Do I get my groceries at WalMart?
I had the surprising joy of an evening out last night. Typically, my Sunday's consist of housework and laundry, so the invite to go see a movie was like a nice little unexpected treat. Let me tell you, I must not get out much, because I was more than happy to get all my little assigned chores done before allowing myself to go. I was the happy little homemaker whistling while I worked yesterday.
I tend to be a homebody, maybe because I deal with the public all week at work. Once the weekend hits, I don't normally leave our little burg until I absolutely have to. Which usually means my Mondays are spent running errands. I don't actually LIKE using my time off on Mondays to get groceries and run to the bank, but I soothe the pain of it with a meetup for coffee in the morning at the local coffee shop. Kind of a trade off for one pleasant thing with six unpleasant chores. (see how I'm constantly bargaining with myself?)
Obviously, going to a movie means leaving town, since I can't even buy a roll of toilet paper or a gallon of gas here. So, I thought I'd get a few errands out of the way while I was at it. Apparently, my brain was telling me it was the WRONG DAY for errands, because when I pulled up to the ATM machine to get some cash, I drew a total blank on my pin number. Sitting here typing this, I can rattle that four digit number off no problem. Staring at a keypad on an ATM machine? Not so much. I quickly learned after the fourth attempt, my bank will lock that debit card down tighter than tight. So now I faced the conundrum of getting cash for this movie. Since I was at the bank anyway, I at least pulled around in a circle and threw my deposit in the night slot, mentally marking one thing off my Monday errand list.
I zipped into the dollar store, thinking since I had a few things on Monday list, I could at least attempt to use my debit card there. Yes, I'm fully aware I was just told NO NO NO at the ATM, but my brain was telling me that maybe, just maybe, I was only grounded from ATM machines for the rest of the day. I get to the checkout, cross my fingers, and swipe my card. DECLINED. The gal working (hey, small town, so everyone chit chats with their cashiers) told me the hold on my card shouldn't last longer than 24 hours, and I'm grumbling, thinking the point of all this is so I don't have to go into town for the next 24-36 hours in the first place. Thankfully, I've always got a backup card with me, so I at least made my purchases, and good thing I used that card, because I also realize there are only two checks sitting in my checkbook.
This still hasn't solved the problem of movie cash, but now two things are scratched off my Monday errand list.
I head to the gas station, passing by the movie theater where I see my mom and cousin going in. I consider yelling out the window that I'm going business to business begging for cash, but don't want to give any weirdos any ideas. The movie theater does sit right next to a bar, after all, where occasionally you see the random weirdo just loitering on the sidewalk.
I pump the minimal amount of gas since I'm in a hurry (well, not minimal, but definitely not a fill up), and beg the cashier to allow me to write the check for $10 over. I tell her about my ATM brain fart and she laughs at me. Ha ha, yeah, maybe I'll laugh later, but I'm just trying to go to this damn movie. I get a $10 from her and I'm on my way, having scratched off another Monday errand.
I'm glad I didn't do any shouting out the window, because in the few short blocks of driving back, there is a strange shirtless man wandering down the sidewalk who looks like he'd offer $10 for a bath.
Of course, running what feels like out of time, I take the first parking spot I find, which really isn't much of a parking spot left since the asshole in the spot behind it has decided he wants to take up a spot and a half. But by this time, I don't care about proper parking, use my little handy dandy rear camera and get as close to his bumper as possible, which still leaves me partially in a yellow zone. We'll see if my $10 cash costs me a parking ticket, but I'm beyond caring.
Can I just say that preteens are self absorbed little twits? Not only did I have two barge into line in front of me, but the same two then held up the concession line because they can't add. It's not like our community theater is rocket science...$4 movies and $3.50-$8 concessions. All in increments of 50 cents. Pretty simple math, no? Obviously it is, but they made five different purchases all based upon the amount of change they were getting back.
Anyway, movie was watched and we gathered at my aunts house after for some lovely visiting time. It's in the back of my head that the search for cash eliminated all my Monday errands except for one. And really, that one errand could be accomplished if I'm willing to enter Hellmart. I only enter Hellmart maybe once a year, and it's only when there's absolute desperation involved. It's an unhappy place, filled with unhappy people, and I try to avoid it at all costs. The customer service sucks, the employees seem to clearly hate their jobs, and I spend more time saying hello to people I know than I do getting my shopping done. It's a magnet for gossiping and awkward social gatherings.
But, my Monday errand list only has groceries remaining. Do I do it? Do I enter the hell zone and just get it done? I have a list, so it should be no problem getting in and out in a short time. I then realize maybe my daughter is still in town from her double shift, and I text her letting her know I'm at my aunts house and thinking of getting groceries after. She shows up, and the visit goes longer in to the late evening hours, thunderstorms whip through town, and the laughter and silliness put me in the right frame of mind.
I can do this.
As I pull in to their rat maze parking lot that makes no sense, I'm wondering why there are so many cars. All the way there, I did not see a single other car driving through town, but there's at least 30 cars in the parking lot. Some have people just sitting in them, some are running, there's even the ever so popular car sitting at the doors because someone doesn't want to walk the extra 100 feet to the doors. I realize the car next to me has their trunk popped open, but no one is in the car. Strange, but it's Hellmart, so I don't think much of it until I walk by and see the cases of diapers and PopTarts. JUST diapers and PopTarts. Not just boxes of PopTarts, but cases.
I guess I shouldn't even wonder, because it IS Hellmart, and this place is just WEIRD, but I can't stop thinking about cases of PopTarts and diapers. I mean, why just those two things? Who buys that many PopTarts?
Sadly, the soda I had at the movie theater requires a bathroom, and I got the lovely experience of a Hellmart bathroom at 11 at night. Apparently, they don't clean them until midnight, because it was disgusting. So disgusting, I don't even want to describe it or think about it a moment longer.
Jesus was standing in the self checkout lanes. He wasn't buying anything, just standing there, perhaps dreaming of PopTarts and the pearly gates.
The shopping went fairly quick, even with me not knowing where anything was and employees blocking aisles while they grumbled through their work. I also realized that the lights must go out in the dairy, meat, and produce cases at 11, because they flickered off right when I was needing those items. Of course. Maybe it was a sign from Jesus up in the self checkout to slow my roll and just embrace the Hellmart experience.
I had to write a check, which I've never done in that Hellmart, because it involved having to dig out my ID and sign my first born away, who by this time was nearly asleep on her feet all because mommy didn't want to enter Hellmart alone.
And, though by the time we left, I didn't see another customer wandering through the store with the glazed Hellmart stare, the PopTart car was still in the parking lot, still showing off it's loot through the gaping trunk. Jesus had disappeared by this time, but I've heard he does that occasionally.
I hope Jesus grants my wish that it's another 12 months before I step foot in that hellhole.
Damn. I didn't buy PopTarts.
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