Every time I shop at Wal-Mart I get a slap in the face with the reality of how far the United States of America has sunk into third-world-dom. I will almost always end up walking back to my car, furious, pondering geography, as in, where on this god-forsaken planet can I escape to.
Last night was the last time I will ever shop at that third-world shit-hole. The only reason I ever did shop there is because it's one of the few stores that is open 24 hours a day, whereas the majority close their doors at midnight. You know me, always doing these kinds of things well into the wee hours of the night.
I remember when a largely white majority managed, staffed and patronized the grocery stores. Service was prompt, polite and helpful. The aisles were clean and products neatly arranged on shelves. The customer was treated with respect. They worked hard to do things right. They knew what their customers expected and that if they didn't deliver, the people would take their business elsewhere.
Today, Wal-Mart could not care less about service. They cater to little brown people who have no self-respect, intelligence or expectation of the least bit of service. Accustomed to third-world inefficiencies, nonexistent service, and indifferent, even hostile, attitudes, they are in hog heaven to simply be able to afford food, clothing and even luxuries that they'd never dream of having back in their cockroach-infested, garbage dump of a country.
Wal-Mart knows that as long as they keep their prices low that there will be an endless supply of little brown people who will flood their aisles, day and night, tax-free cash and food stamps in hand, eager to spend it all.
Wal-Mart knows that they no longer have to maintain any level of cleanliness, order or customer service. They can employ the most ignorant, incompetent cashiers, managers, and stockers. Their inventory is often lacking, shelves empty or in disarray, numerous canned goods dented. Seriously, I have to pick through to find those that are intact.
Hey, if the vast majority of their customers are filthy, ignorant Mexicans who do not care, why should Wal-Mart?
It is rare that a cashier will get through all my items without ringing up at least one price incorrectly, always in their favor, or charge me multiple times for a single item. So, I have to check my receipt and keep a close eye on what they're doing. I'm beginning to think that this is not an accident. They've probably figured out how stupid the Mexicans are so they know they can get away with it. This is bad enough, but what is most infuriating and unacceptable is their attitude about correcting their errors.
For example, last night, I bought an artichoke, so I needed some lemons for a lemon-butter sauce to go with it. There were two shelves of lemons. The top shelf was full of large lemons at 63 cents each, the bottom shelf full of smaller lemons at 33 cents each, of which I bought a few. Both prices were clearly marked, which is itself remarkable.
So, I go to check out. I'm watching and sure enough, the cashier rings up the lemons at 50 cents each. I stop her, point out that this is incorrect, and tell her the price of these lemons, and the price of the larger lemons, which aren't 50 cents either. She looks at me with that stupid, empty, indifferent expression that always makes me want to slap the shit out of the person.
She slowly, indifferently, looks around, then calls over a tall, skinny, stupid-looking redneck. I have to repeat what I just finished telling the Mexican cashier. He tells me that 50 cents is the price, there is no other price. Now, this is where I lose my patience. Not only do they just ring up whatever the hell they want, they will argue with you over it, as if you're the one who is mistaken. I insist the price is 33 cents and then have to tell him to go check it himself! Shit!
In other stores, where the Mexican plague has yet to take over, the cashier will immediately get someone to check the price, you get the item free of charge, and she will apologize for the error and inconvenience.
Not at Wal-Mart. God, how I hate that store.
He goes off to check the price now. By this time a line has formed behind me, all Mexicans, standing there - short, stupid, pregnant, a vacuous look on all their faces.
It couldn't take more than two minutes to go where the lemons are, check the price and return, yet more than 5 minutes have passed. Finally, the night manager, a whitetrash, disproportionately giant-assed creature waddles up behind the cashier and tells her that the price is 33 cents, as I had known full well.
I am raising my voice now, complaining how ridiculous it is that they are
always getting the prices wrong and wasting not only my time but everyone else's who is standing in line behind me. The bitch acts like she doesn't hear me, turns her back to me, and waddles away! Not a word. Nothing. Total indifference, from both the fat slob and the peon.
The lemons are finally rung up. I immediately pay because I've already calculated the correct price and have the cash, to the penny, ready. And then, to top it all off, Chihuahua brain has forgotten to put a bag of my groceries in my cart. I grab the bag off the carousel, throw it into my cart and get out of there, swearing to never step foot in there again. I had a few other thoughts as well, but I don't need Homeland Security computers printing out my blog's name...
This is just a peek at the third-world and it's coming in all its human-demeaning forms to a neighborhood near you.
Update: Thanks to DF from
Eclecticity for summarizing this whole rant quite succinctly.
Imagine my surprise when I tuned in a few minutes into Argentina's first Copa America match to see the US ahead 1-0. I rubbed my eyes. Could it be? That's imposs... GOOOOOOOLLLLL! Crespo!
