I just got back from Wal-Mart, and I’m once again asking myself why I shop there.
The main reason, I guess, is proximity. I live two minutes from the East Capitol Drive location. The second reason is because they have incredibly cheap prices on diapers. Consequently, as the mother of two toddlers who expel excessive amounts of apple juice, I find myself in the place about once a week.
My father told me Wal-Mart actually loses money on diapers. They purposely under price them to lure in people like myself who intend to buy a simple pack of nappies but find themselves with a cart-full of incidentals instead. (Today it was a new Brita pitcher; two half-priced plastic wineglasses for the patio and a couple of Hello Kitty toothbrushes for the boys.)
I have tried to educate myself on the evils of Wal-Mart to curb my shopping trips there. I rented the Wal-Mart movie, “The High Cost of Low Prices,” and indeed I was abhorred by much of the content. But I still find myself aimlessly strolling the airconditioned aisles of crap in a perplexing state of consumer's peace.
(Side note: Anyone noticed how some of the Wal-Marts now have floorplans identical to Target’s? Women’s clothing on the left when you walk in; baby stuff in the middle, men’s against the back wall, etc.)
I have taught my kids to refer to Wal-Mart as the “evil empire” and they do. Seriously, they ask, “Are we going shopping at the Outpost or the evil empire?” It’s funny, in a way, but I recognize that by shopping there -- and also condemning it -- I am passing on my annoying love-hate relationship with Wal-Mart to my kids.
(On the one hand, I do understand the spirit of capitalism, and I know it's arguable that Wal-Mart is good for America in certain ways. But overall, I guess I'm still bitter about the loss of unique places like the Oriental Drugstore and other long-gone mom-and-pop shops that were trampled by chain stores.)
At one point, I was so disgusted with my consumption at Wal-Mart that I wrote this poem. I took out some of the four-letter words, but you’ll still catch my drift.
Meditation on Wal-Mart
Spiritual worship followed by Wal-Mart. I’m worse
than SUV’s with anti oil-war bumper stickers.
But here I am, sacrificing my sense
of right and wrong to save
a small stack of shillings
on a pack of Pampers.
Glass door slides open
and the urge to splurge sets in
before I see a single bubble-headed
gumball dispenser. Deep breath.
Focus on the squeaky cart wheel
and imagine it’s the sound
of crying Chinese children
miserable from making miniature Hummers.
See yellow smiley faces as festering pocks
on the face of the American dream.
Say your mantra if you must,
“screw cheap candles
and crappy-stitched tops;
forget fuzzy two-penny pillows
and the entire concept
of a disposable mop.”
Head directly for the diapers
and ignore voice reminding
you need cake frosting and floss.
Push the cart with one hand,
shape the other into anti-WalMart mudra,
try not to crash into the end cap stacked with rap.
Detach from the desire to buy
silver sparkly gloves and the shoes you love
that cost a bucket of ducats less
then they do down the block.
Detach from the fact your brand of tampons
is just a bloody two dollars,
put back the plunger and the Pez dispensers,
pay the prisoner in the blue vest.
Exit the evil empire of exploitation
with the promise never to return
so you leave with a pellet of pride.
That, and maybe a monster bag of M&M’s.
The main reason, I guess, is proximity. I live two minutes from the East Capitol Drive location. The second reason is because they have incredibly cheap prices on diapers. Consequently, as the mother of two toddlers who expel excessive amounts of apple juice, I find myself in the place about once a week.
My father told me Wal-Mart actually loses money on diapers. They purposely under price them to lure in people like myself who intend to buy a simple pack of nappies but find themselves with a cart-full of incidentals instead. (Today it was a new Brita pitcher; two half-priced plastic wineglasses for the patio and a couple of Hello Kitty toothbrushes for the boys.)
I have tried to educate myself on the evils of Wal-Mart to curb my shopping trips there. I rented the Wal-Mart movie, “The High Cost of Low Prices,” and indeed I was abhorred by much of the content. But I still find myself aimlessly strolling the airconditioned aisles of crap in a perplexing state of consumer's peace.
(Side note: Anyone noticed how some of the Wal-Marts now have floorplans identical to Target’s? Women’s clothing on the left when you walk in; baby stuff in the middle, men’s against the back wall, etc.)
I have taught my kids to refer to Wal-Mart as the “evil empire” and they do. Seriously, they ask, “Are we going shopping at the Outpost or the evil empire?” It’s funny, in a way, but I recognize that by shopping there -- and also condemning it -- I am passing on my annoying love-hate relationship with Wal-Mart to my kids.
(On the one hand, I do understand the spirit of capitalism, and I know it's arguable that Wal-Mart is good for America in certain ways. But overall, I guess I'm still bitter about the loss of unique places like the Oriental Drugstore and other long-gone mom-and-pop shops that were trampled by chain stores.)
At one point, I was so disgusted with my consumption at Wal-Mart that I wrote this poem. I took out some of the four-letter words, but you’ll still catch my drift.
Meditation on Wal-Mart
Spiritual worship followed by Wal-Mart. I’m worse
than SUV’s with anti oil-war bumper stickers.
But here I am, sacrificing my sense
of right and wrong to save
a small stack of shillings
on a pack of Pampers.
Glass door slides open
and the urge to splurge sets in
before I see a single bubble-headed
gumball dispenser. Deep breath.
Focus on the squeaky cart wheel
and imagine it’s the sound
of crying Chinese children
miserable from making miniature Hummers.
See yellow smiley faces as festering pocks
on the face of the American dream.
Say your mantra if you must,
“screw cheap candles
and crappy-stitched tops;
forget fuzzy two-penny pillows
and the entire concept
of a disposable mop.”
Head directly for the diapers
and ignore voice reminding
you need cake frosting and floss.
Push the cart with one hand,
shape the other into anti-WalMart mudra,
try not to crash into the end cap stacked with rap.
Detach from the desire to buy
silver sparkly gloves and the shoes you love
that cost a bucket of ducats less
then they do down the block.
Detach from the fact your brand of tampons
is just a bloody two dollars,
put back the plunger and the Pez dispensers,
pay the prisoner in the blue vest.
Exit the evil empire of exploitation
with the promise never to return
so you leave with a pellet of pride.
That, and maybe a monster bag of M&M’s.
Molly Snyder started writing and publishing her work at the age 10, when her community newspaper printed her poem, "The Unicorn.” Since then, she's expanded beyond the subject of mythical creatures and written in many different mediums but, nearest and dearest to her heart, thousands of articles for OnMilwaukee.
Molly is a regular contributor to FOX6 News and numerous radio stations as well as the co-host of "Dandelions: A Podcast For Women.” She's received five Milwaukee Press Club Awards, served as the Pfister Narrator and is the Wisconsin State Fair’s Celebrity Cream Puff Eating Champion of 2019.
