Blame it on Cat Poop, blame it on Walmart, but Tuesday Claims a new Victim.

Good evening!

For those of you who are friends with me on Face Book or who follow me on Twitter, you know Tuesdays are just not my day.  If something is going to go wrong with work, it's on a Tuesday.  If I break something, if an appliance breaks down, chances are, it's a Tuesday.

I have no idea why.  But it's like clockwork.

Today I figured Tuesday struck early.  There was a pile of cat pooh in the room formerly known as the dining room.  (We now call it the place where we keep the cats' dishes and cat tree.)  Of our five, we have one who will announce his displeasure at the state of his food levels, water levels, cleanliness of the cat boxes, whatever, by poohing outside the #1 litter box, which also happens to be right outside our bedroom door.  (This is why I always have the flashlight setting on my phone turned on when I get up in the morning. I never know who or what I'm going to step on when I open the door.)

But it's been a while since he poohed outside the box. I thought he was finally pleased with our collective performance and we no longer had to live in fear.

Until this morning when I noted he'd plopped a present near the top of the basement stairs.

We have a rule here.  Well, I have a rule.  I do not touch cat crap.  I do not clean the litter boxes.  I will feed them, I will water them, I will let them crawl on my desk when I'm trying to work, and I will take them to the vet if need be. And Heaven knows I pay for them.  But I did not want 5 cats in my house and none of said cats are MINE. Therefore, I expect the other three adults in the house to deal with any and all feline fecal matter.

Thus it came to pass that this morning as he was headed out to a long day of driving, I caught Hubby and informed him of the protest plot in the room formerly known as the dining room.  He cleaned it up, expressing, as I did, wonder at the new location of the dump site.

And then, the mess cleaned up, he got in his car and drove away.

A couple short hours later I get this text:

Guess what dummy here forgot this morning?

Sometimes Hubby forgets one of his phones or his notebook, which was my first guess.  His response was this:

Better.  Perfect for a blog.


Now I was intrigued.  Lately Hubby's biggest goal in life is to stay out of the blog.  I made several more guesses on what he could possibly have forgotten that would be wild enough for him to volunteer that it was blog worthy.

I suggested perhaps he'd forgotten what day it was and therefore was going to the wrong appointments.  


It's Tuesday.
Go to work without a shirt day.

Apparently what had happened was this:  Hubby keeps his hanging shirts in his office closet (because my clothes have become so fluffy we can no longer share a closet.)  So while on his way from the bedroom to his office, he realized he was running a few minutes late. It was then that I popped out of my office and informed him of the pooh pile in the room formerly known as the dining room.  He cleaned that up, put on his coat and headed out the door.

Fortunately for him, there was a Walmart near his first stop and he was able to purchase a shirt for work and get on with his day.

And, after a tremendous, and much needed laugh, I got on with mine.

The People of Walmart: Raising spirits and crushing them in one stop.

Good afternoon!

Have you ever gone out in public thinking, "Well I feel sort of crappy and I look not my best...but I need toilet paper, so I'll go to Walmart?"

I can't possibly be the only person whose had that thought.

That was me today anyway.  I've got a plugged ear, something I get probably once, maybe twice a year.  This wreaks havoc with me on all levels.  The echo in my head makes it hard for me to hear, and gives me a headache. And it's super not fun when you work on the phone, using a headset, like I do.  Work's been a bit hairy for me the last couple days (I'm learning a new procedure and you know the saying about old dogs and new anythings?)

So this afternoon I was feeling drained and sweaty  (Yes, we went from, "Holy moly it's cold" to "Can I PLEASE turn on the AC" in a week.) but I needed a few things, including toilet paper, so I figured I'd go to Walmart and be anonymous.

And I was, for the first half hour.  It was actually funny, fans of the show "Fargo" will appreciate the

fact that automatic door didn't open for me until I backed up and tried again.  (If you're not watching FX's "Fargo" you should be.)  The greeter at the door, once upon a time a fun old person, has been replaced by a lethargic teen who would rather die than actually say something to anyone who is not another teen.

I got through most of my list being invisible, which was nice.  I didn't feel bad about the fact that I had bed head that had been mussed by the winds we've got going outside.  I still felt sweaty, but the AC in Walmart, bless them, was on and I wasn't suffering.

Then I was in the candy/bulk ketchup/Asian food aisle  (It's a thing, check it out.  Sweet and sour sauce, Sour Patch kids, and 120 ounces of ketchup all in one aisle. I love this country.) getting some sweet and sour sauce when a gentleman roughly my age, and in pretty rough shape hygienically speaking, walked almost past me.  

"How are you?" says he.

"I'm good," says I, without really looking away from the sweet and sour sauce shelf.  "How are you today?"

"Oh I feel like I got into a fight with an ugly stick." Says the man.  And yes, he looked like he slept in his clothes...in a garage...under a car...that was leaking oil...and mud.

"Oh no," says I.  "That's too bad."

"Yeah, and the ugly stick won!"

With that, we reached opposite ends of the aisle and turned corners away from each other.  But amazingly enough I felt good.  I felt good about myself that this filthy guy had no trouble starting a conversation with me.  Maybe I wasn't so bad today! 

Having secured all the goods I needed and with a bounce in my step, I headed up to the check out counter.

And that's where this happened.

I greeted the checker who greeted me back and we exchanged a few pleasantries.  And then, she picks up the 10 pack of 7.5 ounce Cokes I bought and says, "3.50 for such small cans.  Why would you be stupid and buy these when the bigger cans are cheaper?"

There are many reasons.  1)  I don't need 12 ounces of soda at one time ever and I hate wasting half a  can.  2)  fewer calories in a can.  3)  Less aluminum, less energy to make the aluminum. 4)  Less per serving, less sugar in my life  5) they are cute cans 6)  WHY DO YOU CARE WHAT I BOUGHT AS LONG AS I BOUGHT IT HERE AND I PAID FOR IT?

That one little comment, said half under her breath, brought back all the icky feelings I was having as it echoed painfully in my head. Maybe I am stupid for spending more money on a smaller product.  Maybe I'm stupid for buying Coke at all.

She handed me my receipt and told me not to put it in my purse because someone "might" check it at the door.

If it's the same person at the door, it's not likely she's going to see me much less ask me to stop and let her look in my cart.

On my way out I saw the filthy guy again and I smiled at him because he'd made my blues go away for a minute and I appreciate that.  

And I was right about the girl at the door not checking my receipt.  So I had to stop and put it in my purse in the entry way....the echoey, noisy entry way.  Which didn't mess with my head at all.

And now I'm going to go and have an ice cold mini Coke.

A tiara, teens in hoodies, and waiting in line at Walmart.

Good evening

You know, I am at a point in my life where, yes, I will pay a little more for American made and yes, I will pay a little more for good customer service.  

So why I made three trips to Walmart in the last week is beyond me.  That said, before I get to the main part of today's blog, I have to make a point about the minimum wage.  Much has been made about should it be raised (yes) should it be $15 an hour (probably not quite that high) and all that.  I have some thoughts I'd like to share, and this is pretty much based on my experience during two trips into the Walmart yesterday afternoon.

When I entered the building the first time, there were two young men in hoodies (it was warm, not as warm as it's been, but certainly NOT "wear your black hoodie up over your head like a gangster when you're actually a 17 year old white kid from Waukesha" cool.) standing outside the building. They were cart collectors. They stood right outside that half door where the cart collectors push the carts from the parking lot. The door was closed. I figured they were waiting for someone to come open it. No big deal.

I did my shopping, took me about 50 minutes.  When I left the building, the same hoodies where standing there, still leaning on the same carts (I know this because the amount of carts inside the building was the same or less as when I entered, and the amount of carts they were leaning on were the same.)  still chatting with each other. I stopped and stared at them  Why?  Because I am old enough now where I don't give a fuzzy fig whether or not idiot slacker teens in hoodies who have standing there for almost an hour doing NOTHING notice that I'm staring at them.  I even listened to them chat.  Apparently one hoodie was training the other.  To do...

Anyway, I had to go back into the store.  I forgot one thing and it was the thing I went to Walmart to get in the first place.  I walked back to the doors where the hoodies were STILL chatting away.  (Door was still closed. Now, the button to open the door was just inside the main entrance, some thirty feet away from the hoodies.)

I got my items and also  picked up a couple gift cards.  The cashier who helped me was a trainee.  His name is Taron.  I mention this because this young man was splendid.  He was clearly nervous.  His trainer, a young lady who's name I did not get, walked him through the first gift card. He tried to make eye contact with me and chat me up, which was probably difficult for him since on the outside the two of us have very little in common.  He got the gift cards done and he smiled and thanked me.  I told him starting a job was hard but that he would get it. He appreciated that.  

And then I went back outside  (some ten to fifteen minutes after I reentered the store) and the hoodies were still there, but trainer hoodie was calling someone on his walkie talkie to open the door.

Yes, the two  young men, both in pretty good physical condition, were unable to walk 30 feet to press a button, so instead they stood outside chatting and doing nothing for an hour or more.

Now, I agree the minimum wage should be raised.  No one who works a full time job (40 hrs or more)  should be living under the poverty line.  I understand that raising the wage will hurt smaller companies. (Not Walmart.) I've suggested that we base minimum wage on the size of the company (the parent company, so Walmart can't go and become a string of franchises and plead that it's a small business.)  If your brand name/parent company employees X you have to pay Y per hour.  I also think we need to raise the wage based on education. I suggested making the wage graduated based on age, but Hubby pointed out that everyone would just hire high school kids because they are cheaper. So basing the wage on education would keep employers from simply hiring high school kids and letting kids go once they're 18.  Also, it would possibly encourage more kids to stay in school. (I'm an employment analyst.  One thing people need in this world is a high school diploma. If you don't have one, get one for the love of all that is holy.)

The two hoodies do not deserve $15 an hour. No one who does their job that way does.  But Taron does.  I realize in the end it'll all wash out the way it should, probably.  Maybe. Probably not. the hoodies will have Daddy pay for everything and they'll continue to be hoodies their whole lives, just chatting when others are working. Taron, however, will probably work at the Walmart forever. I hope not.

BUT, you did not come here to read about my opinions on minimum wage.  No, instead I'll tell you about my OTHER trip to Walmart.  This time to return something.

Yes, I know.  I bought something at Walmart that I didn't like, couldn't eat and decided to return. Don't even remember what it was.

Got in line at about 5:40 in the afternoon.  I make this point because hubby and I were going to go to a 7 PM movie and I figured I had plenty of time to return a couple things to a couple places.



And I would have had the time, had it not been for the old man and the tiara. 

See there was this older, fluffy lady in a scooter.  Normally I wouldn't have noticed her, except she was wearing a tiara.  And not a plastic one either, this one, while probably not real, was pretty and looked like it cost something.

Which means she was wearing it seriously.

I've worn tiaras. I've been called "Princess," and I say that nickname with all the sarcasm I can muster.  Sure, yeah, I'm a princess.
Right.

But I don't take any of it seriously.  And yet, here was this lady...in sweats I might ad, wearing her tiara without it being a joke. This was part of her ensemble, like earrings or shoes.  

There are some signs that you can watch for if you're in a rush and you need to stand in a line but you're not sure if the person in front of you is going to take a long time or not. If someone has more than one child with them, if they are wearing cartoon character lounge pants and they are over the age of 18, and...IF THEY ARE WEARING A TIARA ANYWHERE...then yes. They are going to take a long time.

Had I not had to stand in a long line behind her while she made MULTIPLE RETURN TRANSACTIONS  (some for cash and some for credit...oh yes, it was fun to watch the 90 year old guy on the other side of the counter try and keep up.) I wouldn't be writing about it.  But I did. I spent twenty solid minutes waiting, along with a large collection of the Walmart faithful. all of whom were returning something...and many of those items not only didn't have tags....many of them looked very much USED.  But whatever.

On our way to Walmart, but we left our tiaras at home.
Have to go get them.

So this woman gets to her final transaction, this time it's a credit return.  She needs to sign the pin pad. Now, she's sitting in her scooter, parallel to the counter.  The pin pad is about ten inches too high for her, from her seated position, to sign.

I know she's alone. I know she's using a Walmart scooter. Therefore I know she's walked at least 25 feet from her car to the store. And if she can walk 25 feet then she can stand up and sign the pin pad.

Nope.

No, instead she took her own sweet time and tried to parallel part CLOSER to the pin pad.  This involved a lot of beeping. Beep, backward two inches.  Forward two inches. Beep, backward two inches. Hit the counter.  Beep forward three inches.  Beep backward two inches.

It didn't take forever. I mean, forever is forever, and clearly I'm here, sitting at my desk and not still waiting in line.  So no, it didn't take forever,   But by this time and was almost 6. I had been in this line of huddled masses for nearly twenty minutes.  Normally I would have just come back another day, but I was on a quest to return all my returns and I'd invested time in this line and this return was going to happen!

The fifteen people in front of me  (the people in this line looked like some kind of triage area in an ER. Just about everyone had a cast or a sling or a head bandage...I felt left out.) all groaned every time this woman tried to manuever again.  FINALLY the 90 year old man, who had been watching the clock and announcing to no one in particular that he was DONE at 6 and he WAS NOT STAYING LATE found some kind of mobile pin pan for her to sign. Where was THAT five minutes ago when she started trying to get closer to the counter?

Finally done with all of her returns, Tiara Lady revved up her scooter and drove off, nearly running over the pillows the couple behind her were going to return.

Not that tire tracks were going to make those pillows look worse. I don't think "new" pillows could look worse.

So from now on, the rule is if I buy it at Walmart, and I don't like it, I'm not returning it. I'll just give it to Goodwill.  They have shorter lines.

As for the movie, yes, we did get there on time. Barely.  (I had two other stops I had to make.)  What did we see?

I don't even remember.