Made in America

Slam them if you like — I often do — but we (my family, not necessarily yours) would be screwed without Wal-Mart. Let me first say that I hate the amount of land that their buildings take up, I hate that they frequently vacate older buildings and refuse to sublet the empty property to another retailer, I hate their buildings' design, I hate the documented disparity in pay (and opportunity) between male and female employees, and I especially hate their corporate philosophy of obnoxious, overblown American pride. I love this country, too, but come on!

But, with all that said, Wal-Mart, by far, has the cheapest prices of anyone. Sure, I would rather support small, locally owned retail outlets, but when you're living on a very limited budget it's impossible to do so. Plus, when you add dragging around a kid into the mix, making several stops when you could just make one suddenly seems quite illogical. So, can you guess where Connor and I went today? Yup, the bank...and the recycling drop-off...and the post office...and, of course, the fandangulous stupendorific Wal-Mart SuperCenter.

I just realized that I forgot to mention the most important function of Wal-Mart in our lives: recreation. We have no shopping mall here in town, we have few parks and our neighborhood isn't exactly pedestrian friendly. So, when we're feeling cooped up, we head to the wonderful aisles of America's retail bo-whemoth. Connor gets to run his brains out, and I try to keep him from getting run over by frantic shoppers racing through the store like Richard Petty (who are often dressed like him, to boot). Good times, good times.

We were racing through one aisle when Connor stopped and asked to be picked up. (Opp? Opp? Opp?) Right about then, a man, probably in his 50s walked past us and Connor stared at him. Usually men won't even acknowledge little kids in public (seriously), but this guy smiled and said "hey, little buddy." Connor looked at him blankly, and I said, "Crazy man," because that's one of the names I call Connor sometimes. (If you'd seen him tearing through the store, you'd understand). I'm pretty sure the guy thought I was talking about him, though, (right to his face, even) because he gave me a look and walked off without saying anything else. It was all I could do not to laugh as he hustled off. (I may be a jerk, but I'm not the kind of jerk to openly intimidate people for talking to my kid — give me some credit; I'm much more passive-aggressive than that.)

So, we went back to playing with Wal-Mart's stuff, and ended up spending a grand total of about $3. Three bucks for an hour spent exhausting Connor in an air-conditioned building? I'll take that any day.