The Sunday Column

By Chuck Thompson | The Sunday Column

OPINION — At first I thought I was probably asleep, having one of those lucid dreams where everyone and everything seemed as real as it does during the day, then I thought maybe I was on some sort of hallucinate drug - its chemical composition must be racing through my veins, having entered the cerebral cortex of my brain and caused such a horrible, weird, perception of a distorted reality. However, I had not been drinking and I don’t do drugs; this place is just the way things are in this conglomerate of camouflaged underwear worn on the outside of battered sweatpants, odd smells from passers-by, the incoherent ramblings of people as they take a toaster off the shelf and compare it to another one.

The decadence of items abound with low prices, cheap material, and the belief one is getting a good deal on a lightbulb with a 7 year lifespan that’ll burn out in 6 months.

The screaming of children and the yelling of mothers demanding that their children be quiet, yet not setting an example to follow and they yell down the main wide isle at a friend they see, as they gain everyone’s attention except that whom they desire to speak to.

Such a weird place to spend an hour trying to find cereal for an acceptable price in this inflated defunct financial economy riddled with open wounds and infectious diseases, held together by band-aides and scotch tape.

Danger lurking around every corner as mothers with seven children in-tow, and grandmothers gathered for an outing, ferociously swing their cart around a blind corner, side-swiping other shopping carts as they pass by, looking at the other person as if it’s their fault that someone hit them, and all I need is some 1% milk & cheerios.

Good grief, what a bastardly chaotic despot of an arena that place is. I was at Walmart.

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