You did it again. I don't know when I'm going to learn the lesson that every time I go there I'm going to get shoved to the ground and kicked by you.
I just spent 2 hours in your store. Two. Two hours. As in 1 hour plus 1 hour equals 2 hours of my life spent with people who like to yell at each other. Well, actually, two hours and 10 minutes. So more than two hours. TWO HOURS, WAL-MART!
What happened was this: I needed to get my oil changed. Generally I would just ask my dad to do it but I kept forgetting and I'm driving out to Palm Springs tomorrow and I wanted to make sure my car had enough of all the essential fluids in her and I have a 90 minute lunch break on Friday and you're just right down the street from the office so at least I can shop for mascara while I wait, right? So I went.
They told me it would be awhile but I wasn't too concerned because you're a big store. There's plenty of things to do. I looked at mascara and picked out colors I would paint my apartment if it were allowed. I tried on two very unflattering tops and talked myself out of a pair of shoes. But the time kept ticking by and I was hungry for my lunch. And then I started noticing the same thing I always notice at your store - that people who are suppose to love each other don't really act like they do. Because everywhere I turned there were families yelling at each other. Since when did it become okay to yell at your mom?
Even the workers were snipping at each other. There were the two in the electronics department who were arguing over their hours. And the ones next to the shoes who were complaining about their boss. And then the supervisor who chewed out an employee, in the middle of the store, for not stocking the towels right. It was so depressing. So I went out to the garden center and stared at the California Poppies for a while. Is there anything cheerier than a loose cluster of poppies?
But I eventually had to go back in so I just sat in the little waiting room (why is it that every lube place has chairs that feel like they've been coated in engine dust?) and waited for them to call my name. And while I waited I was treated to a customer using the most appalling language on one of the workers because he had to wait an extra 15 minutes for his car to be finished. I left feeling like I had been kicked in the gut.
I don't know what you can do about this. Maybe you could put signs up that say things like "Hug. Don't hit," or "Say kind things," or "Don't yell at your mom." Or maybe you can pipe in James Taylor through your speakers. I know that whenever I'm feeling a little cranky I just put in James and suddenly I feel a lot better. I bet free ice cream would help too.