The Devil's Department Store

The Devil's Department Store -- Satan's Supermarket -- Beelzebub's Big Box

People are always floored when I tell them that I have never stepped foot inside a Wal-Mart. That's right. I've never seen a "greeter," ordered McDonald's food while buying a blouse, or been hit in the head by "falling prices."

Why?

Well, first of all, there are no Wal-Marts where I grew up, so it wasn't something that I was accustomed to. Wal-Marts are a more rural phenomenon, and I lived in a big city where you had to wait for a place to burn down before you could put in a Burger King or other store (with the riots, you would've thought that would happen much more often).

When we moved to Parvo, we didn't have a car and the local Wal-Mart was quite a ways away. It just wasn't something I ever did.

Then IT happened. I got a phone call from my sister, Rena. She was ranting, railing, gnashing her teeth, foaming at the mouth, etc. She had just had a "Wal-Mart experience." It goes something like this:

She had been shopping at Wal-Mart and they were offering a special photo special for family portraits. She made an appointment, paid her sitting fee and was all excited. When it came time for the photo, she spent the whole day bathing and dressing and combing her four children. She made her husband get off work early in order to be in the picture. Finally, they were all ready to go. They quickly drove over to Wal-Mart before somebody barfed on their new clothes or gave their sibling a black eye. They scurried in to find out that there was no photography studio, no record of an appointment, nothing. They talked to manager after manager, nobody knew anything about it.

She was so mad, she went home, immediately called me and made me swear that I would never go into a Wal-Mart for as long as I live.

And I haven't.