Okay,
yesterday was cold – very cold by southern standards. Thus I was wearing a
sweater, my very cute sweater if I do say so myself. One of the neighbor boys
thinks it looks like it has aliens on it – you know the kind from outer space. He
wishes I would wear this sweater more than once or twice a year because he
loves it. Uhm, whatever. Well, I was spending some time with friends and it was
a perfect opportunity to dig out this particular item of clothing. After we had
finished at the coffeeshop, I made the mistake of running to Walmart to pick up
a few items. Now Walmart has made it were you pretty much have no option but to
do the self-check out thing. Fine, sure, I have always wanted to do someone else’s
job for them. It’s alright - turns out, I’m often faster and more accurate than
the cashiers. So, I ring up the first item – shredded lettuce. The machines says
this is a restricted item and I need approval. Wait – what?! The lone employee
comes over and fixes it. I ring up the second item – tortillas. Again, I need
approval. Hold on here, there is no way any of these items you have to be 21 to
buy. What in the world is wrong with this machine today? Okay, the lady comes
over again, she punches a few more buttons this time. Then she turns to me, “You
can’t wear that top when you’re shopping. The scanner’s trying to read it.” Hold
on a cotton pickin’ minute. Did she just tell me what to wear? No question, “Can
you push up your sleeves? The scanner is reading your sweater.” No suggestion, “Maybe
next time you can wear a more neutral of a color as the scanner is having
problems.” Nope. A demand. As if I work there and she has the right to tell me
what I can and can’t do. After taking a quick look in my buggy, I decide there’s
nothing in there I absolutely have to have. I will not starve if I don’t make tacos
as planned, bake the cake I had thought about making or anything else I had considered.
Thus, I walked away, leaving the ice cream to melt, the lettuce to wilt, the
tomatoes to rot and whatever else is in there to do what it will. I don’t care.
The employee started yelling at me something about how I can’t just walk way
like that. And why not, pray tell? I couldn’t see any reason – it’s not like
this was the only store in town – or even the only Walmart for that matter. How
exactly did the world come to this? When machines are king and people just don’t
exist? Please, enough already – I want to go to a store and talk to a person, I
want to go to the bank and talk to a human, I want to go to the airport and
speak to anyone with a pulse. And I do not ever want to be told what I can and can not wear ever again. Thank you to anyone in authority who may be listening.
I know it’s an impossible ask at this point…
Okay,
yesterday was cold – very cold by southern standards. Thus I was wearing a
sweater, my very cute sweater if I do say so myself. One of the neighbor boys
thinks it looks like it has aliens on it – you know the kind from outer space. He
wishes I would wear this sweater more than once or twice a year because he
loves it. Uhm, whatever. Well, I was spending some time with friends and it was
a perfect opportunity to dig out this particular item of clothing. After we had
finished at the coffeeshop, I made the mistake of running to Walmart to pick up
a few items. Now Walmart has made it were you pretty much have no option but to
do the self-check out thing. Fine, sure, I have always wanted to do someone else’s
job for them. It’s alright - turns out, I’m often faster and more accurate than
the cashiers. So, I ring up the first item – shredded lettuce. The machines says
this is a restricted item and I need approval. Wait – what?! The lone employee
comes over and fixes it. I ring up the second item – tortillas. Again, I need
approval. Hold on here, there is no way any of these items you have to be 21 to
buy. What in the world is wrong with this machine today? Okay, the lady comes
over again, she punches a few more buttons this time. Then she turns to me, “You
can’t wear that top when you’re shopping. The scanner’s trying to read it.” Hold
on a cotton pickin’ minute. Did she just tell me what to wear? No question, “Can
you push up your sleeves? The scanner is reading your sweater.” No suggestion, “Maybe
next time you can wear a more neutral of a color as the scanner is having
problems.” Nope. A demand. As if I work there and she has the right to tell me
what I can and can’t do. After taking a quick look in my buggy, I decide there’s
nothing in there I absolutely have to have. I will not starve if I don’t make tacos
as planned, bake the cake I had thought about making or anything else I had considered.
Thus, I walked away, leaving the ice cream to melt, the lettuce to wilt, the
tomatoes to rot and whatever else is in there to do what it will. I don’t care.
The employee started yelling at me something about how I can’t just walk way
like that. And why not, pray tell? I couldn’t see any reason – it’s not like
this was the only store in town – or even the only Walmart for that matter. How
exactly did the world come to this? When machines are king and people just don’t
exist? Please, enough already – I want to go to a store and talk to a person, I
want to go to the bank and talk to a human, I want to go to the airport and
speak to anyone with a pulse. And I do not ever want to be told what I can and can not wear ever again. Thank you to anyone in authority who may be listening.
I know it’s an impossible ask at this point…
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