Girl vs. Wal-Mart

So I'm walking through Wal-Mart this afternoon, sweating because the heat is turned up way too goddamned high and even though I've removed my coat and scarf, I'm sweating. There are too many people and none of them – not a single goddamned one – are paying attention to where they're going.

My mission at the Wal-Mart is two-fold: I need supplies to get through the rest of my long weekend, and I've promised to buy some Hannah Montana crap for a little girl whose family can't afford Christmas, and this vast wasteland of plastic junk is the only place that sells anything Hannah Montana.

So I'm walking through the Wal-Mart, pushing my cart with the one wonky wheel, because there's always one wonky wheel, and this voice comes on the loudspeaker, ringing out with false cheer, “We'd like to thank our shoppers for braving the ice and the snow to shop at Wal-Mart today!”

And I think, I didn't drive here on a solid sheet of ice for the greater glory of Wal-Mart, you fake bitch. The only reason I, or anyone else, set foot in this big box of suck today is because we had no other choice. In my case, I was out of toilet paper and this is the cheapest goddamned place in town. But don't make the mistake of thinking I shop here because I like it. You all know you've got America by the short and curlies, you greedy conglomerate bastards. Don't expect us to be fucking cheerful about that.

I'm checking out and the cashier keeps trying to make conversation. Another false dose of cheer. “So, are you all ready for Christmas?” And in that moment – for an instant – I understand why people go on shooting sprees because if I had a gun, that bitch would be toast. But I restrain myself and mutter with as much false cheer as I can muster, “Pretty much!” Which is true, because when you're single and planning to spend Christmas alone, what's to prepare for? Yes, I'm all ready with the frozen pizza and several bottles of cheap wine so I can drown myself until New Year. Thanks. But I don't tell her that. I wish I had.

I creep along the icy road at 20 mph and some asshole whizzes by me – passing on the right – because apparently he wants to die. Sorry I'm too slow for you. Fucking jerk. But I'm almost home, where I can set a big pot of vegetable soup to simmering and sip a hot mug of diet hot chocolate, because heaven forbid I actually enjoy anything in this life. But it will be good to get home, to crank up the heat and shut out the world and settle into my comfy thrift store chair with a book or perhaps my laptop and make notes for my novel. I'm off work for the next two days and I don't plan to so much as poke my head outside except to pick up the newspaper.

As I skid into the parking lot, inches from sanctuary, I'm struck by the realization. I forgot to buy cat food.