Why I Hate Walmart
by Juliana

America is a land of capitalism.

This is a good thing, in almost every way. One of the unfortunate exceptions to the rule is Walmart. The aforementioned chain of superstores is the epitome of all things considered ugly about America by those who are not American.

My first gripe about Walmart is the feeling I get about myself when I’m there. I feel like a cross between a herd of cattle being herded into somewhere I don’t want to be, and a lemming who is just running with everyone else, oblivious of what lies ahead. I think I get this feeling from the cold, efficient manner of the employees.

When I walk in the door, a well-meaning employee shoves a shopping cart into my stomach. Sometimes I notice that the intended cart doesn’t have a seatbelt for my toddler, so I try to switch. Bad idea. In the three seconds it takes me to push that cart to the side and look over a new one, the people behind me trip and nearly fall on top of me. The look in their eyes seems to say, “We’re not supposed to pause. We’re supposed to take the cart and keep walking. What’s wrong with you?” Sometimes I almost hear the sounds of a bull snorting, preparing for the stampede. Needless to say I grab the next cart available and practically run into the store in an effort to preserve my life.

My next gripe about Walmart is the manipulation. It’s one thing to do consumer research and give your customers what they want, but Walmart takes this to a whole new, disgusting level. I often watch parents trying to herd their children through the store as quickly as possible, while their children try to waylay their parents with pleadings of, “But I want a…” “Can’t I have a…” and “Mommy nooooooooooooooo…”

I watch as these parents, drained of life from the wrestling, finally get to the checkout stands. They appear to relax momentarily, thinking it’s almost over. That’s because most adults stand more than three feet tall and don’t see what the children see. Right at the child’s level of sight is the Holy Grail of childhood tantrum-provokers. The Dreaded Golden Arch. The Dreaded Golden Arch, for those of you who don’t know, is the McDonald’s symbol. At the children’s eye level is a complete McDonald’s menu—not in words and prices—but in pictures. Any child who has been through the torture of grocery shopping with Mommy will melt at this sight. The pleading begins again, and is made worse by the fact that Mommy’s only escape from the store is through the doors adjacent to the—GASP—conveniently located in-store McDonalds. This is not consumer analysis. Manipulation is even too kind a word. This is all-out, down and dirty, rotten, stinking Consumer Warfare. Luckily, we have never taken my son to a McDonald’s (no, not even once), so he walks by innocently, not knowing that he should be throwing a French Fry tantrum.

The third thing I hate about Walmart is almost not their fault. Well, heck, of course it’s their fault. They ought to know that we lazy, fat Americans can’t handle all that cold, brutish efficiency for long. Once we’re outside the choking consumer environment, we let it all go. Kindness and courtesy are yesterday’s news. If you don’t believe me, go to a Walmart and try to get a good parking spot. The drivers in a Walmart parking lot, who act like normal human beings other places, go wild there. It’s almost like a shoving match, but there’s generally less contact since car repairs are more expensive than bandages and cold compresses. People walking around the parking lot act as if the cars didn’t exist. You’d think you’d hear a lot of squealing brakes, but that doesn’t happen because the cars driving around also act as if the pedestrians don’t exist.

Now you’re asking, “How do you know so much about Walmart if the place stinks so darn much?” Ahhh, my friend, you should know. What did I say at the beginning? America is a land of capitalism. And I’m no dummy. Good prices speak to me, even if I hate myself every minute for it. Someday, when I’m rich, I’ll wave goodbye to Walmart forever and have the best of everything delivered directly to my home by the kindest, cleanest, most polite people in the world. (But only if I can find a competitive price.)