The People of Walmart are Revolting

There's a little more to that title. The people of Walmart are revolting, the people of Save A Lot are a-bolting, and the people of the gas station chicken store are quite jolting.

Yes, this is Val, your roving reporter in Backroads. This afternoon on the Walmart parking lot, The Pony and I almost became another retail store statistic. I left The Pony inside driving like a maniac on a simulator in the game room. Yet he does not wish to get his driving permit. Go figure. I pushed my cart that I use like a walker (but without the snazzy tennis balls) up the row to the Tahoe. About six cars past me was a curious sight. I kept one eye on it while I loaded the merchandise.

A small gray car was headed the wrong way up the row. A gray Ford Marquis was headed the right way, but was stopped in front of the wrong-way car. They were almost touching noses. At first I thought one needed a battery jump from the other. Cars coming down the row first stopped, then squeezed by. Tiny Car and Mr. Marquis remained. Nobody got out. Nothing was happening. The Pony joined me. He put my cart/walker in the cart return corral and hopped in. "Let's go."

"No. I want to see what's going on. Look. Can you tell what they're doing?"

"No. Someone is sitting in each car."

"Let's listen." I put a window down. A couple of women walked up the row. One in a red sweatshirt stopped on the passenger side of Tiny Car. I couldn't hear her because some dang hillbillies went by on the next row in their bigfoot truck. Red Sweatshirt went to the driver's side of Mr. Marquis. Again, I couldn't hear. The Pony feigned deafness, even though he can hear a tick crunch into a dog's butt at 500 yards. Red Sweatshirt shrugged her shoulders. Tilted both hands skyward. She came closer to join her friend.

"Mr. Marquis won't move because Tiny Car is going the wrong way. And Tiny Car refuses to move until Mr. Marquis gets out of the way. They're going to be there forever. They're almost blocking traffic. The one guy got kind of smart with me. He said he's going to call 911. I'm going to get security."

I don't think Red Sweatshirt had a dog in this fight. But those cars WERE blocking in about 12 other vehicles that might have wanted to back out. Red Sweatshirt whistled without using her fingers. She waved her arms back and forth like a signalman on an aircraft carrier. Her friend started toward the store, doing the same thing. I assumed they were trying to get the attention of whoever was monitoring the parking lot security cameras. That is, unless that dude was kicked back in his chair licking BBQ powder off his fingers and tilting the crumbs from his bag of pork rinds into his gaping maw.

A county sheriff's deputy was parked in front of the store. He got out and came up the row to talk to Red Sweatshirt. He nodded and went to Tiny Car. "You ARE going the wrong way." I didn't hear the reply. Deputy went to Mr. Marquis. "Why don't you just squeeze around there?" Again, I couldn't hear the reply. Deputy went back to Tiny Car and emphasized the wrong-wayness. Then Mr. Marquis backed up and squeezed past, leaving Tiny Car an open aisle to cruise up the wrong way.

Ain't that a kick in the butt? Just like in everything else in today's cockamamie world, the guy in the right had to yield to the guy in the wrong. Mr. Marquis was NOT happy. He pulled into a spot across the row from me. I couldn't get a good look, and The Pony refused to take a picture. He said it was a little old man wearing a cap. The passenger sat there, leaned over, unbuckled the shoulder belt, sat there...and after about five minutes, Mr. Marquis backed out and drove off. But not before a red SUV had gone barreling THE WRONG WAY up the same row at about 40 mph.

I bemoan the downfall of society. Time to get crackin' on my neglected proposed handbasket factory.

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To be continued...