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09:29:36 - 2000-09-30


You know...Walmart is the one place where my wife can say "Wanna go to Walmart?" and I can think beforehand "Sure...I'll go to Walmart" and then once I get inside think "What in God's name am I doing in Walmart?"

And for those of you who don't have a Walmart ... substitute Target or Kmart or any big assed store with lotsa dirt cheap merchandise wherever I say Walmart.

Got it??

Have you picked out a store yet??

Good. We can continue.

So last night, we go out to dinner and as we're finishing up, Susie says "Wanna go to Walmart?"

I answer ... "Sure...I'll go to Walmart".

Then we both have this AMAZING case of deja vu.

Anyway...we get to Walmart and Susie heads straight to the bathroom because she's pregnant and pregnant women have to pee every 12.5 seconds.

I stand outside by the snack bar to wait for her and I see ... well ... I guess you could call them gang members walk in.

I'm not completely sure if these young gentlemen were gang members. They were wearing their pants around their thighs with their Tommy Hilfiger boxers riding high up on their waists so that everyone knew their choice in underwear styles. They all had nappy weaves in their hair. And they all had guns shoved down the front of their pants.

Okay. I'm not sure about the guns. But they could have had them.

They walked past me and I debated on taunting the young men about their pants but decided against it. As much as I hate Walmart, I certainly didn't want to add "being pistol whipped in the Men's department" on my list of reasons to hate the place.

Susie finally emerged from the bathroom and walked over to the elderly greeter and told him something, pointing to the bathroom door while telling him.

I didn't have to ask.

The Ladies Room was out of toilet paper.

I don't know what my wife is doing in these public bathrooms. But it seems every time she goes in one, she emerges and goes to the nearest employee to tell them the bathroom is out of toilet paper.

I can fathom one bathroom.

Two bathrooms make me think we have a theme going here.


I get the feeling my wife is taking the whole roll of toilet paper, core and all and using it to pat herself dry.

I could be wrong here. But this is more than a coincidence.

Anyway ... she walks over to me and we start our Walmart journey.

She needed hair conditioner and some Maalox.

That was it.

Yet ... we spent sixty bucks.

That's the amazing thing about Walmart. You get sucked into their low, low price scheme and before you know it, you have a cartload of crap.

Did we NEED two bags of peanut butter doggie treats??


Were they on sale?

Oh hell yes.

Did we need a bag of Sam's peanut butter cups?


Were they on sale? But they just looked so damned tasty on the outside of the bag. The whole marketing scheme is in effect on these peanut butter cups made by Walmart. The picture on the bag has all these peanut butter cups on a silver tray like they were being offered at a champagne reception.

"Let's see ... I must get some caviar and pate. Oh my...are those peanut butter cups on a silver tray?? I simply MUST have a handful of those bad boys!"

We make it to the Audio/Visual section of the store, which is my favorite part of the store, even though I've never bought anything from there. I just enjoy browsing there, I guess. It sure beats looking at pantyhose and peanut butter cups.

So I'm standing there, ruffling through the DVDs, when I hear an old familiar voice, bellowing at my wife.

It was Dorsey.

Susie and I used to work with Dorsey in a bar back in the 80s. He was the maintenance man there. He's a hulking black guy who was a little mentally off. I'm not sure if he just secretly drank a lot or was a little on the handicapped side. I've always leaned toward the handicapped side. In fact, one time I leaned too far and toppled over into a silver platter full of melted peanut butter cups.

So Dorsey is hugging all over Susie and can't believe that she's pregnant.

He turns to me when he spots me and we go to shake hands. Haven't seen each other in over ten years now.


Dorsey has a booger.

Not just any booger. This was the size of a German Shepherd puppy.

It's dried out, so it's been there a while.

But every time he talks, that booger is swinging wildly on a nostril hair.

He's exhaling through his nose while he's talking to us. The booger is literally LEAVING his nose and then being sucked back in when he inhales.

I'm standing there.

Trying to concentrate on whatever he's rambling about.

But I'm fixated on this booger. I'm scared to death this big lummox is going to exhale a little too hard, that booger is going to slide down off that nostril hair and hit me square in the face and I'm going to have no choice but to vomit in Walmart's Audio/Visual Center.

My favorite part of the store.

Dorsey's chattering on and on about how much joy children are but what pains they are too.

How his youngest would wake up every night at 2 a.m. and stay up until 7 a.m. when he had to go to work.

The same kinda stuff any parent is going to tell an expecting parent to try and scare the expecting parent.

The entire time, this booger is doing the Macarena in his nose.

For some ungodly reason, Dorsey doesn't want to let us go. He wants to stand there, in the middle of Walmart, and get caught up on old times.

I guess I would have been more enthusiastic about his gameplan if he didn't have dried mucus balls going haywire in his nose like lottery balls in a machine.

Finally, we managed to get away from Dorsey booger-free. As we walked to the check out counter, I asked Susie if she had seen "the booger".

"I couldn't miss it," she said. "I thought I was going to throw up after just eating."

We found a check-out lane and paid for our Walmart garbage.

Susie hit the restroom one more time to deplete it of any toilet paper they might have restocked it with.

And we came home and blew our noses until the mucus trail ran dry.



What is your favorite thing to do on the weekend?

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