Adventures in Walmart 2

Another installation of the continuing drama that is Walmart.

This is the week between Christmas and New Years and my blog post should be one of joy and peace, hope and happiness. But that's not this post. That's not this post at all.

Now you might be wondering why I keep going back to this store. I know I should shop at Whole Foods and eschew gluten and buy things that have no carbon footprint and are lovingly handmade by responsible citizens. But I'm a simple person. Winn Dixie is simply more expensive and it's a bit of a drive to get to Publix. I'll have scruples later, when the kids are older.

Today we stopped in to the store to get a couple things. Just a quick little run-by. A jaunt, if you will. I had to get paint for a dresser we're redoing (boasting pictures to come if it turns out well: if not, forget you ever read that) and potatoes and beans for soup. That was all I had to get. So what if I had three kids with me? We're veterans at this whole shopping thing and they know how to behave in stores (insert maniacal laughter here).

We got the couple foodstuffs and headed to the paint section. The paint section at Walmart is like the Bermuda Triangle. It's full of mystery and people become misplaced. Maybe there will be someone working the counter but maybe there will be no employees within 45 miles of the counter. Hard to tell. As I'm pondering the differences in primer, the kids decide they need to touch absolutely everything they see - playing an intricate and abnormally loud game having something to do with the color of the paint can label. Sometimes it seems to me that every time we go to the store is the very first time. "What should we do? Should we run around crazy? Should we touch anything made of glass? Yes, lets!" It's like amnesia sets in as soon as their feet cross the threshold.

As I'm trying to corral my kids as quietly yet still as menacingly as I can, I spot another mom with kids. She's up at the counter, patiently waiting for an employee. She's so pleasant and patient, I shake my head in sympathy. Must be her first time at the Walmart paint counter.

She has two boys with her, approximately 8 and 5. Their cheeks are rosy, their eyes sparkle with life, they calmly stand next to their mom like a couple of angel statues. Meanwhile, my own children are ferociously debating whether or not a paint can swung at a metal pole would make a high or low noise.

They never discovered the answer, as they were melting under my very authoritative mom glare.

Noah decides he hates his pacifier with a passion so he throws it under an aisle of paint cans. Then he realizes that he loves it more than life itself and starts squealing like a baby pterodactyl being boiled in hot oil and then poked with sharp sporks. Or at least how I imagine that would sound.

He then starts grabbing for me and wailing (while Jack slides around on the floor, hunting for the pacifier). All the while the angel statues are patiently awaiting the phantom employees. I imagine behind their angelic blue eyes they are planning their next charity event.

At this point I flagged down an employee. He pages the paint people. 10 minutes crawl by. He pages them again. Finally, a somewhat disgruntled man ambles over from the hunting section. He begins to work on my request. One measly little quart of paint is all I need.

The pacifier is thrown repeatedly. The children are given a good talking-to. Noah starts to break down for no apparent reason.

I unbuckle Noah and hold him. A horrible sensation comes over me. The jacket of my arm is soaked where he's sitting and so is the front of my shirt, where his legs are wrapped around. Oh yes. It's not like he soaked his diaper with pee. It's...different.

What's the worst place for a baby to have diarrhea? In a megastore...in a person's arms.

Man at Paint Counter: "I can't mix this. It's too dark."

Me: "Excuse me?"

Man: "The computer says it will overflow."

Me: "How do people get that color then? I'm confused."

Man: "I don't work at this station. I don't really know. The people who work here are on lunch break."

Apparently there are multiple people who work at the paint counter but they all take lunch at the same time. 5:12 in the evening to be exact.

So I decided to just check out and get paint somewhere else. Surely, I can endure a few minutes to check out my four items. My jacket is ruined anyway, what's the point?

There are 20,000 people checking out. There are 3 lanes open.

We get in the express lane. The minutes tick by. When we finally get to the front, I realize with a sinking feeling that this particular cashier is agonizingly slow. Very, very pleasant but slow. You can become ensnared in a conversation about show tunes or knitting or paper bags. There I am, kids running wild, fussy baby in my arms, jacket arm soaked in horror. He slowly starts scanning the items, pauses and says dreamily "There are so many people here today. People rushing about. The thing is, people are just too impatient."

I nod in sympathy but I'm thinking "HURRY UP! COME ON!"

He says "Sometimes I wish I was retired. Then it wouldn't be so busy and rushed."

Me: "Yes, indeed."  SHUT YOUR TRAP! GOOD GRAVY!

We then rushed home, me hurrying the kids through the parking lot. I quickly stripped Noah and just washed him off under the tub faucet. After he was scrubbed and freshly pajama-ed, I ran a bath for myself.

What I really wanted was some chocolate but I decided that perhaps I should stop feeding my feelings. So instead I had sliced cucumbers. Cucumbers. For that decision, I should get a medal. Or at least a robust smattering of applause.

If I'm making resolutions, though, it should probably be not to overshare on the internet so much.

One year at a time.