Wal-Mart

I know… it's all in the name. I have certainly had many experiences that seal the retail giant as the breeding ground for crazies, but tonight tops it off. So, my mom, Maximus the Impatient, and I are waiting in a line that I am convinced I will die in when I notice the slow-as-tar cashier. The thing that got me was not the conversation about her mother running away, or how long it could take to click each item, it was the plastic gloves. Purple! Just in case you didn't notice that the woman that would be handling your baby's food was for some unknown (thank goodness) reason wearing plastic gloves.

So... I convinced myself that hepatitis is Maxx's fate for us being stupid and cheap enough to venture to Wal-Mart in this neck of the woods; when it happened. First she asks me to wait one second before she starts with my stuff, then pulls off one of the gloves which I have decided I think I would prefer stay on, pulls out a bottle of Ambosol or something, bends over, and starts putting it somewhere in her mouth so deep that she is gagging and it takes great effort. I had to look away… it was a weird mix of fear and wishing I had a drop more of my sister in me and had the courage to yell,

"WHAT THE HELL, ARE YOU KIDDING ME, WHERE DO YOU GET THESE PEOPLE!"

I did nothing, she put the glove back on, took the next hour ringing up our 20 items and we were on our way. So now you all know the story to tell my son when he wonders why he has hepatitis and syphilis... Wal-Mart.