You and me are going to have a sit down 'Come to Jesus'. Right now. Because you need truth speaking. Right this holy, hot second.
You're a big, dumb store. Truly. But, guess what? You're the cheapest prices around, so I still enter your big, dumb doors. Every stinkin' Monday. And today I've reached my limit of tolerance. For reals. I'm so mad at you, I'm putting you in a time out. You actually deserve worse, but that's all I've got.
Here's the thing. I don't think you understand the enormity of what it takes to grocery shop for a family. It's grueling. And exhausting. And you know what? I still have to take this $200 worth of crap and load it in my car, then unload it into my house, and then put it all away. Just so my people can eat it all clean out. Are you getting the picture? This is hard work and you're making it even harder.
Because, right now, I wanna know why on earth you have 48 check out lanes available in your store, but only 2 are open. Two! Every time I pull my overloaded cart up to this check out section, I want to throw a full-blown tantrum. Like, total screaming fit. Why, Walmart? Why do you never, ever, ever have more lanes open?
And can we talk about the pricing guns? Why do all the managers carry them? I've never actually seen them used. Just carried. And let me tell you, today, while waiting for 482 minutes in the check out lane, I almost grabbed one of those guns to knock myself out and end the agony. This is what you do to us mothers, you big, dumb store.
I can't even address the state of your customer service area. Honestly. Why does it always look like a run-down garage sale over there? Why? And again, you have one teller working that area, and a line that wraps down through the store. It's so stupid. Surely this isn't new information. Right? Do you act this way on purpose? Is this the price we pay to shop your isles?
Listen, and listen close. You've gotta get your act together. I'm not messin' around. You have got to make a mother's job easier. Lighten her load, if you will. Stop crowding all your isles with big containers of socks. Open more check out lanes! And for the love, no one, and I mean no one, buys those mayonaisse jars that are the size of a puppy. Good grief.
I'll see you next Monday.
Expect a tantrum.