In a spare 15 minutes before returning to the office, I decided against better judgement to 'run' into Walmart, which is English for 'collection of slobs, retards and old people.' I figured I could find some toys or CDs or some simple household goods pretty quickly. WRONG!
I was surrounded by slow moving old people who found it impossible to park or maneuver through isles while looking in front of them, 400 pound housewives searching for their latest Cheetos fix and single-digit IQ Walmart employees trying to find prices for ice scrapers. Besides the multi-lingual stylings of the locals and flu-hacking ankle biters, I spent 15 minutes dodging germs, foul odors and wayward shopping carts.
After finding what I was seeking, my journey was abruptly concluded while standing in the 12 items or less line behind two Mexican women who had decided that the 12 item rule didn't apply to them, or that their 12 items only included their 12 carts full of shit.
I wound up dropping my items into the candy rack and walking out, frustrated by having subjected myself to that polyester, pop corn odored torture.
Arghhhhhhh!
RETARDS!
