Yes, I have an actual post label called, "I Know You Think I Make this Stuff Up" which serves as the repository for strange stories like the one about how a ham came out of the oven looking more like a pig than when it went in, thanks to my unintentional culinary capabilities.
It's a label full of nothing, like a jumbo bin filled with foil yogurt lids, dryer lint and "The Firm" videotapes. You gotta put that stuff somewhere.
Anyway, here is the latest installment:
My Last Wowmart Visit
by Lidna Crow
This, by the way, is all true. Even though I know you think I make this stuff up.
I had a return to make at Wowmart before doing my weekly shopping. Making a return at Wowmart is not simple. It is trouble from "the bad place" that you bring on yourself. You don't just saunter into Wowmart with a return like you're just going to ... return it! Heavens! If you think that, what planet are you from? Target?
I walked in, was accosted by the friendly greeter, opened my bag and had 46 green stickers placed on my one item and was then given the green light to proceed. If security gets any tighter at the front door, they'll have to strip search people.
There was, of course, a line at the customer service desk, a line of 25 people and one associate with 5" acrylic nails and a ring on every finger. The associate was not very nice, but she's not supposed to be. It's against company rules.
In fact, Wowmart's customer service motto is, "We make customer service purgatory on earth, so you don't have to worry about that when you cross over! Yellow Smiley Face!!"
About three people in front of me, there was a woman with foil in her hair like in this picture. I can only assume that she went to the Wowmart beauty salon and decided that while her color was lifting, she'd run over and return her too-small Lucky Charms t-shirt. I'd like to know where I can get some of that "no inhibition" stuff she's been smoking because that would make life a lot more carefree.
After my return, I grabbed a cart and about 5 feet down the aisle realized I had one of those schizophrenic carts which tries to go three ways at once, all the while squeaking an announcement to everyone that you deserve and belong with the crazy cart because after all, you chose it. It's always at this point you have to decide if the craziness is bad enough to send you back to get a normal one. In this case, it was.
I always make a list before leaving my house so that I don't get confused or forget anything once I'm there, so you can imagine my dismay when I opened my list and read the first item: "blue."
"What?!" I asked myself, "What is 'blue?' Why did I write 'blue?'"
Passing people in pajamas and slippers, I made my way to the back of the store, my lips forming the word, "Blue ... blue." I probably looked like a fish.
"Why did I write 'blue'? Is it toilet cleaner? No. Is it bleu cheese? No. Blueberry yogurt? No."
I got stuck in a traffic jam in the cereal aisle, but I didn't mind so much because that actually bought me more time to de-bug my menopausal brain.
"Blue? What in the world is that about? Blueberry cereal? Blue paint samples? Blue label something? Blue Bunny Ice Cream?"
"Um, OK. I choose ice cream."
Once I had collected everything on my list but "blue," I got in line where the young male associate asked me to put the "closed" sign on his lane, which I did. He apologized profusely to the people just ahead of me and to me for having to close his lane so that he could go to the bathroom. If he said it once, I know he said it 10 times: "I just can't help it, you know? You've gotta go when you've gotta go. I feel bad, but hey, I have to go to the bathroom. Sorry about that. It's just something you've got to do when you've gotta go."
I expected to see his face turn yellow and his legs twist together like pretzels before he could put my items through.
Once through the line, I was happy to be going home. Until I saw the near blizzard coming down outside because I knew what that meant: Pushing that cart through a couple of inches of snow would be like pushing it through sand. It's almost easier to get a hold of the basket end and pull it to your car.
But I made it home, finally, and enjoyed a nice big bowl of Blue Bunny as I sat by the space heater recovering from the trauma of yet another frigid Saturday at Wowmart, trauma which, by the way, I did not make up.
Does this stuff happen to you?