Zel-kun’s Words

When you work at a Wal-Mart, especially a Wal-Mart in such a… unique location as Merrillville (or Hobart, depending on who you talk to), the customers are a very special sort.  You can view them much as a nature show host might view a pack of hominid apes from behind the bushes.  They are indeed strikingly human, but share a completely different set of rules than us humans.  What follows are some of my observations of these strange creatures, and the strange way their tribal codes and laws work.

Observation One:

I stood by the video game case, as I had a tendency to do, telling the customers about the various games.  I usually speak to the parents, as the younger children want nothing to do with the strange blue-vested man towering over them.  The most common question I get is, “What kind of game would be good for my son/daughter?”

This question is fair enough, I can respect this question.  Honestly, that’s more concern about their children’s hobbies than my parents have shown.  So I answer this question the way I often did, by recommending RPG’s.  Why do I recommend such games, you ask?  One reason, obviously, is that I myself enjoy them.  The other, I tell to the customer.

 ”This game here (likely something like Legend of Legaia or Tales of Destiny, some of the more wholesome games with an E rating) is nice because it focuses on plot and character development, rather than mindless killing.  The violence level is very low, and most of the themes are pretty wholesome.  Also, one nice thing is there’s lots of dialogue that your son will read throughout the game, developing his vocabulary and reading skills.  (which isn’t a lie, I would say I have RPG’s to thank for getting me into literature)”

“So, what’s this game about?” The customer asks, tilting her head in an intrigued manner, not entirely unlike my dog watching the radio.

“Well, you’re a young boy from this village who goes out on a journey, meeting new friends along the way.  You develop your skills and cast magic and gain new powers, its a lot of fun.”

“Magic… naw, my son ain’t havin’ nothin’ like that.  He been talkin’ about that Grand Thef (no T, its too much effort to pronounce the T on the end) Auto, go ahead and gimme that.”

Yep, magic is evil.  Killing cops, banging prostitutes, and running drugs is perfectly fine for children.

Observation Two:

In human society, it is considered polite to clean up after yourself or inform someone of a mess you have made.  Customers, on the other hand, have a different approach.  I spot a woman leading her daughter along, the daughter almost screaming, “I don’t feel good, I feel sick!  I want to go home!”  The mother obviously doesn’t care, as shopping is more important.

The two turn the corner and leave my sight, and I go about my business trying to explain to a customer that I don’t have software for a computer as old as his.  (he had Windows ‘95)  Which of course, makes him start yelling, the foul stench of old onions wafting over me, “I dun’ know where you wuz raised, but you dun’ tell a customer they have a computer tha’s too old!”

He threatened to go to my manager, which honestly didn’t scare me.  But I patronized him all the same, it was my job, after all.  After several minutes, I sent him on his way with a copy of some game, which I assured him won’t work, but he bought anyway.  I was sure I’d see him at the returns desk soon.

I go to the back aisle of the department, making my patrol of the department, and nearly slip and fall on the largest puddle of vomit I’ve seen in awhile, with a few cart tracks running through it.  Obviously if you see vomit you should walk right through it.

So I call maintenence and wait.  I am then told by management that there is no maintenence crew and I need to clean up the vomit myself.  I shake my head and decline their offer.

“But there’s no maintenence tonight,” the manager reaffrims.

“Well, I won’t clean up vomit.  You pay maintenence more than you pay me because they do things like that.”  I replied, and of course, I was right.  There’s a reason managers there didn’t like me, I always refused to be stepped on.  It was only a matter of minutes before the manager suckered some cashier to cleaning it up.  I always wondered what would happen if everyone refused, that maybe, just MAYBE, I’d see a manager on his hands and knees wiping up vomit.

Observation Three:

In human society, it is considered taboo to evacuate one’s bladder or bowels in public.  We have gone so far as to build special rooms in every single building where such an act can be done privately.  I notice that such is not the case among the wild customers.  Unfortunately, (or rather, very fortunately) I was not there to witness this particular curiosity.  But a co-worker of mine at the time gives this account (which I am re-creating from memory):

“I was standing there in the pet aisle, talking to an older woman, perhaps around forty.  I was showing her various filters and such that could be used to extend the life of her fish.  While we are talking, I make the mistake of turning my back to her.  A few moments later, I turn back and see her squatting over a fishbowl taken off the shelf, her dress hiked up, urinating into the bowl.  She then takes the filled bowl and dumps it into the nearby sink we use to fill the aquariums, rinses it out, and places it on the shelf, then continues to talk to me like nothing out of the ordinary happened.”

Yes… strange creatures indeed.  I am glad to hang up my binoculars and pith helmet and cease my studies of them.

Zel-kun out.