because they don't pay their employees, obviously). So, I meandered around the aisles, glancing at my list from time to time, filling up my cart. I got to the end and realized I'd forgotten the mozzarella cheese (which I didn't end up needing because I had a whole freaking bag in the fridge already). So, me and my sore crotch walked all the way back to the nethermost corner of Wal-Mart to get the cheese before heading to the checkout line.
I got to the registers and what do you know? There were only two lanes open, besides the express lanes and the self-checkouts. And they were both pretty full. Well, I had about $75 worth of groceries in my cart, so I wasn't about to check myself out, and I certainly had too many items for the express lane. So, I resigned to the fact I was going to have to wait in a big ol' line. Not unusual for Wal-Mart, of course. But you get what you pay for.
One line was six carts long, the other had three. The three-cart line didn't have a light on above the register though, so I was hesitant to join it. But, I thought I'd try. The cashier didn't have the "This Line Is Closed" sign up, so I hoped he'd give me a free pass after realizing his error. I mean, certainly he would ... right? WRONG-O, Bongo.
I stood in that line for about 5 minutes when suddenly, the cashier (a weasley bean-pole of a fellow with a pedophile mustache) glared at me and said, with all the snottiness he could possibly muster, "Ma'm, this line is CLOSED." He practically shot fire out of his nostrils at that point. I'm sure he'd been practicing that line during the five minutes I'd been standing there.
Since I knew the risk I was taking when I got in the line, I shot back my prepared retort:
"Well, your sign isn't up." Equally as snotty. If not snottier.
Pedo-Stache: "Yes it
is."
At this point, I wanted to unleash the beast inside my pregnant self because, hello, I was staring right at the damn thing dangling beside the register. Along with the 5+ other people in line ahead of me.
"No, it's not," I shot back. "It's hanging down where it normally goes when you're open!"
And like the delicate pansy I am, I pushed my cart right over to the other line, which was now seven really full carts long. Choking back tears. Yes, TEARS. Because, you know, I am seven months pregnant and I have a hard time not crying about commercials, let alone creepy, rude Wal-Mart employees.
And it didn't help at all when an older gentleman in front of me in the new line turned and said, "Did he just kick you out of his line? For SHAME." That's right. Tsk, tsk, Pedo-Stache.
I waited in that forsaken line for about 20 minutes, watching as Pedo-Stache finished ringing up Cart #3 and then smugly counted his precious cash drawer.
That's right, Pedo-Stache. You count your drawer and then drive home to your comfortable bed while I stand in this line on my bloated feet with my sore crotch! Hopefully, my frozen goods don't melt in the next 4 hours!
And then I realized -- Poor Pedo-Stache. He probably hates his job and is left to take out his frustration on forlorn pregnant women. How sad.
I'll probably go back to Wal-Mart, even though I have a new disdain for the place. But I still cussed at it as soon as I got outside the doors.
Moral of the story: Wal-Mart sucks.
