I Am a Cart Thief

I really try to act like I am not better than the people at Walmart. Sure, their clothes don’t always fit, personal hygiene is not the highest priority, and the men folk have no issue with spitting cat calls at anything that resembles a female (even if their main woman is nearby), but the Walmart shoppers and I, tragically, have one thing in common—we both shop at Walmart. I could sit here and write a defending statement telling you all that I only go there to buy cat litter, but, really, what difference does it make?

In the early years, I used logic to convince myself. I was not overweight. I bathed regularly. My buttcrack was nestled happily inside my underwear, which was inside my pants and away from the public eye. Therefore, I was better. And yet, I wasn’t treated any different. If anything, people picked on me more because I was buying brand name Tidy Cats instead of the Walmart brand Cat Tidy. Because I thought I was so much better than all of them. Which I did. But I didn’t admit that to myself right away.

Then I turned to denial. I only went there because they had cheaper prices than the grocery store. Did Safeway think I was stupid? I wasn’t about to pay fifteen dollars for a thirty pound bag of cat litter when I could get it for six bucks somewhere else. And that was for the good brand! The brand that would hide my dear little cat’s odors and make his litter box virtually vanish into thin air. No, I was smarter than the system. And if I was smart, I was better than the people of Walmart, right?

Wrong. It was still the same syllogism. The people who shop at Walmart are no good. I shop at Walmart. Therefore, I am no good.

But being in college has taught me a lesson or two about pride and frugality. I go to Walmart because my cat deserves the best. Just not if it’s over six bucks. And it turns out, like all the other Walmart shoppers, I have flaws as well.

Whenever I begin my shopping experience at Walmart, I always go in through the Garden center, because I don’t like to be greeted. Frankly, I think that job is a waste of human flesh, and certainly a waste of my time. I don’t like conversing with customers—and I certainly don’t like conversing with people when I’m a customer. Also, I can get my own cart unstuck from the tangled mess a lot faster than the elderly lady who is inevitably employed as the universal Walmart Greeter. The parking lot makes me depressed enough. I don’t need my day to be ruined by watching a frail old lady duke it out with the shopping carts. I’m stronger than she is. She and I are equidistant from the carts. It’s much easier for me to hulk smash my way through the shopping carts, but the Walmart Greeter will not have it. It is her sole responsibility to get me a cart and she will get me a cart, goddammit. So whenever I offer, she shoots me a look of disdain, as though I doubt the seriousness of her task (which I do) and hobbles off to begin another battle all so I can get two bags of cat litter. I’ve heard that they have taken to having the cart all ready when you walk through the door, but this is America. Let me do things on my own.

Although I like to boast my super strength, it only comes to me in times of severe anger. I’m never angry at Walmart, because I think most of the customers carry concealed weapons of some sort. The point is: I can’t carry two thirty-pound bags of cat litter without a cart, so I have to find some way past the greeter. However, Walmart hates me because I am an aloof bitch who used to think she was better than everyone there so they roped off the carts. During Superbowl season, they surround the carts with cardboard towers filled with potato chips. Either way, they are only accessible by way of the greeter, so I must find another way to get my shopping done.

The first time I figured out that the carts were isolated, I backed away slowly into the abyss of the store to rethink my strategy. I could go back into the parking lot and take an abandoned one. I could steal it from the greeter when she’s not looking. I could—that was when I stumbled over an abandoned cart. It was empty, save a three pack of Chapstick. I shrugged, tossed the Chapstick out and wheeled it over to the pet section. Upon my retreat, I heard someone bellow, “Ma, the cart’s up ‘n’ dis’ppeared on us!”

Thus, I became the cart thief. Sometimes, it’s easy; I’ll find abandoned carts and take them under my wing. Sometimes, I have to wait until backs are turned before I make my move. Sometimes, I take certain items with me to save on shopping time; thus, lessening my time spent in Walmart. Sometimes, I do that without meaning to because I’m about to get caught. It’s low and inconsiderate, rude and uncalled for. But I realized that it makes me no better than the people who shop at Walmart. And I’m okay with that. Of course, the people who shop at Walmart aren’t all bad. But if they’re dumb enough to leave their cart in the middle of the aisle, then they have just allowed me to have a good day, a way to transport cat litter, and a less-stinky bathroom.

And that’s how I roll at Walmart.

~ToriannaLamba