South Belt Wal-Mart....
Ok, we all know that Wal-Marts are bad. Not that the products or prices are necessarily bad. But that the buildings themselves function as some sort of huge lights for the most socially disfigured of human moths.
I know that everyone probably thinks that they know of the worst Wal-Mart in the world too. But most of you are wrong. The worst one is without a doubt in St Joseph, MO. A city recently found to be the 2nd unhappiest city in the country according to a Harvard study. No joke.
St Joseph has 2 moth lights....one North and one South. Each on either end of the single strip of commerce, the Belt, in a town who's relevance is founded on a criminal who was shot in the back and a famously failed courier service.
One need not look any further than the South Belt Wal-Mart to find where the 2nd unhappiest people in America stock up on their toilet paper, Tap Out shirts and various Duck Dynasty merchandise.
Even though I am long-since liberated of the cursed title of St Joseph resident, I do still find myself needing to stop at the SBWM from time to time after fooling myself into believing that the convenience will somehow be worth the risk of contracting Hepatitis type <fill in the blank>. It's the only place where I never fail to check in on Facebook. Not to brag, or to find friends, or for any social aspect whatsoever. It's in order to provide a permanent digital record of my whereabouts in case they end up being of the "last known" variety.
It's a dangerous place for me for a multitude of reasons. I have only one tattoo, for instance. And it's not in a place which is readily visible nor is it of the howling wolf or Harley Davidsonal variety. Where most other grocery stores (even Wal-Mart) have special lanes for a certain number of items in a cart or less, THIS nest of neanderthals actually has them set aside for 10 tattoos or more.
I also know little to nothing of Honey Boo Boo which makes my inability to participate in check-out line small talk suspect. I tried faking it once back when that little girl shaped glob of coagulated bacon grease and her family were all over mainstream media, but was soon exposed as an obvious fraud when I failed to end the required number sentences with "and shit".
Finally, I like laundered clothes. I like storing them that way, and I like to wear them. Even if it's sweats or old jeans shorts. It's a dead giveaway at the South Belt Wal-Mart that I'm an out-of-towner...a stranger....an uppity Target shopping regular who probably eats organic anyway and couldn't tell Phil Robertson from Dale Jarrett.
And I have a theory that wearing laundered clothes in public makes you look happy, intentional or not.
Whatever the reasons, it's obvious that I don't belong there. Actually, no one does. Yet there they are... Mouth-breathing their way around a bargain-filled, shallow gene pool....stress testing the stitching on undeserving yoga pants....catching one another up on the latest family meth convictions.
Check it out if you get a chance. While you might not spend money shopping, I can pretty much guarantee that you'll feel like tipping the door greeter on the way out for a great show.
Ok, we all know that Wal-Marts are bad. Not that the products or prices are necessarily bad. But that the buildings themselves function as some sort of huge lights for the most socially disfigured of human moths.
I know that everyone probably thinks that they know of the worst Wal-Mart in the world too. But most of you are wrong. The worst one is without a doubt in St Joseph, MO. A city recently found to be the 2nd unhappiest city in the country according to a Harvard study. No joke.
St Joseph has 2 moth lights....one North and one South. Each on either end of the single strip of commerce, the Belt, in a town who's relevance is founded on a criminal who was shot in the back and a famously failed courier service.
One need not look any further than the South Belt Wal-Mart to find where the 2nd unhappiest people in America stock up on their toilet paper, Tap Out shirts and various Duck Dynasty merchandise.
Even though I am long-since liberated of the cursed title of St Joseph resident, I do still find myself needing to stop at the SBWM from time to time after fooling myself into believing that the convenience will somehow be worth the risk of contracting Hepatitis type <fill in the blank>. It's the only place where I never fail to check in on Facebook. Not to brag, or to find friends, or for any social aspect whatsoever. It's in order to provide a permanent digital record of my whereabouts in case they end up being of the "last known" variety.
It's a dangerous place for me for a multitude of reasons. I have only one tattoo, for instance. And it's not in a place which is readily visible nor is it of the howling wolf or Harley Davidsonal variety. Where most other grocery stores (even Wal-Mart) have special lanes for a certain number of items in a cart or less, THIS nest of neanderthals actually has them set aside for 10 tattoos or more.
I also know little to nothing of Honey Boo Boo which makes my inability to participate in check-out line small talk suspect. I tried faking it once back when that little girl shaped glob of coagulated bacon grease and her family were all over mainstream media, but was soon exposed as an obvious fraud when I failed to end the required number sentences with "and shit".
Finally, I like laundered clothes. I like storing them that way, and I like to wear them. Even if it's sweats or old jeans shorts. It's a dead giveaway at the South Belt Wal-Mart that I'm an out-of-towner...a stranger....an uppity Target shopping regular who probably eats organic anyway and couldn't tell Phil Robertson from Dale Jarrett.
And I have a theory that wearing laundered clothes in public makes you look happy, intentional or not.
Whatever the reasons, it's obvious that I don't belong there. Actually, no one does. Yet there they are... Mouth-breathing their way around a bargain-filled, shallow gene pool....stress testing the stitching on undeserving yoga pants....catching one another up on the latest family meth convictions.
Check it out if you get a chance. While you might not spend money shopping, I can pretty much guarantee that you'll feel like tipping the door greeter on the way out for a great show.
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