Walmart and the Electric Cart Lady Revisited...

Jeff Foxworthy says that if you spend more than 40 hours a week at Wal-Mart and you don’t work there - you might be a redneck. This gives me pause for concern because I already live in North Carolina and Y’all is my favorite expression.

So.

This morning, I was at Wal-Mart for the few things for yet another office party that I had failed to get on my previous five trips earlier in the week. I tend to have bad luck when it comes to check out lines and I’ve learned that the key is not to find the shortest line, but to spot the most skilled checker.

With that criterion in mind, I landed in a line directly behind THE electric cart lady. Yes, the same electric cart lady! I stood in line the requisite 20 paces back as determined by our previous meeting and because I was feeling repentent for all of the bad thoughts I had the last time we met, I was determined that I was going to be the “Better” person, no matter what happened.

The checker was a young man, about 20 and he was reasonably proficient. He managed to get electric cart lady checked out and on her not-so-merry way. I don’t say that in a mean way its just that she has a perma-scowl on her face and so I am concerned about the state of her Christmas mental Health. The checker got her done lickety-split (that’s North Carolinian for Quickly) and they he started to ring up my stuff.

I noticed that as I pulled my cart forward to the bag-turnstyle-thingee that electric cart lady had left behind a bag that contained a carton of eggs. So I told the young man checking the groceries that she probably hadn’t gotten too far and that if he hurried, he could catch her. So I’m standing there with outstretched arms holding a bag of eggs across the conveyor belt as though I’m offering him my first-born son. And checkout boy just looks at me. And then he looks at the eggs. And then back at me. With contempt. I’m not sure if the contempt was for me or for the eggs. Maybe he can’t eat dairy, I don’t know. But then he rolls his eyes to emphasize his contempt for almost 40-year-old women offering eggs. And I could see why. After all, a man of his stature and in his position could not be seen running after an electric cart lady hollering, “Ma’am, you forgot your eggs!” So undignified.

So to help him in making a good choice, and because of my vow to be nicer to electric cart lady, I thrust the eggs at him again and said to him in my best mother voice, “Young man. Go. Take that woman her eggs.” I nodded my head at him and gave him my disturbing “is it sweet or is it wicked” smile. And that must have frightened him because he took the eggs and trotted after electric cart lady, but not before heaving a sigh of yet more contempt. I waited patiently for his return while the three people in line behind me took turns heaving sighs of contempt in my direction. For all of you tweenager parents you should try this its great practice for the actual teen years.

When he resumed his post, I said, “There now. Aren’t you glad you did that? Wasn’t she appreciative?”

And he said flatly, “No. No she wasn’t.”

“But oh! Think of all the stars in your crown!” I said with much merriment.

No. I didn’t really say that. I just said, “Oh. I can see that.”

As I left, I checked the bag-turnstyle-thingee three times to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. I didn’t want checkout boy and three contempt-heaving shoppers to return my eggs to me one knuckleball at a time.

But I left that store with my head held high knowing that electric cart lady could enjoy a good omelet if she wanted to.