Wal-mart - The Great Social Experiment

I’m a student of culture and human behavior. I like to observe people in their own element and I’ve found that the best place to see individuals engaging in peculiar behavior is at that behemoth of the American marketplace, the Great Satan...Wal-mart.

I personally don’t think of it as the Great Satan. I like Wal-mart. Where else are you going to get a brand name coffee-maker for $3? We recently got a Super Wal-mart about five minutes from our house. I could live there. It’s unlike any other Wal-mart I’ve ever seen. It has a very upscale feel to it without compromising any of the distinctive clientele normally associated with Wal-mart. It’s far more spacious – you can traverse the store without any real danger of being smothered by the merchandise. Plus, they carry every item currently produced in the United States and China. There is no reason to go anywhere else to buy anything, ever. Except Sam’s.

And the most interesting thing is that since it’s a new fancy Wal-mart we have the people from the better parts of town coming here. It’s like a grand social experiment. These higher class folks in Springboro didn’t want the Super Wal-mart there because they didn’t want us Franklinites crossing under the highway into their safe haven. But now that the Super Wal-mart is in Franklin, they drive here to shop. Packing heat no doubt, but coming nonetheless. So it’s a miniature melting pot. You can see pickup trucks with tractor tires and vulgar logos parked right next to the Lexus SUV’s with the back-window decal shrine to the children athletes. It’s Hanes meets Versace. Old Sam Walton has proven that rock bottom prices can bring the world together.

In spite of the higher class element, our new Super Wal-mart has all the same theme nights you’ll find at the normal Wal-mart. You have Emaciated Chain-smoker Tuesdays. This is where you’ll see 65-pound old women buying beer and cigarettes for their still dependent grown sons who invariably sport high-top tennis shoes, jeans with holes in the knees, permed mullets, and tattered 10-year-old Brooks and Dunn t-shirts. Then there are Spandex-clad Morbid Obesity Thursdays. These can prove to be more than you bargained for depending on whether or not you’ve eaten. But no matter what, you can count on the envelope being pushed in the category of unabashed displays of immodesty by those least qualified to do so. And finally, you have Stomach-turning Public Displays of Affection Saturdays. I try to avoid Saturdays. As should you. For the Springboroans, I guess Wal-mart represents a bit of a catch-22. Going there makes them sick, and not going there and therefore paying double somewhere else makes them sick. I just enjoy knowing that I could see something truly memorable at any moment.

One of my professors in college told a story about one of his more memorable visits. He got in line behind a large woman in a pink moo-moo whose only objective was to get some change. Her grandson was tugging at her garment saying, “Granny, I gotta [PG-rated word for defecate].” Finally, the lady yelled, “Would you shut up – I’m tryin’ to bust a hunnerd!” The child took that as his cue to take necessary action right where he stood, after which he announced, “Granny, I don’t gotta [defecate] anymore.” The professor promptly changed checkout lines.

My wife recently came home from a late night trip to the Super Wal-mart and told me of an interesting conversation she had with a cashier. Upon arrival at the cash register, she asked the employee if she had had a good day. The cashier began her soliloquy with, “Working here just ain’t what people think it is.” Apparently, the glamour is a mere façade. The woman then proceeded to relay the day’s trying events.

My wife is very friendly and caring toward people and when she says “how are you?” to a total stranger, she means it. I used to. I don’t do it anymore. Well, I don’t do it at Wal-mart anymore. I’ve had a couple of bad experiences. I found that asking that question to a Wal-mart cashier can result in a perception of intimacy on the cashier’s part, making them feel completely comfortable doing one of two things, a) telling me intensely personal things about themselves, or b) asking me intensely personal questions about myself. And sometimes both.

I have to wonder what kind of training is involved in being a Wal-mart cashier. Is it simply the technical aspects of the job, such as pushing all the little buttons and working the microphone and credit card machine? Or do they attempt to instill any kind of people skills? I don’t mean any offense to anyone who works at Wal-mart or who loves someone who works at Wal-mart. I myself am a confessing social cripple, so I’m not judging anyone. I’m sure Wal-mart has some top notch people working for them, its just that I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting any of them.

Whatever training they receive, one thing is certain: the cashiers are taught that whenever a young adult male comes through the checkout with a pregnancy test, this particular item is an ideal conversation starter. They pounce every time.

I’m a sensitive, understanding husband. So when my wife asks me to pick up a pregnancy test, I have no problem with it. I guess this is partially because I’m so sensitive and understanding and partially because I’ve done it several hundred times. We’ve spent countless hours, dollars, and cc’s of urine on these things over the years. Ironically, it seems to be the one item that Sam’s doesn’t offer 50 for a dollar. Man, if ever there was something we needed in bulk. We always take several a day starting several days before there is any medical possibility of getting an accurate result. I say “we” because I am so sensitive and understanding.

However, I am not so sensitive and understanding that I want to talk to perfect strangers about it. And yet, I keep getting the opportunity to do so. At Wal-mart. The first time, as the cashier was ringing up my stuff, her eyes quickly locked onto the most personal item on the conveyor, prompting her to say, “Oh, do you think you might be pregnant?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you want to be pregnant or not?”

As this gal had some lungs, customers in both adjacent lanes glanced over to check out the Incredible Pregnant Man. I thought that if I answered under my breath with a short, clipped, one-syllable answer, she would get the picture and move on. So, I said quietly, “Want.”

Her hint receptor malfunctioned. “Have you been trying?”

“Just trying to get out of here.”

“Is this your first?”

I’m a Christian man. It’s against my faith and upbringing to be overtly rude to people. So I just decided to answer her questions, pay, and run out of the store. Half a dozen questions and nervous ticks later, the exchange was over and I was able to leave.

Of course, I went home and replayed the scene for my wife. She laughed so hard I thought she was going to need medical attention. When she could talk again, she apologized that I was forced to endure such an uncomfortable situation.

Unfortunately, that situation was straight-up Emily Post compared to the next. I went in to pick up yet another round of tests. I was also purchasing a bicycle for my son’s birthday, so I hoped that the larger, more expensive item would serve as a diversion and I would be able to get out of there without a foray into the most private area of my life. Circumstances would have none of it. I was right that the bicycle would get immediate attention. What I did not bargain for is that the bicycle would be missing a price tag, prompting the cashier to call for a price check, which provided her with five extra minutes to notice the tests and initiate the most awkward conversation of my life. My previous Wal-mart pregnancy test grilling had prepared me somewhat for the personal questions. She stayed with the script for a while, then started to ad lib.

Evidently trying to determine exactly when the test would begin to be effective for my wife and I, she began to inquire about...things. I’m doing my best to be discreet here. You know what I’m talking about. My blank stare gave her the perfect opening to transition from personal questions to personal stories about herself. She offered painfully detailed information about a new innovative pregnancy test that she had recently used, how the test is administered (which was unlike any other test of which I was aware), and finally, its time relation to the precipitating event. All of these details were delivered in the 1st person point of view.

As my father-in-law would say, I wanted to poke out my mind’s eye.

What seemed like hours later, the transaction was complete and I robotically drove home to wash my ears out with scalding water. After more prolonged hysterical laughter, my wife managed another apology. I now buy our pregnancy tests at Walgreens.

Anyway, I’ve got to go. My wife needs some Rubbermaid tubs...from Wal-mart.