A while ago, I had to exchange a television at WalMart because the one I bought there a few days ago did not have a remote. This should have been a truly easy task to accomplish; but idiocy, poor breeding and patriotism stood directly in my path.
Act I. The Beginning of the Transaction: I walked in with the television and my receipt and made my way to the customer service counter.
The employee was a young girl probably 19 or so with bad hair, but she was nice. She took my receipt, stared at the “return/exchange” policy board behind her and told me that I had to exchange it for something that cost the exact same amount or something that costs more.
She explained that she couldn’t give me a refund in any way, shape or form.
“Whatever,” I thought to myself, I just wanted the exact same television, but this time with the remote it’s supposed to come with.
Act II. The Service Poodle: I found the exact same television and made my way back to customer service to finalize the exchange.
Of course, two people were now in line in front of me, but I wasn’t in a hurry. There was an elderly woman at the counter in one of those electric carts with a tiny, black poodle sitting in the front basket.
Thankfully, she was exchanging about 15 towels for the same towels in a different color. The other woman in front of me was about 65 years old, wearing an American flag shirt holding some HP printer ink. I stared ahead of me hoping to be left alone.
But then, the printer ink lady said to me while pointing at the poodle, “I wonder if they would let me bring my pit bull in here.”
Like most dumb ass rednecks, this woman spoke loudly enough so that the poodle woman heard her.
I just shrugged my shoulders and pretended to read my receipt, hoping that she would soon be entranced by her opposable thumbs and forget I was standing there. Yep, you guessed it, the poodle lady decided that it was her turn to comment.
“This is my medical service dog. She is trained to help me with and respond to my medical emergencies,” she said angrily.
All I could think was, “holy, fucking, shit.” That poor poodle weighed about 5 pounds while her owner was pushing at least 350.
The poodle kept staring at me as if to say, “Please, rescue me from this wretched human. I have to bark and scrape the door every time she has trouble wiping her ass.”
What medical scenarios could come up that the poodle would respond to?
A bleeding bunion?
Dropped a twinkie?
Can’t reach her bingo card?
Can’t open the Spam?
Run to the store and pick up some more Newports?
I was absolutely baffled. I guess your reward for nearly eating yourself to death is a cool electric cart, a handicapped parking permit and a poodle service dog.
Act III. Finalizing the Exchange: Now for the easy part. It was finally my turn and this should be painless. Silly fucking me, painless would only describe exchanging merchandise from employees who actually didn’t have trouble passing their GED.
The nice girl tried scanning it about four times and with each swipe the register made a terrible squealing sound, kind of similar to the sound my inner asshole makes while trying to escape to yell obscenities at these terrible stupid people surrounding me.
After a fifth time of squealing, she called the “Manager” over. The manager walked up to the register and asked what the problem was.
The nice girl explained the situation politely to her. Then, the manager looked at me and said, “So, the television didn’t have a remote, OR….”, in an accusatory tone.
As if I took the remote out, sold it on the lucrative black-market remote selling circuit and was pulling some major Mafia-like scam on WalMart.
I replied, “Or what? And what the hell kind of question was that.” Needless to say, she stopped talking to me and actually finalized the transaction.
Again I thought to myself, “Holy, Fucking, Shit.” I went home, sat on the couch and was eternally thankful for my opposable thumbs.
1. Stay away from Wal Mart unless highly doped up on Xanax.
2. Stay away from fat, elderly people in electric carts with poodles in the basket.
3. Never make eye contact with anyone wearing an American flag shirt.