My love/hate affair with WalMart

I went to WalMart yesterday.

For those who know me... I made every effort NOT to shop at WalMart and was successful for almost 8 years of boycotting the evil giant.

To give some history, I shopped there regularly - no, MORE than regularly - when my kids were little. It meant one place for everything from gardening supplies to home furnishings to diapers to produce... and when I had two toddlers to wrangle, accomplishing all of my errands in one location was invaluable.

In my mid to late twenties, however, I started to become a little more politically and economically aware... and found that I had some big issues with WalMart's business practices. Everything from how they treat their employees to the quality of their merchandise came under my scrutiny and I decided that I would simply take my money elsewhere.
By this time, my kids were older and no longer a pain-in-the-ass to shop with - and a boycott of WalMart really only meant that I'd be shopping at Target, so no big deal, right?

Fast forward to the latter part of last year... I was doing a show and broke my 'show bra'.
For civilians (or men) that might not understand what that is: Unless one is costumed in a corset (or naked) it is necessary for a woman to invest in a heavy-duty bra that will keep 'the girls' in line whilst bending and twisting onstage in front of hundreds of strangers. This becomes even more necessary if one is doing a musical. (Anyone that has more than a C-cup will most assuredly lack breath control after dancing around 'unbound' for two minutes. A flimsy bra will turn 'the pony' into your worst enemy!) Some bras will have to be cut, modified, re-sewn... and sometimes even sewn or tacked into costumes to restrict movement even further. Losing one's 'show bra' is akin to Brett Farrvrvre losing his cup right before the Superbowl game. Totes no bueno.
I had work the next day, the kids had school... there was going to be no time to shop for a new show bra before the next show. And as I pondered my dilemma, my daughter texted me that she needed a plain T-shirt to decorate for her dance class - by the next morning!!

And so I found myself breaking my 7+-year boycott to enter a 24-hour WalMart in the hopes of finding a suitable 'show bra' and a plain white T-shirt in the middle of a Wednesday night.

I remember feeling slightly embarrassed as I usually do when I'm out in public but still in my 'show makeup'; which (due to the recent characters I've played) means a vat of foundation, fake lashes, and some obnoxious color of eyeshadow or dubious amounts of glitter. But when I walked into the almost-deserted WalMart at ten after midnight on a weekday, no one even gave me a second-glance.

I bought a show bra, a T-shirt and a tube of lipstick for under $20.00 total.

And therein lies the second problem, ladies and gentlemen. You'll notice I only needed two items, but I left with three. That is the sinister evil of WalMart, people. And it starts small... you'll never even notice.

I went back to the WalMart a few more times... still tentative... but unable to resist the rolled back prices and the yellow happy faces encouraging me to purchase even MORE crap I don't need. That was it. Boycott broken, the money-sucking conglomerate had seduced me back into its retail-therapy-lovin' arms.

I did a majority of my Christmas shopping there last year. I was a responsible consumer, doing research and price comparisons online. It was no matter. WalMart was always there... proclaiming itself victorious in search after search as if to say, "Who's mah bargain bitch now?!"

I am, WalMart. I am.

I went there with my daughter yesterday for some non-grocery household items as well as our weekly supply of foodstuffs.

I spent an OBSCENE amount of money and got no fewer than 7 items that weren't on my list. That's how indoctrinated I've become to the ways of the 'Mart. It's uncanny. And it all happened so fast. A year ago, I was fine! I was happy paying a little more elsewhere or driving to three different locations to save a few bucks on consumables and other randoms that I needed. I didn't need the WalMart! I hated it!

The 'me' from last year would totally be kicking the current 'me's ass right now.

To top it all off, I... err... we... err... I'm not sure exactly what happened... One of the employees, a young black man that was probably all of 28 (if that), regarded my daughter and I as sisters (which sometimes happens) and I dismissed it as bad eyesight (he was at the far end of the aisle we were in). As he got closer, he tried to continue conversation about my age, guessing me at 26 - to which I rolled my eyes, gave him my most patronizing 'mom' look, and continued on with some kind of sarcastic retort about appreciating the effort - he parted with a "Well, you look good!"
(Keeping in mind that I was wearing faded, dirty capri pants and a tank top without the slightest bit of makeup on my face and my hair was in its requisite "don't-give-a-crap" ponytail... not to mention that I'm so much closer to 40 than 20 that I can taste it with the bitter tip of my tongue.)

I turned to my daughter (who is now giggling) and she blurts, "OMG, mom you just got hit on."
I decide that this can be one of those 'teachable moments' that I'm always talking about and try to think of some wisdom to impart.
Before my brain can decide on the appropriate response, however, my mouth blurts out,
"It's the Watson ass."

Oh, WalMart... how you encourage and instill class and grace and elegance.

It ended up being a teachable moment anyway, as my daughter and I agreed that you really can find ANYTHING at the WalMart. Including young, good-lookin' black boys, apparently.

And so it is that I awoke today with a slight shame-hangover akin to 'buyer's remorse' or the embarrassment of recalling what you did the night before in a drunken stupor... and entered the amount I spent into my checking register.

My contrition, however genuine, is only temporary. I know that I will again be sucked into the sinister walls of the unabashed spenders. It only hurts because WalMart knows me so well.
Just when I think I can break the spell... they send an agent of psychological infiltration to flatter and cajole me. They are sneaky, underhanded bastards.

I think I need a shower.