The Evil Empire

Eternal damnation is not a fiery pit run by a horned, pitchfork-toting dude with a forked tail. It's a mega-store with Sam Walton's portrait on display. And Wal-Mart is thy name.

Walton, rest his soul, was most likely looking to be a successful businessman (and becoming a billionaire in the process didn't hurt) when he started what has grown into hell on Earth. He is not to blame.

Rather, it is the demonic beings who guide their shopping carts along the merchandise-riddled aisles that make Wal-Mart less than holy.

I offer two examples:

-- Last night, The Girl and I were perusing the offerings in our area Wal-Mart when a demon pushed one of the shopping carts past my daughter. I could almost hear the whoosh from the cart's jet engines as she zoomed past, yelling over her shoulder: "Excuse me, honey, I'm going around you."

Keep in mind that this demon was already around us and ahead of us when she screeched out her advisory.

What was her destination? The cat food aisle.

That must have been one hungry kitty, considering the way she was careening through the store.

-- The second example, also last night, included another woman and her myriad of children.

(Note: Is Wal-Mart a form of recreation for some of these families? Every time I'm in there, there's about three families of 12 -- the WHOLE family -- shopping. Can no one stay at home and mind the dog? Would it kill Dad to watch the kids while Mom goes into town for supplies? Or vice versa? Where do you put your purchases in the vehicle when a dozen warm bodies are littering it? And they always have purchases -- big ones. I have yet to see a U-Haul trailer in the parking lot, so logic tells me they're sitting on their fish sticks and tubs of Neapolitan ice cream on the ride home. I guess the little ones get stuck holding the bread and eggs. But I digress.)

Back to the woman and her throng of children. I'm in the dairy aisle, and The Girl was looking for something specific when I looked to my rear and saw this demon pushing her cart very rapidly down the aisle, with all the kids holding on to the sides and the front. It was surreal -- almost like a scene from "ER" when they have a critical patient they're rushing in.

"Moooooom! Slow down!" warned one of the imps with a modicum of sense, apparently inherited from the father. "You're going to run over people."

"Well, I'm in a hurry!" the bitch huffed.

"So what?!?" yelled I, my bitch switch now officially switched.

The bitch with all the kids responded by whipping out her cell phone and making a phone call. She continued the conversation as she and her entourage ambled aisle after aisle. (OK, I kept up with her, I admit it. Call me bitchy but, you know, she flipped the switch.)

I would avoid Wal-Mart if I could -- believe me, I would. Unfortunately, it's the closest store to my home. Equally unfortunately, it would be fiscally irresponsible of me not to shop there in my sorry financial shape.

So I guess I'll suck it up and keep reading Behind the Counter. It gives me a twisted sense of consolation to know that my opinions are shared by someone else in the store.