According to obesityinamerica.org, Alabama is among the states with the highest percentage of obesity at 23.05%. That’s almost a quarter of the population. This was actually something that was brought to my attention by a recent trip to Wal-Mart. This may seem shallow, but the whole time I kept thinking, “Dude, there aren’t any hot people coming in and out of here.”
I don’t have much room to talk, seeing as how I can’t place myself in the “hot” category, either. (I don’t have rockin’ abs or biceps with definition, and my buns are more like stale hamburger buns than steel.) I just kept thinking about how glad I was that I wasn’t as big as that person and at least I haven’t let myself get that bad. It led me to wonder, how do people get so big, and why won’t they do anything about it?
One overweight Wal-Mart employee answered this question for me. She was bringing in one of those motorized scooters with the basket on the front and instead of walking it in like she is perfectly able to do, she was riding it. She reminded me that the answer is often laziness. People would rather ride in their car for fifteen minutes through the parking lot to find a closer spot to park than walk a hundred feet to the door. Drive-thrus are becoming a must-have for any fast-food restaurant. Folks would rather pick up food from McDonald’s and make their drink a Diet Coke to make themselves feel better than eat something slightly more healthy at home because it takes more effort.
It’s not just about being “hot.” This laziness and obesity affects the quality of life for people and can hurt business as was demonstrated during this Wal-Mart field trip. A man talking on his cell phone activated the alarm when he was walking out the door and a manager happened to be in the front of the store. He was not a huge man, but had a bit of a belly. Some might refer to it as a “done-lap.” The shoplifter took off sprinting across the parking lot and was all the way to the nearby Steak ‘N Shake before the manager was halfway across the parking lot.
About ten minutes after the initial incident, I turned to see a woman walking through the inside set of doors. Her shirt was black and so big that it could probably serve as a quilt for me and in big white letters on the back said “SECURITY.” She was so large that she couldn’t have run if she wanted to. Her pace reminded me of that of a giant monster from a movie; similar to when the monster is coming through the city and you hear the steps coming very slowly and the whole city shakes and rumbles. No wonder it had taken her so long to arrive at the scene of the crime. Was she the only option they had for a security guard? Why would you not find someone who can run as fast as the criminal may be able to?
I’m not trying to be malicious or talk badly about people who are overweight. I just don’t understand how people let themselves get to be more than 100 pounds of fat. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I took something with me from this trip to Wal-Mart. I took inspiration to go running once in a while and pay more attention to what I eat. I probably won’t ever be a protein shake-drinking, organic food-eating, grunting, heaving, body builder. In fact, let’s face it. I’ll probably always have those ten or fifteen pounds to lose, but I will never let myself look as grotesque as some of those people in Wal-Mart.
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“Now, if you're a good girl and don’t touch anything, then I’ll let you pick out one jigsaw puzzle at the end of our trip.”
I loved Wal-Mart as a child, although it was usually one of the places I got into trouble at. I remember many times, mom would drag me past the yarn, through the swinging industrial doors, and into the bathroom for a spanking. The stalls were taupe and there were black shoeprints on the sticky floor.
Honestly, I’m certain I deserved every bit of discipline I received. I was an overly energetic and nosy child. I bet there were many days when Mom thought I must have been her penitence for rebellion in the sixties and early seventies. Surely, God did not send out hellions like me every day.
Twenty-something years later, when I go to Wal-Mart things are quite different. Somehow the jigsaw and My Little Pony aisle has lost its scintillating luster, and I realize why Mom wouldn’t let me have Coco Puffs or Fruity Pebbles. I see mothers corralling children, pushing carts, and grabbing groceries all at the same time, and I think what an undaunting task childrearing must be.
My best girlfriend, Jo, just had two children. One is two years old; the other is nine months old. Her husband left her shortly after the birth of their second child. I imagine Jo walking down Wal-Mart’s aisles, soothing Kylie and containing Konner, pushing that oversized cart with the big blue plastic racecar attached to the front. The sheer weight of her entourage would be enough to make me throw my hands in the air after only three or four aisles.
The amazing thing about these mothers is that seldom do you see them with their hair askew and their nails bit down to the quick. The veins in their eyes are not protruding and their bodies exude patience far beyond my own. Surprisingly, they smile and nod when they pass me, often apologizing for the ruckus of childhood chatter.
Wal-Mart is a master of the add-on sale. You think you are going in just to pick up Tide and Charmin, but you leave with a goldfish, plug-ins, and a screwdriver set. Wal-Mart is the only place on earth where you can get a lawn mower, boxer shorts, Trojan Condoms, BB’s, and a case of Miller High Life.
This is even truer for mothers and children. The temptation of an add-on sale was one of the key factors of my youthful disobedience. Winn-Dixie was not near as interesting, and therefore did not require exploration and excessive begging. Wal-Mart sets a mother up for the fall. They lure their victims in with the best prices in town, and then snag their wallets with unnecessary, spontaneous must-haves.
They call Wal-Mart the proverbial “Man,” and it probably is.
Friday afternoon, I told my mother that I was going on a class field trip to Wal-Mart, and she responded with a disgusted expression. It's the crowds and noise, and distance that has kept my family from Wal-Mart for ten years. As Eric and I walked to our post Friday afternoon, I told him this, and he was shocked.
“What!” he exclaimed. “I go to Wal-Mart like, everyday.”
As part of our assignment, we stood around in an area between a set of automatic doors. Both benches were occupied, one by a woman with an overfilled basket, and another in a pink shirt (reading “Cranky but Adorable”) with pink flip flops and purse, chatting on her cellular phone. When she finally leaves, Eric and I race to the bench to sit.
I attempt at taking notes on every person that passes, but as Eric says, “This is too much,” and he's right. There are so many “characters” who have such illustrative traits, little things like frayed jeans, or too many accessories. Dreadlocks. Cowboy hats. A man passes with a basket full of green 12 packs of “Mountain Thunder.”
After a little shoplifting excitement, (a man tried to cart out merchandise in a pair of suspicious looking plastic bags, leading to a parking lot chase) Eric and I recount the story to one or two patrons with southern drawls. I feel for the first time, apart from watching commercials for “Pa-Pa's Camper City,” that I am in the south. And for the first time, I am mildly content with the feeling. In my house, South-bashing is a once an hour on the hour activity. Maybe it is the blatant Southern tinge that keeps my family away from Wal-Mart, but as I walk with my classmates to the...er...personal items section, I realize that it isn't such a bad place. It's clean, bright, busy, but not imposing. Maybe I'm just having a good day.
I'm surprised at everything Wal-Mart sells, as I avoid the condoms and go straight to the fish tanks. Who knew Wal-Mart sold fish? Aaron approaches Elizabeth and I to tell us that a “hot guy” is in the next isle. Aaron and I walk past and have a semi-staged chat to watch a tall guy in a graphic tee buy toothpaste. Elizabeth brazenly walks past and rejoins us when he's gone.
“Did you talk to him?” Aaron asks.
“Yeah. He said,” Elizabeth stops, looks down and in a male voices says: “Hey.”
The class checks out condoms, and a woman passes looking confused and says, “Oh are you a class?” I tell her we are, but I am even more curious since this seems to have happened before. After everyone has checked their blood pressure but me (doesn't that machine hurt your arm?) I disappear back to the parking lot via the garden area. A man who attends the counter, places his hands on his hips and gives me a “goodbye.”
“Have a good'n,” he says, or “Have a good one.”
I return home, and forget to tell him about our experience immediately, since more pressing matters have come about. When I finally remind my sister and mother that I went to Wal-Mart, they shudder. “What did you do? What was it like?” they ask.
“It was O.K.,” I say, almost tempted to exaggerate my story and conform. “It was O.K.”
I was unable to tour Wal-Mart with the class at the schedule time because as always, someone was willing to stops my progress; as always that delay led me in the opposite direction of the assignment.
My sister and our friend Hadley sat in my living room talking while I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom. I could see my sister’s refection within the mirror as she stood up and twisted across the living room floor until see reached a clear area to stand in. “Susta look, you remember when what’s his name use to dance like this?” I turned to face her as she began moving her legs, in a way that drew giggles from Hadley and me. She started moving her arms as if a wave was moving from the tip of her right hand, up her arm and down her other arm until it reached the tip of left hand. “Susta, you remember?” I laughed even harder at how she was demonstrated a dance from the nineties.
“Do I remember who? Qonda who are you talking ‘bout” I asked as my giggles turned in a hard laugh. She danced some more. “Qonda I can’t breathe… man stop… I don’t know who you are talking about.” I laugh some more.
“Susta, yes you do! He used to do it just like this.” She continued as she added a new step into her routine. We all laughed as Qonda, became too comfortable with the twisted and turns of her different body parts. Her body stiffened before falling to the floor. We laughed even harder. As she began rolling, I yell, “I don’t remember a dance like that.” The laughing continued.
Until we realized that this was no longer a part of her routine; no longer part of the fun. I don’t remember hearing a thump when her body made contact with the floor, nor do I remember when the laughter stopped. All I remember seeing after we made eye contact is the hurt. I ran into the living asking if she was ok. She said “Don’t touch me!”
For some reason a burst of laughter escaped from our lips, as we tried to make sure everything was ok. She yelled, “Susta that shit ain’t funny!” She laughed for the first time since her body hit the floor. Hadely and I followed suit.
“I’m not trying to laugh; it just looked like that was part of your dance move.” I tried to explain while laughing.
“Let me show you what you did.” Hadley said as she stood up to show Qonda what everything looked like to us. Hadley allowed her body to stiffen before falling onto the cushions on the couch. Qonda laughed as she tried to get off the faded hard wood floor. “I’ve knocked my knee out of place” Qonda said as I aided her to her feet.
“We need to take you to the hospital. What if it’s worst then you think?” She ignored me as I tried to convince her that going to the hospital would be best because neither of us carried a MD behind our names.
“Susta go to Wal-Mart and get me an ace bandage. I’ll pay you back when I get paid.”
“I’ll go if you ride with me.” I lied to her with good intentions, knowing that if I told her the truth she would have never agreed to go. She agreed.
After pulling out of my drive way, I was determined to make USA Medical Center my next stop. Once she realized that I had no intentions on taking her to Wal-Mart she began fusing about not wanting to go to USA, and how she wasn’t going to get out of the car. I laughed at how silly she was being now and how silly she was being an hour ago. I can’t wait until she’s feeling better so that we can both laugh together about the whole ordeal.
I cringe when I every time someone mentions going to Wal-mart. I have managed to avoid this place since freshman year. I refuse to go with my roommate, and I refuse to go with my mother. If I'm lucky I can get one of them to do the shopping for me. I can't stand the lines or the crowds, or the amount of useless things that I come home with that I didn't even go to the store for in the first place.
It all started when we were younger. We used to live all the way out on the otherside of town, a good twenty minutes away from the closest Wal-mart. This meant that when my mom picked us up from school, we would have to do our shopping on the way home. I despised the after school shopping trip to Wal-mart. The lines are so long and there is never anywhere to park. These trips happened at least once a week, and without any warning.
As I got older, I began to catch rides home from friends so that I could avoid the inevitable trip to the store. After awhile though, I began to find myself showing up at Wal-mart with friends who needed last minute things for projects and other things, and I was now being sucked in to riding along, just because Wal-mart was on the way.
Even going out involved some sort of trip to Wal-mart. My hometown is small, so if you were looking for something to do on the weekends, you would show up at Wal-mart. There you were bound to run into someone who knew what was going on, or if you weren't looking for something to do you were meeting everyone there.
I cringe because Wal-mart makes my mood changed just thinking about it. I'm already irritated before I get there, because I know I won't find the parking spot close to the door, or I'll realize half way home that I forgot the laundry detergent that I desperately needed and instead picked up a cd that I didn't really even want to begin with.
It’s 1:30 in the afternoon, and there is a shitload of people coming out of Wal-Mart. It’s always like this, and why wouldn’t it be. Almost everything short of electricity can be found on sale in this place, and even if you live in a car and are looking for a cheap source of light, they sell flashlights that recharge when you shake ‘em. Yep, Wal-Mart’s got you covered.
It’s hard for me to tell if the people here during this time period can be defined as a whole or a group. There doesn’t seem to be a majority of any certain “type” of person: working moms, lunch break shoppers, men, women. It just seems that this is a large group of randoms who all come here for random things.
There’s an older couple with a Coleman Lantern, a box of Ensure, a loaf of bread, and two paperbacks. A woman dressed in nurse scrubs leaves with a Red Bull, two Snickers bars, an Easter basket, and a Cosmopolitan magazine. If you were planning a camping trip, you could get all of the food, a tent, sleeping bags, pillows, some chairs, even fire logs. If you just rented your first apartment, you could get all of your cleaning supplies, cups, silverware, toiletries, a microwave, and all of your furniture and food. Where else could you find these random things, all in the same store?
It’s hard to look at the store as a whole without being caught up in small displays and departments, but given the large variety of everything, I begin to wonder how Wal-
Mart decides what products it will carry.
I remember my father telling me about a local band that made it big. Three Doors Down sold millions of copies of several albums in several different countries. The lead singer grew up down the street from me, and was my sister’s age, so our parents were friends. Dad would see them around town in Wal-Mart or a Burger King, and ask them how everything was going. He would then come to me with the exciting information that I resented (since I wasn’t having any musical success), and I would pretend to be excited as well.
During the release year of their first album, they went through the toughest times. They had a popular single, but the video had been shot with a pretty tight budget. They were the closest thing to a classic rock band at the time, and MTV was going for harder rock or any new rap. They knew their market would mostly consist of people who listened to classic rock and country, so they were touring and trying to sell as many cds as they could at their live shows, in areas that produced large numbers in sales of those two musical genres.
One day my dad came in all excited. He had seen the lead singer in McDonald’s and he had great news. Wal-Mart picked up the album. Apparently, Wal-Mart will only sell an album after it sells so many copies in other places. They won’t take a chance on an album that might not sell. The significance of this is that when Wal-Mart decides to sell an album, they buy hundreds of thousands of copies, and displays them at every single store throughout the entire United States, Mexico, and anywhere else they have stores. After Wal-Mart picked up the album, they sold out of the copies original purchased, and had to order a second set for the entire nation. Three Doors Down went platinum after a couple of months. When it was time for them to release their second album, it went platinum before the release date, because Wal-Mart preordered over a million copies. They went platinum before a single album even hit the shelves.
I wonder if all of the products in Wal-Mart are set up this way. Did Trojan have to sell five million condoms before Wal-Mart would sell a single one? And what about Red Bull? I can remember when Wal-Marts didn’t carry it. Did they sell over a hundred thousand cans before they could set up the miniature coolers? Is every single meat, milk, bread, and flavor of chips a national best seller? In a way, the façade is that there is this huge variety of everything, but what about the products that are better, but are not as well known?
As the surrounding businesses all go bankrupt without the ability to match prices, I wonder about the consequences. Is Wal-Mart generalizing America by choosing what products they buy, or is America generalizing itself by choosing all of the same products?
The answer seems to float back to the simple idea of money. Who cares what products are better if you can get them all, or most of them, cheaper at Wal-Mart?
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