Why, I ask you. Why??

(image via google)

Observations of the People of MY Walmart. 

(In the space of an hour. Unfortunately,I can never get that hour back)

-Hey Walmart 'Greeter'. Let's discuss your primary duty. To GEE*ARE*EE*EE*TEE. ( Yes, I'm over enunciating but I need to make sure you understand your reason for being here. ) 

Correct me if I'm mistaken but I don't think they don't pay you to stand there with a sourpuss look on that miserable face of yours. Next time I expect a heartfelt warm welcome to your fine establishment (hmmmm) and a Colgate snow blinding smile. Are we square? 

-Okay Sugar,no. Just no. White tube socks don't pair well with black pumps. I don't give a shit what age you are. 

-Hey You! Yeah, you with the cart. Do you see a steering wheel and gas pedal on that thing? This is not the facking Indy 500. I am partial to my right hip bone, Bitch. 

-Omg Honey. . . Can we talk? 

Fake Baking till you are orange, wrong.

Baby pink poofy coat framing that deep amber. . glow? Wrong again.

Your stiletto wedges on the end of your 4'9" frame with yoga pants? I just don't understand. 

Let me help you.Mirrors in isle 4.

Go. Now. 

-Dude! ( because you clearly deserve the title)  Your short leather doo rag covering your salt and pepper hair I can manage to work through but come on, your 60s are staring you in the face. STOP trying to act like a homie. You look like a hunchback with a nasty rash in the nether regions. 

-To the FIVE people I've seen wearing those gawdfauksaken pyjama bottoms. Freakin' STOP. Take a bloody minute and slap on a pair of pants/sweats/shorts.. hell I don't care, just put something ON.  (and to 40 something year old sportin' a really ugly pair..Geezus, seriously? Bedhead, honey. It's called a brush. And btw, it's also called a bra.)  

-May I ask why are you standing there talking to your oil?? Ummm well, I guess talking is ok. Laughing and shaking your finger at it. . . kinda weird, Sunshine. 

-Um hello, Miss Cashier??? I'm in front of you cashing out. Ergo: Pay attention to ME and my purchases. Not your BFF baggerette beside you. I don't care about what happened to you last weekend, yesterday or this morning nor do I need to hear about it while you ignore me and chat it up with her.   

-And, no, I do not want to donate to this/that and every other charity as I'm cashing out. I wish you people would stop asking. If I wanted to donate, I know where to go.  

Sigh. Some days it's not worth chewing through the straps.