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But wait, there's more.

There's just no polite way to say "Buy me things", is there?

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I'm baded and jitter. So are these people. (And why not follow the previous, next, or random links?)

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Doug vs. Japanese Snack Foods: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

rant is where the heart is

diaryland: entry for 2002-04-10 (14:17)
In which our plucky young hero wandered.

A few days ago.

I'm standing in the middle of the housewares section of Wal-Mart, hoping to find ketchup squeeze bottles that I can put chocolate syrup into.

There's an aisle of cookware, and an aisle of bakeware, and an aisle of glassware, and an aisle of kitchen gadgets.

And there are no ketchup squeeze bottles.

So I try again. There's an aisle of cookware, an aisle of bakeware, an aisle of glassware, and an aisle of kitchen gadgets.

And there are no bottles.

I begin to realize that I am upset at this series of events. I begin to realize that the aisles are very narrow and everyone has shopping carts and my mouth is dry and there are no bottles.

A pre-recorded announcement comes over the PA system. I don't remember exactly what it was, but it went something like this:

"Wal-Mart employees. Now is the designated time to look around you and perform your cleaning tasks. Keep your area clean and neat. This is part of your safety training. Remember to log your cleaning tasks in your daily journal. Thank you."

I realize that I'm in hell.

I've forgotten how to speak. Sounds are muted and colors are sharpened, so that every color boundary looks like a knife. A box of drinking glasses looks like it could slice through steel. A bottle of artificial apple juice looks indistinguishable from the artificial pine cleanser on the shelf two aisles down. Everything looks garish, like I'm looking up close at the set design for a cheap television show. I can't speak. If I could speak, I don't know what I'd say, or how I would say it.

I keep walking through the aisles.

Cookware bakeware glassware kitchen gadgets no bottles.

I idly wonder what might happen if I were to just take all of the Pyrex bakeware on the shelves and start smashing it on the floor. I wonder what it'd sound like. I wonder how many pieces it normally breaks into when smashed.

Out. I need to get out. Out of this store. Out of this mall. I decide to find my voice and just damn well ask if there are any bottles in the store. Out. Escape.

I find a blue-vested Wal-Mart employee, who is not actually engaged in logging her cleaning activities in her journal. (Do they take that seriously? Do they have a choice? How many of them are there? Is it enough to start an army?) I ask her where I would find the squeeze bottles. My voice in my ears sounds like it's coming from inside an aquarium.

She doesn't know. They'd be in the cookware bakeware glassware kitchen gadgets aisle if they were in stock. But they're not. no bottles

I thank her aquarium, grab a set of cookie sheets from a shelf, and get the hell out of there.

Trance. Panic attack. Either or.

The fun never stops with me, does it?

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