I hate grocery shopping. Loathe it. Despise it.

And I thought I hated Walmart…but I didn’t, not really. I didn’t like Walmart. But it was not full loathing.

Until tonight.

It’s Monday night. Most people shop on the weekends, right? I mean, that’s why I stopped shopping on the weekends because everyone else in the tri-county region would happen to show up at the exact store, at the exact moment I would. I am the Mel-magnet. Mel must be shopping so every idiot must shop now.

I meant to go to the store earlier today, but it rained buckets and I just didn’t feel like getting out in the mess. So I waited until I was tired, cranky, and hungry. And of course, we were out of everything (beer) so shopping couldn’t possibly wait until tomorrow.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I should’ve turned right back around. The Mel-magnet had obviously been activated. (Wondershopping powers, Activate!) The lot was full, and there were several cars racing for parking spots. I momentarily considered yelling “Towanda!” while plowing forward knocking every hunk of metal on wheels out of my way. It was my turn to park, dammit!

I enter the establishment and begin my power shopping. I am determined to be in and out in an hour.

1.5 hours later I realize that was just a pie in the sky dream.

Always the dreamer, that’d be me.

What is it with women who were too much fragrance? And why do they spray themselves just before going to Walmart when they know I’m going to be there? And why, in the name of all things unholy, do they follow me around the store? It’s because they know how much that bugs the fuck out of me, that’s why.

And why do people meander and linger and talk on their cell phones in the middle of the g.d. aisles? Do they not see the rest of us, trying to get through? Do they think they are the dictator of the aisle in which they have taken residence?

Am I the only one who has a problem with all the kids running free amongst the buggies? Can I hit the little fuckers? Do I get a discount if I hit two or more?

Once I finished my shopping, I strategically cruised the check out lines. How many buggies were in line, how full were said buggies, and did the shoppers appear to be shopping for more than one family thereby asking for separate checks. (an aside here, DEAR WALMART, NO MORE FUCKING SEPARATE CHECKS. THIS IS NOT THE DIXIE CAFE. ONE PERSON, ONE BASKET, ONE CHECK. thank you.) After my strategic perusal, I found the perfect line. One shopper finishing up, one shopper unloading. Nobody else. Sweet.

Until the mysterious Mexican man appeared in front of me. Without a basket. I thought he was lost at first. I was in line. It was obvious. I’m moving forward, closing the distance between myself and the shopper unloading her buggy. And then the Manifesting Mexican Man just appeared. He stood there for a few minutes, then he started frantically waving to someone. “Aqui! Aqui!”

fucker. He was holding a place in line for his wife.

His wife who took 15 minutes to unload her basket because she had to unload it in sections. Frozen foods together; breads together; fruits together; bathroom supplies together…ARE YOU KIDDING ME!

I pull out my cell phone desperately seeking entertainment. Not one person texted me back. Where are you people when I need you? Sure you’ll text me at your convenience, but can’t you ever just respond when it’s at my convenience? I was in Warmart for Christ’s Sake!

Do you know what your lack of texting made me do while I waited for the senora to alphabetize her groceries?

I had to read the tabloids.

Did you know that Prince William is giving up the crown for LOVE?

Did you know that Ashlee Simpson is addicted to plastic surgery at the age of 23 and that her sister lost 25 lbs in two months?

Jlo is pregnant! Whoot!

Something dark and dreary has happened to Oprah and Stedman. (didn’t they already break up like YEARS ago?)

Apparently Justin has reached out to Britney. Can he save her?

The hell that is Walmart has taken me over. It’s like the Borg and I have now been assimilated. Of course, I’ll probably be rejected when they realize I don’t alphabetize my groceries…