Beware the Walmartians
I'm ashamed to admit this: I had a fight with a Walmartian. If you haven't wasted 15 minutes laughing at http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/photos/ , you should. You really should. I confess that Walmart is my one-stop spot for groceries and kids clothes. That said, I refuse to qualify for a photo on that website. I DO NOT, under any circumstances, wear pajamas to Walmart. I do not wear crocs. I do not wear t-shirts that make reference to bombs, farts or trailer park boys. I may shop there but I am not a Walmartian. The monster who hooked me into a verbal altercation in check-out lane #14 was a bonefide Walmartian. Her stringy, straw like, bleach blonde hair hung limply from her worn out baseball cap. She wore ripped yoga pants and a pink rain poncho. Her rough looks weren't the issue, her bat-shit crazy behaviour was. Here's what went down. I pulled my cart loaded with a weeks worth of groceries into the check-out lane. There she stood, ahead of me, with one, single ite