www.dumbass.com

Okay, Walmart checkout people, lets bond on the requirements of doing your job.

1) Stand there
2) Scan the little bar code
3) Bag my stuff so nothing gets screwed up or squished
4) Give me a receipt

I DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT need you to tell me all the useful things I can do with used dryer sheets. USED DRYER SHEETS! Come on!

By the time I get to you, I have been fighting through the over- packed isles, stuffed full of rednecks dressed in their best camouflage pants, the T-shirt with the fewest holes in it and the truck driver hat shoved firmly onto their head, Yuppies smugly looking down their nose at me because I am at Walmart - avoiding the fact that they are to, old ladies in those motorized carts who either run right over top of you or are scared to hit the accelerator, and "Sales Associates" who avoid me like the plague.

I have listened to babies crying, heathenistic little monsters screaming, middle class mothers talking on their cell phones while screaming at their screaming children(read "heathens"), old men farting and elevator music being played loud enough to be heard slightly over the bedlam in the store.

I have stood in line for 20 mins, shifting from foot to foot while feeling very uncomfortable that the guy behind me is either checking me out with appreciation or he is storing jokes for later. I have looked everywhere I can possiblely think of to avoid looking at the rearend of the overly large woman in front of me, the tabloid headlines glare at me from their wire rack holders and all the little last minute do-dads that are stocked there for the impulse buyers are watching me.

I am irritable and my feet hurt from having to walk from one side of the store to the other trying to find out if you keep the bunion protectors over by the pharmacy, in the shoe department, or over there - lost somewhere in the depths of the grocery isles. I want desperately to tell the lady in the line on the other side of the divider that her baby needs changing because I can tell all the way from here - it's either that, or the old man in front of her mis-timed his daily dose of Metimucil.

When I try to swipe my debit card, your card reader is wobblely and I have to practically pin it to the counter to be able to swipe it and then it won't read my card and I have to repeat this process Over and Over while the card reader does a little serpentine dance.

Please do not try to draw me into conversation. A nice "Hi" will do just fine. Ring up my stuff. I want to leave. This has not been a great shopping experience.