Frank’s Walmart Story

Articles | Mar 6th, 2005

Frank’s Walmart Story

It all started like a day unlike any other. It was the day after Thanksgiving, the one they call “Black Friday”, and at 6:00 am I was awake. You see, Black Friday is the first day of the X-Mas shopping season,and there were sales beyond belief, If you were willing to fight the crowds of crazed holiday shoppers. The night before was when I first noticed it,The computer deal of the century. Right there in a Wal-Mart ad was my savior, my connection, my computer. It was beautiful. The dark gray flesh of its keyboard begged for my touch,but there was only one problem. In order for me to caress its plastic body, I had to go to Wal-Mart between 6:00 am and 11:00 am. “Hell, what’s a little lost sleep for the deal of the century?” I thought. So that night I set my alarm and prepared for shopping warfare. The next few hours I spent in sweet somnus, only to be thrust from dreamland by that Mac Truck of an alarm clock. I rolled out of bed, hopped in the car, and made a fever-pitched beeline to Wal-Mart.

I seemed to be the only asshole on the road,until I came to the entrance of my Mecca. Tens upon hundreds of beat up Monte Carlos and ratty old Caddies filed into the parking lot like nazi soldiers. After trying to find a spot for about a half-hour, I was finally able to park. Wal-Mart glistened in the distance like a white trash Taj Mahal in a desert of cars and sweaty old fat ladies in pink stretch pants. Finally at approximately 6:45 am I was inside. I fought my way to the electronics department like Odysseus. I turned the corner past the cheap rip-off Disney movies, and there it was,the object of my affection. I grabbed the nearest sales-monkey and pointed to the computer like a raving retard. He packed up some boxes into a cart and headed back to layaway. I followed, skipping and drooling with desire,and blinded by the ultra orange hunting jackets as I passed Sporting Goods. After I came down off my purchase-high, I realized that I had about a two hour wait in the layaway line. Turning my head slowly, I scanned everyone in line. There were all kinds of people putting shitty Wal-Mart sweaters and trailer park approved merchandise on layaway. Patiently, I waited,and waited,and waited, until finally I had reached the counter. “What can I do for you?” asked the too-happy layaway clerk. I thought to myself “What the fuck do you think you can do for me? You can start by putting my damn computer on layaway, asshole!”. But, being the sweetheart that I am, I just smiled and gave her my money.

The ride home was a slow, sweet one. I was completely happy for the first time in years. The weeks to come were full of scrambling to get more cash,after all, I still had $850.00 to pay off. I ended up selling my guitar, my Dimebag Darell signature model that I had worked all summer long to get. It was no matter, however,for computer mania knows no boundaries. Finally, I had the last bit of money in my hands. I made my way back to Wal-Mart and paid off the layaway mafia. Some kid that I knew from eighth grade brought it out to my car, and we chatted for a bit about a mutual childhood friend who just got married to a stripper in Vegas. In about three seconds, I was home unpacking the big cardboard packages, but something wasn’t right,something was up. I took out the computer only to realize that they had given me the wrong one. My eyes turned red and my dick got hard with anger. I flew back to Wal-Mart on the wings of demons, stomping the pedal of my Mom’s Buick into the ground. I went over to the electronics department and butted my way to the front of the line. A bunch of the redneck clientele made comments to me, but I turned and gave them such a glare that they immediately hushed with their tail between their legs. I wish I could’ve seen my face. I went off like a sailor with Tourette’s, and all the sales-monkey could tell me was “Sorry.” I stormed back into my car and headed home, defeated. I set up the poop-puter and prepared to suck it up and deal with it.

After five days of hell, I decided that I wanted my money back. I packed up the computer and went to grab the receipt, when not much to my surprise,it was gone. You see, the Reciept Gnome headquarters must be under my house. Any time you leave a reciept lying around for longer than a minute, it dissappears. Gnomes were the only logical explanation. I tore apart the house, throwing boxes, bags and beds into a shambles. After hours of hunting, I came up empty handed. I called Hell-Mart and asked if not having the reciept would be a problem, and of course, it was. This was about the point when I began devising brilliant ideas of strapping myself with dynamite and taking the place out. The hours wore on and I became more and more angry,I was ready to turn Wal-Mart into Blood-Mart. I called the store manager, the layaway department, electronics,nobody had a copy of the receipt. I fought with them on the phone for hours. Finally, I found a guy named Mark who handled all the transactions there. He told me to bring the computer back and he’d print me out a receipt. “There is a god” I thought to myself for a brief second, before laughing my ass off.

I got in the car and headed back to Wal-Mart for the final time. I walked in the door with my computer and was stopped by the old man that hands out the smiley stickers. “Do you have a receipt for that?” he asked me, not realizing my trials of the last hours. “Mark from the cash office has it.” I told him. He informed me that I could not walk the extra ten feet to the service counter without the receipt. I growled at him and brought the computer back to my car, and walked back inside. “There now, doesn’t it feel better to follow the rules?” he asked, I just set him on fire with my stare. At the service desk, I waited for an hour, while some toothless wonder waited patiently for screws to her brand new magazine rack. Finally at the front of the line I asked to see Mark. “Oh, he’s busy now. You’ll have to come back later.” Said the ugly lady. This was it,this was the point where the screw was turned too tight and broke off. “THE FUCK I WILL!” I bellowed. I demanded to see Mark at that very second. The lady walked over to the door, and I heard her whisper something about a psychopath at the service desk. Mark came over to me and quickly threw the receipt on the counter, as if he were throwing food to an uncaged lion. The people scanned the receipt, and of course it came up not on file. I began to laugh, like some twisted modern day Mad Hatter. I told them that I need my money right now, or something bad was going to happen. Finally the receipt cleared and they went into the till to get my money. The manager gave a weird look as the till drawer popped open, the look that little kids get when there’s only one cookie left. “We don’t have enough money.” He said. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” I proclaimed, my fist curling tighter by the second. Well, after another thirty minutes, they managed to get a loan from the bank and I got my money. On my way out, the old man said “Come back soon.” So I kicked over the gumball machine and headed out into the parking lot, vowing never to set foot in that place ever again.

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