Spell That Again Please?

Heyas,

Yeah. So. I have this theory. And work with me here, 'cause it's just a theory...but anyway, my theory is that WalMart is actually an interdimensional gate to the ninth circle of Hell. No, no, hear me out on this. Think about it. Does anyone ever look happy to be in WalMart? Sure, they've got low, low prices, but seriously, look at the people around you next time you're there. Everyone looks pissed off. Or tired. Or both.

Even the greeters look like they can't be bothered, most of the time. And think about the parking lot. Does anyone ever have a good time in a WalMart parking lot? No! Because everyone's jockeying for the same three spaces at the front of the store and everyone else is agry because they couldn't get those three spaces and so have to trek over miles and miles of hot asphalt to be half-heartedly waved into a place where everyone already looks irritated or exhausted. It's full of screaming kids, and harried parents, and bored-looking cashiers, and "sales associates" that really and truly always seem to be just coming off a cigarette break or going on a cigarette break.

So. Hell.

But yeah, can't really argue with the prices.

Oh my darling Imp, the things I am already doing for you.

I got my confirmation email that the Imp's stroller has come in and can now be picked up at the store. You know...the one I got such a great deal on? The one registered to "Elfgirl Sebastian"? So it's hear and available, and I probably should wait another day to go get it because it's already six o' clock by the time the email comes through and it's been a loooooooooong day (okay, seriously, people...103 degree heat plus outdoor "funday" activities for middle-schoolers plus no shade or water stations equals HEATSTROKE!!!! You want me to take my kids OUTSIDE all morning? Are you INSANE?!?!?!?! Thanks for listening to that, I feel better now).

But I'm not a particularly patient person these days, especially when there are goodies involved. So I throw myself in my car and trundle up to the ninth circle of Hell...er, WalMart, browse around a bit (and okay, get a cute little sleeper to add to the clothes collection...it was Tigger! I was weak!), and finally head back to the 'site-to-store' pickup area (formerly known as the layaway area, back when WalMart still did layaway...huh, does anyone do layaway anymore?)

And it's deserted.

"Huh," I think to myself, spying a large sign over a white, doorbell style button on the wall proclaiming: "Please Push Hear For Assistance"

No. That wasn't a typo. *sigh*

But whatever, I push.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And finally notice another, much smaller sign beside one of the little keypads where you can swipe your debit card and enter your PIN, proclaiming: "Need assistance? Touch this screen!"

Well, at least it's spelled right. So, yay, I touch the screen and am informed that an associate is being notified.

And wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And finally "Associate notified. Someone will be with you shortly!"

Well...someone was not with me shortly. Another five minutes go by, and no one appears. Keep in mind, all during this time there are salespeople going in and out of the doors behind the counter. Not a single one of them so much as looks in my direction. And at this point, I'm getting irritated, but stubbornly reminding myself that I worked in retail once and I understand how it is. Yes, yes, I know, they're getting paid to be helpful, but sometimes...the customer really can shove it where the sun don't shine.

I press the screen again. And am again informed that someone is being notified.

At this point, some woman drags her daughter in to go to the bathroom (and I mean that literally...the girl--eh, three, maybe four--is full out on the floor being dragged by one hand, kicking, screaming, crying, and shrieking about how she wants to look at toys, and Mom is promising over and over that as soon as Mommy goes to the bathroom, they'll go look at toys...and I'm sorry, but if I'd thrown a tantrum like that in a public place, my mother would have been dragging my ass OUT of the store, promising over and over again that as soon as we got to the car she would GIVE me something to cry about. Consequently? I only behaved like that in public, like, twice.)

By now, something like fifteen minutes has passed, I've been informed twice by the WalMart version of HAL that someone is "on the way" and I'm pretty sure my ears are bleeding from the sheer volume of the kid's screaming. So finally, I snag one of the endless stream of employees going in and out of the doors to the "backroom" and I'm all, "Is someone on duty, please? I've been here for going on fifteen minutes and your screen has told me twice that someone is going to be with me shortly."

And I kid you not, the lady looks at me and goes: "Oh, I'm sorry! I thought you were waiting for the bathroom!"

Yes. I was waiting for the bathroom.

In the room with absolutely no line for the bathroom.

On the other SIDE of said room from the bathroom.

Practically sitting on the counter of the site-to-store pickup, periodically trying to get HAL to help me by pressing his screen.

God, I hate WalMart.

So anyway, she comes over and boots her little computer up, and is all, "how can I help you?"

"I'm here to pick up an order for @#(*@)$(@^%(#*$." (for the record, no I wasn't cursing...I just tried to use my real name to get the order first, as I was on the pickup slip under my real name, and I really wanted to avoid what happened next.)

"I'm sorry, there's no record of that name."

"Oh...well, the order was placed under the name Sebastian."

"Spell that?"

"Sebastian...s-e-b-a-s-t-"

"Wait, s-e-b-what?"

"A-s-t-i-"

"Say that again?"

"Sebastian....S-E-B-A-S-T-I-A-N."

"Huh...I'm sorry, no record...what was the first name?"

"Uh...Elfgirl."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Elfgirl."

*blank look*

"E-L-F-G-I-R-L."

"You...you sure that's the name?"

"Yup."

"Can you spell that again, please?"

"Elf. Girl. E-l-f, g-i-r-l."

"Are you SURE that's the name?"

"Uh, her parents were hippies."

Best part? They couldn't find that name either and had to track me through my phone number. Morons. Didn't even ask me for my freakin' ID...good thing I wasn't somebody who just happened to be reading over someone's shoulder when the email came through, now isn't it?

Yeesh.

But it's worth it, Imp. I have your stroller and your infant car seat all assembled (minimum of swearing...like, only one or two f-bombs throughout the whole process!) and just waiting for you to take your first ride. If all goes according to plan, you'll be in my arms in less than a year (yes, choosing to be optimistic. Sue me.)...can't wait, love.

Things Elfgirl is looking forward to: going HOME this weekend, for a whole month. And after that...AFRICA!

Things currently annoying the crap out of her: WalMart. Obviously.

Pretty boy of the moment: Zachary Quinto. You better not suck as Spock, there, Sylar. Just sayin'.