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WAL MART WILL DESTROY YOU / A DAY IN THE LIFE
There are two stories by Reid Laurence on this page:
Why Wal-Mart Will Destroy You
Focusing my eyes on a big red sign in front of me, I read the words off one by one as I stood gazing in awe... 'Wun... Hung... Lowe...' I muttered to myself, as a crowd of people fought to keep their places in the haphazard line that formed. 'Wouldya look at that. I can't believe they even have a Chinese restaurant here. They have everything! I wonder what else I can get here?' I thought, as I looked around in disbelief at the huge scale of the building I now stood in the rough center of.
Dodging shopping carts pushed by people who seemed not to notice me, I didn't mind the slight shoves and blows to the body I received as I walked from department to department of seemingly marked down items that I and so many others like me were plainly unable to resist. 'Wow! Look at that,' I thought. 'I can even buy a car at Wal-Mart. This is great! I'll surprise Mary with a new car and get all our shopping done before she wakes up. This must be Heaven,' I said to myself, making my way through the droves of shoppers who crowded the path to the dealership as my unsuspecting wife slept through the bustle of Sunday morning shoppers.
Finally, having reached the culmination of my shopping experience, I grudgingly left the store and packed everything I’d bought that day into the waiting semi-truck I'd rented just to make the day, and my shopping experience that much more pleasant. The only thing I hadn't counted on were all the many people who seemed to have had the same idea as me, and countless eighteen wheel trucks lined up in the parking lot just waiting their turn to be packed full of groceries; clothing; electronics and other such sundries enough to make any red-blooded American neighbor as red as a beet.
After an hour of waiting, it was at last my turn at the loading dock, and while three tired looking men quickly loaded up the treasures I'd purchased with several new lines of credit and a home equity loan, I took up my position on the passenger side of the truck and watched as the kindly driver attached my new car in tow. With only a mile to drive, I could almost see the look on my wife's face as we passed the familiar landmarks I'd come to know so well, and when we turned the last corner that led to my street, the great feeling of anticipation filled the air, and soon our destination had arrived.
Running inside to gently wake her, I whispered sweet nothings into her ear and before I knew it, she was alert, rubbing her eyes and asking the time... "You better have a good excuse for this you jerk. Why the hell would you wake me up on a Sunday? Go on, spit it out. What is wrong with your brain? What time is it anyway?"
"It's eleven o'clock pumpkin. Time to rise and shine. You don't wanna miss the whole day now do you? Besides, I've got surprises for you I know you're gonna love!"
"You didn't get me that cheap whiskey again, that 'Canadian Shlub' stuff? My head still hurts from the last time I drank that swill."
"Oh no my dove. These are great surprises, I promise. You won't be let down," I said, almost simultaneously as the Wal-Mart truck driver knocked three times on our modest front door.
"Who the hell is that?" asked Mary. "Don't they know it's Sunday? Tell'em ta get lost."
"But honey," I answered. "These are the surprises I was telling you about. You just sit there and I'll show you what I bought. And don't you worry about what I paid either. I've got it all worked out through a banker at Wal-Mart, and for a small loan commission he needed to get things moving, he let me take out what you call a HELOC, or a Home Equity Line Of Credit. Don't worry, it'll all work out."
"You took out a second mortgage ta buy crap we don't need at Wal-Mart? You're crazier then I thought. Take it back. Take it all back."
"But honey lamb, just look at what I got you," I replied, opening the door as wide as its hinges would allow, so my adoring wife could get a good first look at the new Chevy Corvette the driver was just now detaching from its towing apparatus. "Whaddaya think?" I questioned. "Isn't it the greatest! Just think how good you'll look in it!"
"I'm thinking my mother was right," replied my wife. "I never should've married you. You're spending us into oblivion."
"No I'm not," I said evasively. "I'm merely getting you the things you deserve out of life. You only live once you know. I'm just trying to help. Here, look at this," I remarked. "Take a gander," I said, as I unfolded the papers I'd been trying my best to keep secret since I'd arrived home. "Look," I continued. "Isn't it cool!?"
"It's a thirty year mortgage note," replied Mary. "For what? Where? We have a home now don't we?"
"Not for long, my sweet. I'm selling it," I said, as the driver and his helpers pushed their way past us with the new eighty inch, giant screen t.v. I'd only just bought. "Wake up Mary," I insisted. "Welcome to the new age of spending without guilt. Don't be afraid to extend your credit lines a little. That's what they're there for... to use and enjoy."
"I'm afraid to ask," was all my wife could say after all that I'd explained, as the driver began bringing in some of the new furniture I'd picked out. "How in the world did we qualify for a loan? You're wrecking our credit with all these purchases."
"No I'm not. I'm building it up," I explained. "We may not have the cash now, but we're bound to in the future. Heck, didn't you say you had a great aunt that was gonna leave you something? Besides, don't worry about the new house loan. We got in on what they call an ARM. An Adjustable Rate Mortgage. Millions of people are doing it."
"Sure, they suck you in with a low rate for the first three years an then they take your house when you can't pay the balance or refinance. Didn't you know that? We'll be living on the street in a refrigerator box you idiot."
"No we won't my sweet. I don't know why you underestimate me so. We'll be making more money when the note comes due. The loan officer assured me. Besides, we've got a whole year to sit back and enjoy our new, low rate."
"You mean the notes' due in a year?"
"Sure. Why, what's the harm?"
"Oh, nothing. You're right. Say... where'd you put those twelve gauge shells for the shotgun?"
"In my desk drawer, why?"
"Let's just call it 'women's intuition', but I think I know how to solve our money problems."
"What problems?"
"Never mind. Just sit down and relax in one a those new chairs you bought an I'll be with you in a minute..."
"Is it a surprise! I love surprises. This is gonna be a blast!"
"You said it."
End
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A DAY IN THE LIFE
"Look at this crap, Mary. I mean, the age of oil is over. When are we gonna quit suck'in it outta the ground?! It's preposterous already."
"Why don't you put the newspaper down and think of something constructive to do. You know how depressed you get when you read too much bad news."
"Yeah," I answered hastily. "But if I don't read it, I'm totally uninformed. I don't understand what the big deal is anyway. Why can't we just run on alcohol from corn? Venezuela does it, and we're the ones who're supposed ta be technologically advanced. Tell me how that happened, would'ja. I just don't get it."
"I don't know Reid. Call the big oil companies and ask them. We've got our own problems. For one thing, the place is a mess. Why dont'cha help me, an clean up the fish tank. The sides are so dirty, the fish can't see out of it."
"Okay, okay," I replied grudgingly. And getting up from the living room sofa, I walked over to our messy fish tank, found the spongy scraper I used to clean the glass in the cabinet below and began the task of methodically scraping the crud off the glass. "This'll take me forever," I said, realizing how my wife was right, and that the newspaper had successfully depressed the hell out of me. I was now, in fact, trapped in a mode of complaining which can be difficult for me to break out of once I get a good start. "How am I supposed to clean the glass, with this monster suck'in the side like this?" I asked, complaining over the giant, scaly fish we bought who'd attached himself to the glass in a nearly permanent position. Presumably, he was supposed to keep the sides of the tank clean. "I don't think this guy's do'in the job, do you?" I remarked.
"Reid, just do it wouild'ja," replied my wife, Mary. "Move him outta the way an just do it. I knew the paper would wreck your mood. You can't stop complaining now."
"Okay, you win," I said a few minutes later, having completed the task. "Now what?"
"Why dont'cha vacuum. The carpets really messy from dog hair an stuff. Look," she said, pointing to small clumps of fur scattered around the living and dining rooms. "Do what'cha can, while I do the dishes." So in agreement with her - as even a child could see that she had a point and little clumps of fur were everywhere - I went to the laundry room, retrieved the vacuum and began the task of trying to breathe life back into the old rug by going over it with our tired, old vacuum.
"Damn thing won't suck up fer love or money," I soon replied, after having made passes over the clumps of fur again and again, making very little progress.
"Here," answered Mary. "Let me try." But after some time had passed - having made no further progress on the task than I - my wife resolved herself to the possibility that the bag might be in need of changing and responded by saying...”If you get a bag and change it out, that might do the trick. Otherwise, you're gonna have'ta turn it over, take it apart an work your magic on it."
After about thirty minutes of wrestling with old screws, stuck in position by time, dust and grime - as we both knew the job wasn't as simple as a mere change of bags would imply - I got the old machine back in its original mechanical shape and turned it back on, only to find that the lousy thing still wouldn't pick up worth a darn. "This thing really sucks Mary! I can't wait ta get rid of it."
"I know, I know," she said. "Look, I'm getting hungry. It's coming up to dinnertime. Why don't we stop for awhile and decide on what we want."
"Best idea you've had all day," I replied. "How about Italian?"
"Nah. Too many calories," answered my wife. "I'm try'in ta drop a few pounds."
"Okay then. How about Chinese?," I said, trying to think of a low calorie substitute.
"I don't think so. Didn't we just have Chinese a few days ago?"
"Hey, I know!" I remarked, thinking that I'd just had a real brainstorm. "How about some French!? Whaddaya think a that? Good idea, huh?"
"Oh, you know those French portions," replied my wife. "An hour later and I'm hungry again."
"Well now you're do'in all the complaining," I said, getting tired of making suggestions that weren't going anywhere. "When you decide what you want, tell me an I'll go get it."
"Ah, you suck," said Mary out of nowhere, angry with me, I thought, after telling her she was doing more than her share of the complaining, and so I subtly replied with a poignant but deliberate... "you suck!"
"Oh yeah," she said, working herself up to a full head of Irish tempered steam..."you suck!"
"You!" I countered.
"You!" she answered, but getting a hold of myself and the maddened beast within us all, I calmed down long enough to make one final suggestion. "Look," I said. "We're not getting anywhere like this. I just remembered how much you like Mexican. So how about it? Will that do?"
"Oh...Mexican," she answered, in that smooth, cool voice of hers she uses whenever things begin to go right. "Yeah, that's the ticket! Great idea!"
"Fine," I said. "I'll go get it. I won't be gone long. Why don'tcha see whatever else you can get done around the house. Ya might find yerself in a better mood when you see you've made some progress."
One short hour later, I was back with what I'd promised, knocking on our back door to get my wife's attention, but little did I know, that the dinning room table was looking wonderful, the lights were dimmed, the house was spotless, and Mary was dressed in a beautiful black evening dress that she wore for just such occasions. "C'mon in," she said. "I'm starved, what took so long?"
"Don't just stand there," I replied, feeling just about as anxious as she was. "Help me in with 'im, he's heavy."
"Oh boy, he's a big one," she remarked. "Where'd ya find 'im?"
"Does it matter?" I said. "Here, I'll count one, two, three, an on three... we'll lift 'im up on the table okay?"
"Okay"
"One, two, and three," and on the count of three, the two of us had successfully gotten dinner to the table. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" I asked.
"No," answered my wife. "Now then," she continued. "Who gets first bite?"
"You bit the last one first," I replied. "By the time I got to 'im, he was near dry."
"Oh yeah," replied my wife. "Speaking of dry. Remember that Chinese dude I brought home last week? By the time I got to 'im, he looked like a prune. You sucked 'im dry, you piggy."
"Oh yeah," I replied. "You suck!"
"Oh I do, do I? Well, lemme tell you somethin' buster. You suck!"
"You!"
"You!"
****END***
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