Well, I'm sad to say that Uncle Bob does not have the monopoly on fucked up experiences at Wal-Mart. Where do they find the people who work there? They must take the people Circuit City won't. It was the perfect ending to a somewhat fucked up day.

I tried to call my flight instructor Mickey yesterday and found something that does not bode well. Normally, when I'd call his number, his machine would pick up and play a message where he says (way too loud!) that "you have reached xxx-xxxx", if you are calling for flight instruction...blah...blah". He was living with his ex-wife while, I believe, he was waiting for something in the courts to be resolved and he get his money from it. Well, when I called yesterday, instead of his voice booming over the receiver and temporarily deafening me, I'm treated to a female voice (a female voice that sounds like she's been smoking unfiltered Camels at 5 packs a day, but female none the less). So, now I'm worried. Did they have a fight? Has he moved? Where the fuck is he? All I need is about a 1 hour 45 minute flight and then take my written and checkride and I'll be done. That is...if I can find him. Perfect.

I made a deal with the wife last night that if I got home before her, I would start cooking supper. Well, I got held up here doing an entry and filling out the app for Diary Survivor and was kind of surprised when I got home around 6:00 and she wasn't there. Well, I marched right in and started preparing supper. I had everything in the oven and ready to at 6:55 (I remember because the chicken had to bake for ½ an hour and I didn't really want to bother with the timer on the microwave) and she still wasn't home. So, I pop open a diet coke and sit down to watch a special I'd taped off of the Comedy Channel of Henry Rollins in London. About 7:30, the phone rings and I check the caller ID and it says pay phone. Uh-oh. "Hello?" "Can you come and get me, the fuckin' car won't start." Great. Luckily, I still had my clothes on from work so I just slipped my shoes back on, turned off the stove since everything was almost done anyway, and headed out. When I get to the grocery store, I see the wife and the kids up by the store in the shade and as they start making their way back out to where I am, I try starting the car. It turns over fine, so it's not the battery, but it won't catch. I go to check the fuel gauge when she says "I just filled it up." Shit, I wish I knew something about cars. Well, I get some starter fluid and spray into the carberator and have her try it. It starts, but the minute she tries to give it gas, it dies. So we try again and I tell her not to touch the gas. It starts again, but sputters for about 20 seconds and then dies. The more we try to start it, the more the battery runs down so I give up and we all pile into my little car. I thought things couldn't get any worse. Wrong!

As we pull into the parking spot at home she says, halfheartedly, "Well, now your definitely not going to like what I got at Wal-Mart." Wal-Mart? What the fuck was she doing at Wal-Mart? Of course, I start getting even more pissed because she found time to go to Wal-Mart, but didn't make it to Walgreen's to get me more Listerine for my tongue and lip piercing because I'm about out. I'm a selfish fucker, ain't I? Anyway, we get home and unload and I see that she's gotten a digital camera. Now, I have mixed emotions. My parents (read my MOM), have been bugging me and bugging me saying they (she) wish I could get a digital camera because we're bad, and I mean really bad, about taking film in and picking it up. So, cool, we have a digital camera now. But at the same time, I'm kind of bummed. See, I've been spoiled by going to Oshkosh. All the digital cameras that everyone has up there are high end. Our Executive Editor has one that retails for $1000 (he got it for about ½), our Publisher has one that's at least $1000 if not more, and of course, there was Dave who was using a super professional model. The camera part alone was $6,000. The one lens he had that I saw was over $2,000 by itself. So, I'm thinking we got a real piece of shit camera. So, I'm happy but I'm not. Things would change though.

After our lovely Herb & Garlic Chicken dinner, the wife starts looking through the "catalog" pamphlet that came with the camera. Oh yeah, I find out that the one she got was the last one they had and it didn't have a manual...great. Anyway, she shows me a picture of one that looks like the one we got, only it has a removeable flash card. The pictures are stored in memory on this thin little card. The one we have doesn't do that. She looks at me and says, "They had this one there too and it was only about $60 more." Well, I, for once in my life, make an executive decision. "Let's go exchange this one for that one." So, I finish eating as she feeds the baby and about 9:30 or so, we pack the kids up and head to Wal-Mart. Of course, the whole way there, I'm remembering Uncle Bob's adventures at Wally world and wondering if we'll have a similar experience, hoping we won't.

Luckily, it's fairly late so there's plenty of parking close to the front. Hey, I'm tired and pissed off, the last thing I want to do is walk. Ironic considering what happens later. We walk up to the service desk which is amazingly empty and tell the woman we want to exchange it. At first she's kind of questioning, and calls a manager who comes over, and in turn calls someone else. By the time the little phone tree is finished they, both very polite women, tell us to go get what we wanted and to come back. Simple enough, eh? Yeah, right. As we meander over to the electronics section, Demonchild starts asking if they have toys here. Not a good sign. And of course, me, in my not totally attentive state tell him, "Of course they do." Ooops! Now, it's a non-stop ramble of "Me can get a toy to take home since I have been behaving? Me can get toy?" I still don't know why he can't grasp the concept of "I can?" over "Me can?". Anyway, I'm dragging him down the aisle, slapping his hand as he reaches for various objects, most of them breakable (typical, eh?) and finally arrive at the electronics register with him still babbling behind me. The wife walks up beside me and points to the one we're going to get. Cool. That's easy. I'll just have the guy open the cabinet, get us one in a box and we're out of here. Oh, no. Now, I get a glimpse of the multiverse that is Wal-Mart. Aparently, there is more than one reality in Wal-Mart and these are lorded over by the area managers like Hitler lorded over the camps. At least we weren't the only cattle rounded up in this pen.

Let me draw it out for you. The digital cameras are in with the video cameras in a big display at the entrance to the electroncs area. There are two registers, only one is open and the guy working there is standing directly behind the video/digital camera display. I could have reached out and slapped him if I wanted to, which later I did. On his other side, forming a nice little alcove for him, are the regular 35mm film cameras. There's a couple standing by them, waiting for assistance too. It's like we're standing on opposite shores of a stream of confusion and we've got Hadji, the rude-ass "associate" guiding us into oblivion. After standing for about 10 minutes, telling Demonchild "Don't touch that!" about 3,000 times, I finally go stand in front of the register (a whole 3 feet from where I was standing) and tell the guy that I want to get a digital camera. He takes time, barely, away from counting out his drawer to tell me that he's phoned for assistance because there are other people needing help and he has to get someone from the photo-lab to come back. The photo-lab? We have to wait for someone from the photo-lab to come to electronics to help us? Well, I would have querried further, but he went back to counting his money and completely zoned me (and the rest of the world) out. So we waited.

And waited and waited and waited. No one shows up. There was a young black man who Hadji handed a set of keys to and he was helping a lady get a Playstation, and I think he helped the couple who were looking at the regular cameras. So we wait somemore. Ok, maybe Hadj didn't understand what I meant, so I walk the 2 feet back over to the register and tell him that we already know what we want, all we need is someone to open the cabinet and get it out for us. He nods to me like a fuckin' immigrant who doesn't understand english and then says that we have to wait for someone from the photo-lab, he can't open it. What? You can't open the cabinet that you're standing 6 inches from? The wife is really getting cheesed, so she hands me 'Bear Jr. and goes to the photo-lab herself to find someone. I'd hate to be that person. Sadly, she comes back 5 minutes later and says "The photo-lab is closed. The lights are all turned out." In this time, another WallyWorld employee has come over and she's standing in front of Hadji's register telling all who ask that the register is closed. At least she's nice. Fuckin' Hadji was so fucking rude he'd have won the uncongeniality award. I'm getting fed up and I say "You can't open this cabinet? Right here?" Without looking, he shakes his head no and then tells the black lady there something about Bob being the only one who can open it (or a mangaer). What the fuck is this? Pissed to no end, we head off back to the service desk in search of Bob.

As we're walking off the black lady gives us a piece of information that just saved her ass from the hit list "Look for a manager...they have red vests on." Oh, that's helpful. As we head back to the service desk, a rather large woman comes waddling out of an aisle and lo and behold, she has a red vest on. The wife locked onto her like a stinger missle and followed her to the desk. But (there's always a but) before we could ask her anything she gets tied up with some idiotic black woman who's trying to return a phone that's definitely been abused and doesn't have a receipt. To make matters worse, Demonchild looks up at us and says "I have to go pee." Wonderful. Luckily, we're mere feet from the bathroom, so I take him in and tell the wife to jump that manager the minute she's free. Finally, things were picking up.

After Demonchild pees all over ½ of the men's room, we head back out and I see the wife talking to a woman who, even though she doesn't have a red vest on, is definitely a manager. She says something about being very sorry and that she will help us in just 2 seconds, she has a managers meeting. Fine. Good. Go. Hurry up. We wait about 10 minutes listening to this woman still try to return this fuckin' phone even after 3 managers have told her no, and then "our" manager comes out and says "Let's get you taken care of." Yah! She's got some balls BAYBEE! We head back over to the electronics section and listen to her and the other manager laugh at the black woman trying to return the phone and have a bit of a private snicker. As we get to electronics, one manager asks the other what the black woman (the other employee) is doing just standing there, and our manager says, "I asked her to stand there so Mohammed could take his break." And she said it none too pleased. So, his name is Mohammed, eh? And we're definitely not the only one who's shit list he's on. Well, she gets the cabinet open, finds the correct box and closes it back up. All of which took less than 5 minutes (once she found the right cabinet). She even took some time out to engage us in polite conversation. Didn't help my mood any. With loot in hand, we hightailed it back to the service desk, paid the difference for our better camera and were out of there. Finally. I could just feel my IQ slowly dropping every minute we were in there. It's that whole multiple universe thing. Has to be.

As we were leaving, I spotted one last thing that just defies my logic, but aparently, in WallyWorld makes sense. I see another man by the service desk wearing a beige, knit sweater vest like our buddy Mohammed and it says "Sporting Goods" on the patch. I think about it for a minute and then realize that Mohammed's did to. What the FUCK is a guy from Sporting Goods doing over in the electronics area? No wonder people can't open shit in there own department, it's not their fuckin' department! Well, homicide averted, we get home and check out the new camera. I stick the batteries in and immediately start taking pics of the wife in various erotic, nude poses. We even used it to take pictures of us having sex. Ok, not really, but you probalby assumed we would didn't you? Freaks. I did get her to try to take a good pic of my tattoo, but for some reason we couldn't get it to come out. If we used the flash, it reflected in my tattoo and you couldn't see the whole thing, and if we didn't used the flash, you could see the whole thing, but it looked bad. Oh well. I think she's figured it out. She better have, she's been playing with it all day. The camera you perverts!

So, that's the story of our venture into the mysterious dimension of WallyWorld and how we made it out alive and with our sanity. If you're ever in a similar experience, just remember, keep eye contact with the creature and speak in a clear, precise manner. Oh, and never forget the phrase "I want to see a manager, shitlick." Works all the time. Well, thanks for stopping by. Now go away, I'm going to take nude photos of my wife in explicit poses and sell them on the internet. Heeee...I'm such a bad bear.

"Where are we going and why am I in this handbasket?"

Icebear

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